Shadow From the Darkness

Section 1: The Regeneration

The four boys were making their way out of Local Alley, unaware of what was happening behind them.

Back where Benson’s headless body lay, scattered pieces of flesh and bone began to move. One by one, they lifted off the pavement and flew back toward his neck, gradually rebuilding his shattered head.

His jaw took shape first, followed by his tongue and lips. As soon as his mouth had formed, he began speaking.

“Heh heh heh… Benson, my miserable little host.”

A crooked smile spread across his lips as his nose emerged. He sniffed the air.

“Ah… the stench of weaklings.”

His eyes slowly formed, their irises turning blood-red. He gazed toward the four boys walking away.

“Four pitiful mortals… Did you truly believe you had escaped the darkness? How foolish.”

Long white hair grew from his scalp, drifting gently in the breeze. With a smooth flip, he sprang to his feet and glanced down at his hands. His fingers lengthened, their nails extending into razor-sharp claws.

“Ah, little Benson. Your endless quest for a maiden… how amusing. How utterly pathetic.”

He chuckled softly.

“Make no mistake. Your happiness is of no concern to me. All that matters is that this miserable vessel remains alive.”

His limbs lengthened, and his skin turned deathly pale, almost bloodless, as two sharp fangs emerged beneath his upper lip.

Within moments, he stood over 190 centimeters tall, with a lean frame, long white hair, blood-red eyes, and razor-sharp claws.

He flexed his claws, admiring his new form with a wicked grin.

“Now I’m back, baby.”

Section 2: The Other Benson

But the one standing in the alley was not the Benson the world knew.

Deep within his body, another consciousness had always existed, quietly hibernating. It was known as Dark Benson.

Benson himself never knew it was there.

Whenever Benson fell into a deep sleep or a coma—or even died—Dark Benson could take control of his body, though he rarely chose to.

Dark Benson could draw upon Benson’s memories. Benson, however, was left with unexplained gaps in his memory whenever the other consciousness took control.

They shared the same body, but not the same mind or desires.

Dark Benson watched the four boys walking away. He slowly raised one clawed finger and wagged it from side to side, a sinister grin spreading across his pale face.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

“Run, little mortals. Let the hunt begin.”

Meanwhile, the tall, pale kid suddenly slowed down and glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey, guys… I got a bad feeling. Something feels wrong back there.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t you think we should walk a little faster?”

The stocky kid rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck, dude? You scared of a dead guy? And you call yourself a gangster? What a fucking pussy!”

Section 3: Master Lee Senses the Shadow

Far across Flushing City, Lee Kumlok was squatting in his dojo bathroom.

He had been there for nearly two hours, enjoying the most relaxing part of his day.

Then his asshole suddenly tightened.

His eyes snapped open.

“Oh shit! Someone’s trying to attack me?”

He paused, sensing something deeply unsettling.

“No… Something evil is out there. Something dark… hunting.”

He quickly wiped himself, flushed, and hurried out of the bathroom.

“I’ve exposed my vulnerability for too long.”

He scanned the dojo, but found nothing unusual.

The warning was faint, yet strangely familiar. It reminded him of the moment he was about to strike Benson’s neck, when every instinct in his body had screamed at him to stop.

Lee stepped outside and looked toward Local Alley.

Above the rooftops in that direction, dark clouds hung unnaturally low. Something sinister seemed to be gathering beneath them.

Section 4: Shadow Falls Upon the Smoking Kid

Back in Local Alley, the four boys were still making their way toward the exit.

The stocky kid had barely finished mocking his friend when a tall, slender figure suddenly shot through the group from behind, deliberately slamming into the smoking kid along the way.

The next instant, the smoking kid was hurled through the air. He slammed into a utility pole with such force that his spine snapped. His cigarette flew from his mouth as he bounced off the pole and crashed onto the pavement.

He coughed up blood and slumped against the pole, his head hanging limply over his chest. He tried to lift it, but couldn’t.

The other three froze.

Several steps ahead stood a tall, pale, vampire-like figure with long white hair, blood-red eyes, and sharp fangs.

Something about his face bore an unsettling resemblance to Benson.

The figure turned toward them and gave a courteous little nod.

“Excuse me. Just passing through.”

Dark Benson vanished.

