Joan blended with the shadows. Her midnight hair and black clothing masked her presence behind Amarya.
For the past few days, she'd been paying close attention to the happy-go-lucky girl. After playing Mortal Strike, Joan would follow Amarya home, but she'd yet to notice any suspicious activity. The only place she'd visited that wasn't in her routine trip home was the stationery store, something so befitting of Amarya's personality that Joan didn't feel the least bit surprised as she watched her enter.
As Joan pulled the black hoodie over her head, she told herself this would be the last time she'd stalk the innocent girl. And as the sun set to the west and the last shades of pink and purple disappeared from the night sky, Amarya arrived in front of her apartment complex, a solemn gray building which seemed to be shrouded in a cloud of ambiguity.
Joan sighed to herself. It seemed like Amarya really was innocent. But just as she turned away, ready to return to the slums, a familiar voice echoing from behind froze her in her place.
"Amarya!" a deep, male voice called out. It was the same boy that had stopped by in front of M High School just a few days earlier.
Joan turned around to see Amarya ignore the boy and stride to the stairwell of the apartment building, but before she could get there, the boy caught up and latched on to her wrist.
"Bastard, what does he think he's doing?"
Joan was prepared to beat the guy until she heard Amarya say, "Damien, stop following me."
Joan froze. Had Amarya recognized him all along?
"Amarya, we can work this out. We always have." Damien meekly shook his head. If it were any other girl, he'd have them weak on their knees with his sympathy-evoking expressions. But Amarya seemed oblivious to his obvious attempts to get her to come back to him.
Instead, Amarya scowled. Her forehead creased, and her lips curled back to reveal her sharp canines. The pure, innocent mask Amarya always had wrong was pried off.
���You fucking creep," Amarya humorlessly chuckled.
Joan raised a brow at the hostile curse words coming from Amarya's mouth.
Amarya raised a fist and threw it toward Damien, who deflected it but ended up stumbling back multiple steps in the process.
"Amarya, what are you doing?" Damien yelled. His voice was laced with hurt and betrayal as if he didn't realize just how out of bounds his relentless stalking was.
Amarya took advantage of his confusion to rush forward, delivering several more punches to Damien. But in the end, Damien's knocked away her arms without much effort.
Joan gnawed at her lower lip, unsure of what to do. Whose side should she be on? And why was Amarya acting so different?
Amarya continued to hurl a barrage of fists at Damien. For such a small girl, she sure had a boundless amount of energy. Amarya swung and swung, but no matter how hard she swung, no matter how hard she attempted to pinpoint Damien's weak points, he swatted away her hands, as if she were nothing more than a passing nuisance.
"Stop playing strong. We all know you're weak," Amarya growled.
The words seemed to click with Damien. His brows furrowed, and he grinned his teeth together to produce an ear-wrenching crunch. And as Amarya swung another fist at him, he caught her wrist and held it above her head.
"Apologize," he demanded.
Amarya fiercely shook her head. "You'd have to kill me first," she spat.
Damien tackled her down to the pavement, holding her hands above her head. Her legs were trapped between his knees as he looked down at her.
Amarya widened her eyes. Since when had Damien been this strong?
"You really thought I was weak?" Damien's eyes were wide as a psychotic smile formed across his lips. "You have some learning to do."
His tone and expression sent chills down Amarya's spine, and she felt at a loss for words.
Suddenly, Damien's weight disappeared from Amarya's slender body. A silhouette held Damien up by the hair atop his head. His feet dangled helplessly over the ground as he attempted to identify his attacker.
"Who the fuck are you?" he spat.
Amarya's cloaked hero didn't answer Damien's question. Instead, he threw Damien against the ground, delivering several steadfast blows to Damien's face. The mysterious man's blows were given so fast, Damien could hardly process the exploding pain before another strike came into contact.
Damien grunted and shrieked with pain, writhing beneath Joan's fists.
His blood splattered over Joan's fists with the randomness of an abstract painting.
Amarya scrambled backward, half terrified and half in awe. Just who was this man? But before she could question it any further, her heart told her to run. And Amarya followed its instructions. She turned on her heel and sprinted as fast as she could up to her apartment.
With trembling hands, she jammed her key into the doorknob, cursing at herself when her desperate attempts missed and ended up poking the doorknob. In downtown, keys were no longer necessary. Touch and Face ID were the only thing a person needed to get around. But in the area near the slums, it seemed as though they were still stuck in the late 2050s.