The Shadow From the Darkness

In the dark alley at night, a small figure walked with his head down, eyes fixed on the ground as he made his way to grab some late-night groceries. This was Benson—just 167 cm tall, thin, frail, and clearly shy. His shoulders slumped slightly, showing his lack of confidence. With such a timid appearance, he was often seen as an easy target for bullies.

As Benson walked through the dimly lit alley, a dark shadow suddenly flashed across his path, too fast to see who or what it was. Benson froze, holding his breath, his mind racing with thoughts of robbers. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw it was just a huge rat scurrying near the garbage pile. “Good lord… I honestly thought it was a robbery. That scared the crap out of me…” he murmured, letting out a deep breath of relief.

Encounter:

As Benson stood there, still shaken from the earlier scare, a rough voice suddenly rang out beside him. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Five thugs emerged from the darkness, closing in around him and trapping him with no way out. They had recently dropped out of high school and were new to the gangster life—this was probably their first real attempt at professional mugging.

“Ahhh…” Benson screamed in terror, his voice high-pitched and extremely girlish.

“Haha… You really are a sissy, aren’t you?” One of the thugs mocked, laughing cruelly.

One thug leaned in close to Benson, a cloud of cigarette smoke drifting around him as he took a long drag. “Just a scared little rat wandering the city, huh?” He pressed the burning tip of the cigarette against Benson’s cheek, leaving a faint sizzling sound.

“Ahhh…!” Benson screamed like a sissy, his high-pitched voice nearly piercing through eardrums.

“Stop it… please!” he begged, his voice trembling.

“Hand over all your cash, or you won’t be able to walk out of here alive!” the smoking thug barked, slapping Benson hard across the face. The slap left a clear, red five-fingered mark on his cheek, the sharp, searing pain crawling beneath his skin.

Tears burst from Benson’s eyes, his entire body shaking as his hand fumbled for his wallet. With trembling fingers, he pulled out all the hard-earned cash—20 dollars and 13 cents—and handed it to the thugs, fear clearly written across his face. “That’s all I’ve got… please don’t hurt me…” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

“Are you serious?” another thug shouted angrily at Benson. “That’s barely enough for a pack of cigarettes! You son of a…” He stuffed the money into his pocket, pulled a wrench from his shorts, and swung it with full force, smashing it into Benson’s knee. The sharp crack of impact echoed as his kneecap shattered. Benson couldn’t keep his balance and crumpled to the ground, his hands catching his fall as pain shot through his leg.

“Please… have mercy… I’ve given you everything I have… I’m begging you!” Benson’s voice cracked as tears streamed down his face. One thug in a pink shirt spat a glob of phlegm at Benson’s eye, then launched a series of fierce kicks. Benson curled up defensively, shielding himself with his arms. His voice broke into rapid, high-pitched screams, each one louder than the last, almost as if he was being sexually violated.. The thugs showed no mercy, their blows relentless as he lay helpless on the ground.

“A man howling like a helpless woman? What kind of pathetic sissy are you?” A thug pulled out a rusted metal pipe, fury written all over his face. “I’m fed up with your ridiculous screams! They’re crawling under my skin, giving me goosebumps all over my body.”

The other thug, bony and pale, noticed the recklessness in his partner’s eyes and tried to intervene. “Hey… stop! Are you out of your mind? You’ll kill him with that!” But it was too late. The thug swung the pipe with full force, striking the back of Benson’s skull. It cracked open like a smashed watermelon, blood splattering in all directions. Benson’s limbs stiffened, his body frozen as he rolled over. His eyes widened, staring blankly at the sky—empty and lifeless.

The thugs exchanged glances, completely caught by surprise, unease and discomfort written on their faces. Except for the guy with the pipe, who calmly said, “Come on, let’s get out of here before we all end up in jail!” Leading the way, he moved quickly, and the others, hesitating, followed, casually walking away from the scene.

When the Shadow Emerged:

As the thugs walked away, something strange began to happen to the carcass left behind. The cracked skull started sealing itself, blood re-materializing in the wound as if out of thin air. His brain sparked back to life, and Benson’s eyes shot open—dark, sharp, and filled with an ominous shadow. He could now see every detail in the dim alley with eerie clarity, as if it were broad daylight.

