A sudden jolt of pain surged through his skull.
"Urgh… enough already," Ashra muttered, groaning as he clutched the side of his head. "What the hell is going on with me?"
His body trembled as if something unnatural was crawling beneath his skin. His breath felt heavier, labored. Slowly, he stood from the dusty floor, still disoriented, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare he couldn't remember.
"I… I don't even know how I ended up here. Why am I in this place?" he whispered.
Staggering toward the door of the dimly lit room, he pushed it open. A soft creak echoed through the silence. As he stepped outside, his eyes caught something disturbing—a bloodstain, fresh and dark, smeared across the large cracked window facing the street.
He stared.
12:00 A.M.
His heart froze.
"Wh-What the hell…?" His voice quivered. "Whose blood is that?"
A sharp chill ran down his spine. His legs moved on instinct, and he bolted from the house, bursting through the door like a frightened animal.
"I swear… I'm never coming back here again!"
Running through the cold, silent streets, Ashra finally stopped, gasping, bracing his hands against his knees as he caught his breath. The night air was unusually still, heavy with something unseen, something wrong.
"Nothing feels normal since last night," he muttered. "Why can't I remember anything clearly?"
His thoughts tangled as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the panic in his chest. "Forget it... I should just go home."
But as he continued walking, something felt off. The streets were too quiet. Every shop in the area was shut down. No signs of life. No chatter, no footsteps, no laughter—just silence.
"What the hell?" he mumbled. "Why is everything closed? The weather's perfect, but not a single soul around?"
He wandered farther, his curiosity pulling him ahead. Eventually, a distant murmur of voices reached his ears. A crowd?
Ashra moved closer, weaving through the side streets until he saw them—people gathered around, cheering, shouting, eyes fixed on something in the center.
He inched closer and realized what they were watching.
Two men.
Standing opposite each other.
Locked in a duel.
A 1v1 street shootout.
"Who do you think's gonna win?" someone whispered excitedly.
"Definitely the guy with the black shades," another said. "He looks like a pro—real cool and deadly."
"Yeah," a third agreed. "I'm putting all my money on him."
Bets were placed. Excitement ran high. The crowd roared.
But suddenly, the energy shifted.
The confident man in black spoke, his smirk sharp. "Let's see how much guts you really have. People like you shouldn't be challenging me."
The challenger smiled calmly. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Oh? You really think you can beat me?"
"I don't think—I know."
The man in black narrowed his eyes. "Now you're starting to piss me off."
"Good," the challenger replied. "Means I struck a nerve."
They both placed their hands near their guns, tension so thick it felt like the air had frozen.
"You're dead," the man in black growled.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunshots echoed like thunder.
The crowd gasped.
Dust swirled.
"I… I won!" the challenger yelled. "Told you I'd beat you!"
The man in black fell to the ground, clutching his side, stunned.
"I… lost? Impossible…"
Some cheered. Some groaned, clutching their lost bets. But before the tension could settle—
"Everyone run! Robbers! They're shooting anyone they see!"
Panic exploded.
People scattered in every direction.
"What the hell is going on now?" Ashra's eyes widened in horror. "I have to get out of here!"
He sprinted into a nearby shop, hiding behind the half-closed shutter as chaos took over the streets.
The robbers had arrived.
Guns in hand. Laughing. Shouting.
"Get everything you can! Kick down doors—take whatever you find!" one of them ordered.
Their leader stepped forward, cold and commanding. "Let's move! The sheriff ain't in town. This place is ours tonight."
Another laughed. "Heh, leave it to us, boss. We'll clean this place out."
Ashra's heart pounded. "So that's their boss?" he whispered. "Who the hell are these people?"
The sound of a child crying pierced through the madness.
A woman screamed, "My baby! Please, someone save him!"
"No! Don't go out there!" others tried to hold her back. "They'll shoot you!"
Ashra clenched his fists. "I can't just… stand here. If I don't do something, they'll kill that child."
He rushed outside, ignoring the cries to stay hidden.
"What's this kid doing?! Is he crazy?" someone yelled from inside.
"Just leave him. If he dies, it's not our problem," another muttered coldly.
Ashra crouched behind a nearby wall, trying to breathe. "If they see me… I'm dead. I have to think fast."
Then, the baby cried louder.
"Oh no… why now?!" Ashra muttered, his eyes darting.
The gang leader heard it.
"Well, well," he said with a cruel smile. "Whose child is this? Did they abandon you, little one?"
He stepped off his horse, slinging his rifle casually over his back. "Don't cry now. Uncle's here."
Ashra's eyes narrowed.
"No… he's not here to help. I can feel it."
He kicked the door open and sprinted.
SWOOSH!
"Leave the child alone! His mother's already terrified. She's desperate to get him back!" Ashra snapped.
"Oh, calm down," the boss said, removing his hat. "I'm just walking up to the baby. No harm, right?"
Their eyes met.
The man's eyes glowed red—unnatural, monstrous.
Ashra froze.
"What… are you?" His breath caught in his throat. Memories of last night clawed their way back into his mind. He stumbled, holding his head.
The boss chuckled. "Seems like this isn't your first time seeing something like this. You're… familiar with it, aren't you?"
He stepped forward. "People call me Morgan. But you, you can call me Mr. if that's easier."
Ashra growled. "I don't care who you are. Just leave. Let the people go. Haven't you killed enough already?"
"Oh, don't worry," Morgan smiled. "We'll leave… when we're done. No need to get so worked up."
"You're just cowards… taking advantage of a town because there's no sheriff here," Ashra snapped. "You'd never do this if someone strong was around."
Morgan's smile vanished.
"You talk too much, kid," the Morgan muttered, his voice cold as winter steel. His hand slid toward the rifle slung over his shoulder with terrifying calm.
Ashra's heart dropped.
Without thinking, he turned on his heel and ran.
The Morgan's lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"Let's see how far you get."
The gun rose.
BANG!
The sound cracked through the air like thunder.
"No—NO NO NO!" Ashra screamed, twisting his body and diving over the child like a human shield.
For a split second, silence.
The bullet missed the baby.
But Ashra hit the ground—hard.
Blood sprayed across the dirt, warm and fast, as it spilled from his side.
His body spasmed once… then stilled.
A sharp pain screamed through his nerves, and everything around him began to spin.
"I... I'm bleeding too fast..." he choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The world grew dim. His fingers trembled as they curled protectively around the child, even as strength fled from his body.
"I… I don't want to die… not like this… not yet…"
He felt the cold fingers of death brushing against him.
Then—
Darkness fell.
But even as consciousness slipped away, Ashra's last thought wasn't fear…
…it was the child still breathing beneath his arms.