"In this world, strength is not a gift… it is the price one pays to stay alive."
"The Kara is the vital energy that flows through all things. Some shape it to create, others to destroy… but all depend on it to survive."
"When the breath of Kara fades, the heart stops beating, and the soul disappears into the eternal shadow."
...The sea wind blew over the tin roofs of the small port district. The cries of children, buckets of spilled water, and the steady rhythm of the waves marked the days in this forgotten corner of Congo.
This is where Bum Darly lived, a fourteen-year-old boy with a proud gaze and a provocative smile.
— "Hey, arrogant one! Give me your bread, or we'll smash your head in again!" a taller boy shouted, his fists already clenched.
Darly sneered, his hands in the pockets of his worn-out pants.
— "You'll have to come and get it, idiot."
The blow came immediately. In seconds, Darly was pinned to the ground. He spat a little blood, his face still mocking.
— "You hit like tired fishermen..."
The children left him there, bloodied but still laughing, his dry laugh echoing between the shacks.
Darly never cried. It was his way of existing.
When evening came, a soft light bathed the Bum family's home. His father, Leroy, and his mother, Maya, were checking the day's merchandise, her smile lighting up the room.
Leroy: (without looking up)
— In trouble again, Darly?
Darly:
— It's nothing. They just don't like me, that's all.
Maya: (placing a tender hand on her son's shoulder)
— My heart… you don't need to be loved by everyone. Just be strong, but not cruel.
Darly: (looking away, embarrassed)
— I know, Mom…
Leroy: (running a finger over a worn net)
— This one is almost done for. It won't last another season.
Darly: (stretching lazily)
— Then sell it for half price to that old grump. He'll complain, but he'll buy it anyway.
Leroy: (a slight smile at the corner of his lips)
— That's not how we do business, kid. Reputation is all we have. A fragile net today is a lost customer tomorrow.
Darly:
— Or it's a customer who comes back to buy a new one next week. That's business, isn't it?
His father shook his head, a mix of exasperation and pride in his eyes.
— You're too arrogant for your own good. One day, that mouth of yours will get you into real trouble.
Darly: (standing up, his smile widening)
— Not if I can run fast enough.
He was like that. Rude, with a self-confidence that bordered on insolence. It was his shell. In the alleys of the port, his parents' success attracted jealousy like light attracts mosquitoes. The other children often picked on him. Darly never complained. He took the hits, and the next day, his smile was even wider, his gaze even more defiant.
The door to their modest home opened, letting his mother in. Her face lit up when she saw them.
Maya:
— Stop bothering your father, Darly. And you, stop letting him get away with it. You two, I swear...
She approached her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder.
— The nylon delivery has arrived at the warehouse. I'm going to check the quality before they close.
Leroy: (frowning)
— It's getting late. I can go tomorrow morning.
Maya: (with gentle firmness)
— And let those vultures pass off second-rate material on us? No way. I won't be long. Darly, don't burn the house down while I'm gone.
Darly:
— I promise. Only if I'm attacked.
His mother gave him a mock-stern look, then ruffled his hair before heading into the darkening alley.
— I'll be right back.
The rain began to fall, a light drizzle that quickly turned into a curtain of water. An hour passed.
Darly:
— She's still not back.
Leroy: (putting down his tools, worry etched on his face)
— I know.
Silence settled in, heavy, broken only by the drumming of the rain. Then, screams erupted in the distance. Cries of panic.
Darly's father grabbed a heavy wooden club that was lying near the door.
— Stay here. Lock it.
But Darly was already behind him, his heart pounding. His smile was gone.
They went out into the pouring rain. The scene was a chaos of screams and fleeing figures.
Near the warehouse, a shape lay under a tarp. Darly's father approached, his legs trembling, and lifted the fabric.
His wife's body. Lifeless.
He fell to his knees in the mud, a hoarse sob tearing from his throat.
— "Maya... no..."
He stayed there, prostrate, a broken man. Then, slowly, his grief turned into an icy hatred. He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
— "Who...?" he whispered, his voice broken but full of menace.
Darly, standing back, watched his father collapse. He saw his mother's body. He saw the curious crowd.
A cold, clear thought crossed his mind: *My father is broken. It's up to me now.*
Responsibility, heavy and glacial, fell upon his shoulders. He approached, placed a hand on his father's shoulder, not to comfort him, but to pull him up.
His childhood had just died.
The news of Maya's death spread through the port like an oil slick. An accident, the local authorities said, a robbery gone wrong. But Leroy and Darly didn't believe it for a second. They knew the jealousy that gnawed at the district, the silent hatred directed at their small success.
Leroy: (face hard, eyes red)
— An accident... They take us for fools. It's one of them. I know it.
Darly: (voice low, filled with a new venom)
— We'll find him.
Days turned into weeks, then months. Grief, instead of subsiding, morphed into a corrosive obsession. The father and son changed. Leroy, once proud of his reputation, became paranoid and aggressive. He accused his neighbors, fought with old friends, his business collapsing in a whirlwind of alcohol and rage.
Darly, for his part, shut down. The mocking smile had given way to a mask of coldness. He no longer provoked the other children. He watched them. He spent his days wandering the alleys, hands in his pockets, listening to conversations, searching for a name, a clue, a lead. He learned to fight, no longer by taking hits, but by hitting back. Vicious, precise blows. The frail boy was becoming a young wolf on the prowl.
One evening, six months after Maya's death, Leroy came home, drunk, holding a man by the collar.
Leroy: (yelling)
— It's him! I heard him bragging at the bar! He said my wife had it coming!
Darly: (stepping out of the shadows, a fish knife in his hand)
— What did he say?
The man, a simple, stupid, drunk fisherman, turned pale.
The Fisherman:
— I... I didn't say anything! Let me go!
That night, they beat him. They left him unconscious in the mud. But it wasn't him. Darly knew it. He didn't have that aura, that darkness he had sensed on the night of the tragedy. They had just become brutes, attacking ghosts.
Their reputation was destroyed. They were no longer the Bums, the respected merchants. They were the "madmen," the outcasts.
It was at that moment, when they had hit rock bottom, that the real culprit decided to show himself.
He was waiting for them in front of their house, a massive figure silhouetted in the night mist. His face was covered, but his red eyes shone with amusement.
The Man:
— I heard you were looking for a murderer. You're wasting your time on small fry.
Leroy and Darly froze. It was an energy they had never felt before. A pressure so intense it seemed to twist the air.
The Man:
— Your wife was a mistake. A mere distraction on my path. But your little investigation... it's starting to get annoying. The Blood Burn organization doesn't like people snooping in its business.
He pulled a long, black sword from under his coat, the blade coursing with red veins.
— I was sent to close the case. Permanently.
Leroy stood in front of Darly.
Leroy:
— Darly... run.
Darly:
— Never.
The fight was brief. Terrifying. Leroy, despite his rage, was just a man. The Blood Burn parried his attack and cut him in two with a single, fluid motion.
Darly:
— FATHER!
The monster turned to him.
— One down.
Darly no longer felt fear. He felt nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. He picked up his father's fishing knife, the only inheritance he had left.
The Blood Burn:
— You want to try too, little one?
Darly didn't answer. He threw himself forward.
The Blood Burn disarmed him, broke his arm, then a leg, leaving him crawling in the mud. He crouched down, savoring his victory.
— See? You are nothing. Your family is nothing. Your entire existence is just a footnote.
He raised his sword for the finishing blow.
But in Darly's eyes, the emptiness had transformed. The hatred, the pain, the despair... it had all merged into one thing. A pure will. The will not to die. The will to kill this man.
But despite this rage, Darly closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
End of Chapter 35