His hair turned a ghostly gray, his skin pale, his features resembling those of a vampire. His nails grew into long, razor-sharp claws, and his broken kneecap mended within seconds. His limbs stretched, growing longer, making him much taller. With a cunning smirk, he rose to his feet, transformed and powerful.

Benson was born with two split personalities, a hidden “dark mode” that only emerged when he was unconscious and in danger. Its sole purpose: protect its host at any cost. “I’m awakened… once again… baby.” Dark Benson muttered, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Their suffering will be legendary!” With that, a sinister aura erupted around him, dark and fierce.

“Murder is a serious crime… don’t you think?” A creepy, eerie voice echoed from behind the thugs. The one with the metal pipe resting on his shoulder answered, “Nah… Only gutless people like you would call it murder. I call it just cleaning up the streets.” He didn’t even realize the voice came from Benson, assuming it was one of his partners in crime. But the others turned in shock, only to find the corpse had disappeared. In its place stood a tall, sinister figure with a vampire-like appearance, a chilling smirk on his face as he stared down at them.

The Smoking Thug’s Punishment:

“Excuse me… just passing through…” Dark Benson said as he flashed past the thugs. His shoulder bumped onto the smoking thug’s with brutal force, sending him flying backward like a rag doll, crashing into a lamppost. In an instant, he appeared in front of them.

Upon impact, the lamppost cracked from the tremendous force. Meanwhile, the smoking thug suffered multiple bone fractures—his ribs, upper spine, and lower back. He slumped against the post, sitting in a daze, barely able to stay upright, his body hanging loosely. The cigarette fell from his mouth, landing on the pavement, still burning.

Dark Benson slowly walked over to the slumped thug, leaned in close, and asked, “What’s it like now, huh? How does it feel? Sissy.”

The thug shook his head, tears bursting from his eyes as he mumbled, “Sorry… I really am…” but his body below the neck refused to respond—his spine had been snapped by the earlier impact.

A dark stain spread across his pants near the inner thighs, clearly showing his fear as he uncontrollably wet himself.

Dark Benson chuckled darkly, “Pathetic… You really are a sissy, aren’t you? Maybe you should start wearing diapers, it will look good on you… trust me… hahaha…”

Dark Benson politely said, “Well, well, seems like you dropped something important.” He picked up the still-burning cigarette with mock sympathy and continued, “Let me help you out, sweetie.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed the burning tip into the thug’s nose.

“Ahhh… it hurts!” the thug cried out in agony.

Dark Benson waved his index finger side to side, giggling creepily, and mockingly whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Payback for the Phlegm:

Dark Benson returned to the crowd, his gaze scanning over the thugs. “Who spat the phlegm earlier?” he demanded. The thugs exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak, all hesitating to answer.

He shouted again, his voice cutting through the air, “Who the hell did that?”

The thugs’ faces turned pale with terror. The thug in the pink shirt, panicked, pointed a trembling finger at a bony-looking thug—though, in truth, he was the real culprit.

The bony thug crumpled to the ground, tripping over his words, “W-wait… I… ah…” But before he could finish, Benson gathered all his energy and spat a glob of phlegm from his throat. With a sharp, grinding noise, it shot through the air, leaving behind a trail of sparks.

As it shot into the thug’s mouth like a bullet, a massive explosion erupted in his throat. The force tore his tongue from its roots, sending it flying out of his mouth and landing in front of Dark Benson. It bounced a few feet across the ground before coming to a full stop.

He quickly grabbed his neck, shutting his mouth tight, but blood leaked from the corners as he rolled on the ground, gasping for air in agony. The pain was unbearable, his body shaking with violent twitches.

Dark Benson took a step forward and pressed the detached tongue hard into the slush of meat. While grinding it repeatedly, Dark Benson waved his index finger side to side, giggling creepily, and mockingly whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” When he lifted his foot, the remains clung tight to the pavement, beyond recognition.

Watching the scene unfold, the thug in the pink shirt felt the pain as though it were his own. He felt guilty for betraying his partner to save his own skin. At the same time, however, he also felt a twisted sense of relief that the slushed remains weren’t his tongue.

The Unholy Sentence:

“You punk!” the thug yelled, his voice trembling yet fierce. Cornered with no way out, he tightened his grip on the metal pipe. “Think you’re tough? Let’s see if you can handle this! Time to taste real power!” Shaking off his fear, he channeled every ounce of strength into his right arm. “This is my ultimate move—Rusted Mega Swing!” he yelled, randomly coming up with the name on the spot.

