[WIP] Writing Project - Story: Belkan Nights

[LoneSyndal]

Author's Note: This is part of the same project, _**Project Leingod. However, its a completely different story set in the same universe (but a different world with a subset of rules in regards to how things work). The theme, style, and etc is different in this one and I hope you enjoy it. Same things apply, I would love to read critical critique and responses in order to further develop and mature my writing style.

–------------------------------------------

**Prelude**

Time went by at a pace he could no longer cope with. Even in this space, he remained the same. Around him were visible afterimages of everything that had come and go. So was the life in the heart of the city. People, no matter where they went, never bothered looking at each other. Ignorance is bliss, or so the saying goes. The ignorant world of monotony was pitiful. Everything always came and went with it, nothing ever truly happening. When something happened, not even a soul would stop to help out. Everyone was out for themselves. His only friend was the night. The night was always there, always embracing him with its shade. He sat with legs pulled to his chest, curled into a ball. This form hid away his tears and loneliness. It kept everything away.

He wasn’t sad. Only anger fueled his heart and soul. The world had already rejected him in mind and body. Even his family from birth called him a mistake. To him however, everything was fine as it is. Everyone that took away his light and shine was already dead. His anger stemmed from the burning hatred of not because of the dead, but because of the one who took away his prey. The one who had taken everything away gave him a gift. In his hand was the same weapon used to remove the ones he despised, and with the same weapon he would kill the one who had taken it all away. He would become one with the night. With his gift, he could become even a god. And with such power, he could end his deep seated hatred and return to the cycle that was filled with ignorant bliss.

His target was only beyond the door that was just a few meters away from where he sat. It was the perfect setting – a backdoor to a restaurant in an alley that people rarely visited. When it opened, a man came outside with a loose collar and vest. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal a tattoo of a phoenix’s wing.  Everything matched the description.

The boy who sat curled up lifted his head from between his legs and muttered in a raspy tone, “Sir… do you have any food?” The most likely reaction would be a rejection.

“Oh? You want food, huh?” The man’s voice was intense. He cracked his knuckles as he walked up to the boy. “My boss has been really nagging at me lately. If you want food, you’ll have to earn it after this!” He lifted the child up and slammed him against the wall. The tight grip around the child’s collar caused him to choke. It didn’t stop the man however as he sent a punch into the boy’s stomach.

He was used to the pain. This was nothing compared to what he had to go through. The child managed to smirk in the situation, “So do I get my food?” He felt another blow to his stomach, making him cough up the saliva in his throat and then dropped to the ground. The answer was obvious however, he wouldn’t get any food, but he couldn’t let his target get away either.

“Just get the hell out of my sight!” the man rubbed against his bruised knuckles, walking with his back turned to the child.

From his pocket was a metallic contraption which he pulled and was now in his hands. His small two hands held the device in the proper position. When he pulled the trigger, the weak caliber handgun launched a pellet that contacted the man’s back, penetrating one of his lungs from behind. The body fell to the floor just as the smooth jazz played from the speakers around the district.

The man turned his head around from where he lay and saw the red eyes in the shadows of the alley. From there he knew what was going on, but he couldn’t say much when coughing out blood and lacking the air to shout. The thoughts in his head raced as the child held the small black old-fashioned pistol with the same smirk on his face.

_“Lucifer!”_

The alley echoed with another gunshot, but was almost inaudible compared to the loud jazz that played. When the music faded, so did the child who disappeared in the alley of Central Belka District.**_