Death Street

Night had fallen. He knew this area well, and even though his visibility had been significantly reduced, he knew where he was. One of the city's worst districts. Local newspapers often reported assaults and beatings in the area. Despite the complete lack of lighting on the street he was now walking down, he wasn't afraid. The old buildings prevented Neyist from offering him any support, but another fact was that he hadn't asked for any help. He wanted to figure this out on his own. He was certain that if he was patient enough, he would meet the people he had planned and deal with them, which seemed strange to him, especially since he shouldn't think like that, considering who they were.

It seemed to him that he had planned everything, his movements, his words, his actions. Yet he knew that what he did now would change his life, turn him onto a different path. Was it the right one? Should he act this way, he wondered. He prepared his weapons, his formulas, and overcame the fear that now haunted him. I won't be a mere observer! Now I can change something; I have the power!

He glanced at his watch. It was almost one in the morning. He walked slowly, carefully taking each step, as if afraid he might summon the wolf from the forest. His heart was pounding in his chest. Only now did he feel a shiver run through his entire body. He doubted the vengeance he'd sworn to himself a few days ago. No! There was no turning back now! He'd gone too far with this. He had to finish this cup, even though he knew it would eventually be bitter.

He was about halfway to the end of the alley when he spotted them. By them, I mean three muscular men in dark sweatshirts with hoods pulled over their heads. They were moving toward him with their characteristic gait. One of them had his hands in his pockets, the other spitting on the sidewalk every few seconds. They all rocked back and forth, setting the pace.

Adrenaline began to flow through his body. His heart began to beat faster, and every muscle tensed. It was about to begin, he thought. Although he had decided not to provoke them or start a brawl, he was prepared to respond to their violence with violence.

Even though they approached within a few meters, he couldn't see their faces, hidden by hoods and the darkness. As they passed, he thought his heart would leap out of his chest and he would flee as quickly as possible. For a split second, the thought crossed his mind: to run ahead without hesitation, to chicken out. They had passed. He couldn't believe it. They had simply passed him by. Impossible. He hadn't been attacked in the middle of the night on a street where he was alone and there were three of them.

He turned and looked at the suspected robbers, who were walking forward as if nothing had happened. He brushed his hair back from his forehead and wiped his face with his sleeve. He relaxed the muscles that had been tense the entire time. He breathed heavily. However, what happened next unfolded as he had predicted. A few seconds later, he watched the attackers turn towards him and, taking a few steps forward, confront him. Two of them surrounded him, closing off his only escape route.

"Man, do you have a cell phone?" the one chosen as negotiator said.

"I don't have one," replied Michał, whose heart had never been beating so fast. Chills gripped him again.

"Should we search you? Give it back!" another spoke up.

"I don't have one. You're not getting anything.

" "Fuck, kid, give me your money or we'll kill you!" The negotiator approached Michał and began searching his pockets, searching for anything he could steal and sell for a reasonable sum. However, he was sorely disappointed, as he was pushed away by his target.

"Fuck! I'll fuck you for this!" he growled, repulsed.

Now everything began. He felt time freeze, allowing him to deliberately execute his plan. Before the others could react, he was already prepared. He threw his right arm back, bent his legs slightly, and whispered the spell's formula. He fished something out of the darkness. A blade flashed, and the hilt of a sword materialized in his hand, the same one he had imbued with the Transference spell. He spun it in the air, creating spectacular circles. He stopped the blade at eye level, the point facing his attackers. He raised his right hand to neck level. A small ball of fire, composed of swirling energy currents, appeared in his hand. It emanated a rather intense light, causing his opponents, terrified by the phenomenon, to take a few steps back. The alley was illuminated by a magical glow. Michał's eyes also changed color. The blue gave way to a wild orange mixed with red. It covered the entire surface of his eye, instilling even more terror in the bandits.

Without waiting, Michał straightened his arm at the elbow, releasing a small bullet that struck one of the attackers in the stomach and sent him flying so far that he slammed back against the building wall. He fell to the sidewalk, his clothes catching fire in several places.

With quick cuts, he struck another attacker, slashing him repeatedly in the face and neck. Blood gushed from the wounds, staining the blade and both men's clothing. The attacker fell on his back. The other, terrified, pulled a folding knife from his pocket, colloquially known as a "scythe," but he wasn't sure what to do with it.

Michał raised his blade above his head, exposing his torso and waiting for his opponent to move forward. His face filled with fear, he tried to attack, but each time he approached, the specter of a flying blade stopped him from moving any further. However, desperation took over. With a wide swing, he tried to strike Michał in the stomach. However, Michał was faster. He shifted his grip and pulled the hilt. The blade arced in a semicircle in the air and struck his opponent's arm just above the wrist, severing his hand. A muffled scream escaped his throat. He fell to his knees, trying to hold

his wounded hand. Then he heard an ominous voice, as if from the devil himself, telling him not to worry about what had happened. When he looked up, all he saw was the blade flying towards him, slicing into his neck like butter, severing the head from the rest of the body. It spun around several times before falling next to the corpse it had belonged to moments before.

The last man, who had already managed to stand up and extinguish his clothes, realized that it was now his turn. He quickly ran in the direction he had come from, his legs pumping like never before. Before he could escape this street of death, however, a wall of flames, almost three meters high, appeared before him. It blazed with an uncanny intensity. He was petrified with terror. He had never seen anything like it. A mysterious, fiery wall rose before him. Something that only existed in fairy tales or fantasy stories. This couldn't be real, yet he was terrified. He couldn't escape. Before him was an insurmountable barrier. Behind him. He turned around. Michał held his hand just above his eye level, palm up. He couldn't imagine his opponent falling for this trick. Illusions can sometimes be more powerful than many fire spells.

The bandit clung to the wall, unsure what to do. He wanted to flee, but he didn't know where. Michał ran toward him, creating bizarre shapes in the air with his bloody sword. As he leaped toward him, he grabbed his shirt with his left hand and pinned him against the wall. The blade flew toward his opponent's face, almost touching his neck with its point.

"I beg you! No!" the thug whimpered. "I'll do anything! Anything...

" "Tell that to the one who hurt Klaudia," Michał replied coldly.

He reveled in the image of his disoriented victim as he plunged the blade of his sword into her chest. The blade easily pierced her ribs, pierced her lung, and embedded itself in the wall of the building. The thug uttered several strange sounds that perfectly reflected the state of agony he was in. A moment later, he lowered his head and fell limply onto the sword that held him. With a swift movement, he yanked the sword from his body and stepped away from the corpse that was flying at him, which then silently landed on the sidewalk.

He had achieved his goal. But at what cost! Now he felt what it was like to be a murderer. He had achieved his revenge. Those few moments had transformed him internally. He already knew what it was like to kill a man. He had seen the dying man slump to the ground, begging for mercy before his death. It shook him deeply. Now he had to leave. Soon, people would know what had happened here. It was better if they didn't see him with that corpse.

He turned and canceled the illusion, which only seemed to provide light. No one but himself and his opponent had seen this phenomenon. Moreover, if the other had accidentally tripped and bumped into that wall, he would have been truly stunned, for he would have fallen through it as if nothing had existed.

Michał's eyes were slowly returning to normal. The anger was fading, the envy was fading. Only emptiness remained. He didn't know what to do with himself. A tear formed in his eye. He dropped his sword, which fell to the pavement with a long clang. The sound echoed in the silence that reigned. He fell to his knees and wept.