With a wild roar, he swung, the pipe slicing through the air like a twisting dragon, flashing as it rushed toward Benson.

Dark Benson shook his index finger from side to side, giggling creepily as he mockingly whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” With effortless ease, he caught the rapidly swinging pipe between two fingers, then casually transferred it to his left hand.

The thug’s confidence shattered as he realized the vast difference in strength between them. A warmth spread down his leg as he wet himself. Frozen in place, paralyzed by hopelessness, he stood there, utterly defeated, fully accepting his fate and awaiting Benson’s final judgment.

“I… hereby… sentence you to death!” Benson declared, casually swinging his claws in front of the thug. It cast a gust of sharp wind that cut through the air like a blade, landing across the thug’s gut. A line of blood appeared, quickly widening as his intestines spilled out. In frantic panic, the thug desperately tried to shove his insides back into his stomach. He cried out in self-pity, fully aware that this was the end, and his face turned ghostly pale.

Within moments, the thug collapsed to the ground, his intestines spilling out in a gruesome display. Benson glanced down at the fallen thug with cold eyes and muttered, “What a pitiful creature. Now, you’re truly gutless.”

The Wrench Thug’s Escape:

Witnessing his partner’s demise, the thug with the wrench knew he stood no chance against Dark Benson. His only hope was to run. In a desperate attempt to buy himself a few more seconds, he tossed the wrench at Benson with all his might and then sprinted away, not daring to look back.

Benson casually tilted his neck to the left, as if he were stretching, easily dodging the flying wrench. He spun the metal pipe with his fingers, doing it just for fun, not in any hurry to attack, allowing the thug to run even farther. Dark Benson waved his index finger side to side, giggling creepily, and mockingly whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the rusty pipe flying toward the fleeing man. The pipe spun violently through the air, curving with deadly precision, slicing through the thug’s right knee as effortlessly as cutting through paper.

The thug’s leg was cleaved clean off, and he crashed to the ground as he lost his balance. The momentum carried his body, causing him to skid forward for a few feet. With his face pressed against the dirt, he literally bit the dust.

Blood sprayed rapidly from the open wound, quickly pooling on the ground. Everything happened too fast for him to process; he lay there, struggling to understand what had just occurred. He pushed with his arms, attempting to pull himself to his feet, still unaware that he had lost a leg. Before he could rise, a wave of numbness and dizziness overwhelmed him from the excessive blood loss. Soon, he lost consciousness and collapsed back to the ground.

Tragically, this thug’s fate was sealed in that moment.

The Pink Shirt’s Fate:

The thug in the pink shirt stood there, blank-minded and helpless, knowing he had no way out. Fighting was impossible, and escaping equally futile.

Just as he was certain that he was a goner, Dark Benson walked past him without a second glance and muttered, “Crawl away, you pathetic worm.”

The thug’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Unsure if it was a trap, he didn’t hesitate. He dashed away, hoping that Benson truly meant what he’d said about sparing him.

He kept on running, never looking back, nor stopping for a break—through dense forests, quiet rivers, steep mountains, remote villages, and deserted wastelands—Finally, he came to a halt in the wilderness, hundreds of miles from where he’d begun.

His pink shirt had faded to a dull gray, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was certain he had put enough distance between himself and Dark Benson’s wrath. With a deep breath, he allowed himself to collapse and rest on the sand, chuckling as he murmured, “I still can’t believe he doesn’t know it was me who spat on him.” Soon, exhaustion took over, and he fell into a sound, peaceful sleep.

Return to Normal:

With his task complete, Dark Benson felt the toll on his host’s energy. He leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the pavement. As his limbs shrank, claws retracted, and his hair darkened to its natural black, his skin regained its original color. Finally, Dark Benson dissolved into shadow, leaving Benson to sleep peacefully, unaware to the chaos left in his wake.

The alley fell silent, the night settling back into its usual tranquility, as if nothing had happened. Only the faint, unsteady glow of a flickering streetlamp remained.

Later that night, the news flickered on. “Here’s the latest: a violent confrontation in the city’s old district has left three dead and one critically injured. The sole survivor has sustained multiple bone fractures and severe third-degree burns to his nose. Authorities suspect the incident may be gang-related, though investigations are ongoing. We’ll provide more updates as details emerge.”