In the same instant, he appeared directly in front of the smoking kid.

Dark Benson really could teleport, though only within a twenty-meter range. Benson’s fantasies of moving like a Super Saiyan had not come entirely from nowhere. Some trace of this ability had always lingered deep within his subconscious.

The smoking kid stared at the pale face that had materialized inches from his own.

“AAAAAH!”

Dark Benson tilted his head.

“My, my. Such a mighty gangster, yet you shriek like a frightened maiden.”

He noticed the cigarette nearby, picked it up between two claws, and examined its still-glowing tip.

“Ah. You appear to have forgotten your cigarette. Allow me to return it to you.”

Before the boy could react, Dark Benson turned it around and calmly pushed the burning end into his nostril.

“AAAAAHHH!”

For nearly ten seconds, Dark Benson watched him writhe and scream, savoring every moment of his agony.

Then he rested his claws beneath his chin, as though something had suddenly occurred to him.

“Ah… I nearly forgot. You were also kind enough to bestow five slaps upon me earlier.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Such generosity should never go unanswered.”

He considered the matter for a moment.

“And as one who believes deeply in the courtesy of returning a gift… I suppose it would only be proper to return a little more than I received.”

The smoking kid’s eyes widened in terror.

“No, no, no, no! It’s okay! You don’t have to give anything back! Please don’t—”

Dark Benson’s hand moved.

Fifty slaps struck the boy’s face within seconds.

There were no visible afterimages, no blur of motion—nothing the human eye could follow. To the other three, Dark Benson’s arm seemed almost perfectly still.

For the first second, they could still hear the smoking kid screaming.

By the second, the screaming had stopped.

He was already dead.

Dark Benson continued anyway.

The dead boy’s head kept snapping violently from side to side until all fifty slaps had been delivered.

When it ended, his face was barely recognizable. Flesh had been stripped from his cheeks, exposing bone and teeth beneath. One eye had been knocked from its socket.

Dark Benson lowered his hand and studied the corpse.

“Oh, dear.”

He tilted his head.

“It would appear I was somewhat excessive.”

Section 5: The Shadow Claims the Pale Kid

Dark Benson turned toward the remaining three boys.

None of them dared to move.

The pink-shirt kid quietly slid one foot to the side, hoping to sneak away.

Dark Benson immediately raised one clawed finger and wagged it from side to side, a teasing smile spreading across his face.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

The pink-shirt kid froze.

“Escape, I am afraid, is no longer among your options.”

The boy slowly slid his foot back into place.

“Now then… which one of you spat in my eye?”

The three exchanged nervous glances, but no one answered.

“WHO THE FUCK SPAT IN MY EYE?!”

The three boys stumbled backward, stunned by the sudden roar. Apparently, this ancient-sounding monster knew how to swear in modern English.

The pink-shirt kid immediately pointed at the tall, pale kid.

“Him! It was him! I saw it with my own eyes!”

The pale kid threw both hands up.

“Wait! I—”

Dark Benson spat.

A mouthful of saliva shot from his lips like an arrow, tearing through the air as tiny sparks flickered around it.

Before the pale kid could close his mouth, it shot straight down his throat.

BOOM!

A small explosion erupted inside his neck, shattering his throat from within.

Blood burst from his mouth as he staggered backward, trembling. His eyes turned toward the pink-shirt kid, filled with disbelief and betrayal.

With his last strength, he raised one shaking hand and pointed directly at him.

Then his knees struck the pavement, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground.

He was dead.

Dark Benson slowly ran his tongue along one of his claws.

“My, my. You mortals truly are as fragile as flowers.”

He glanced at the two remaining boys.

“One careless touch, and you perish.”

Section 6: The Stocky Kid Defies the Shadow

The stocky kid had finally had enough.

He yanked off his shirt, threw it aside, and pulled out his rusty pipe. He gripped it with both hands, though they were trembling slightly.

“You think you’re fucking intimidating? I ain’t scared of you! I’ll teach you a fucking lesson!”

He charged.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The rusty pipe tore through the air three times, each swing harder than the last. Dark Benson effortlessly dodged the first two.

Halfway through the third swing, he vanished.

The stocky kid stopped and looked around frantically.

“What the…”

Suddenly, he felt something against his back.

A body. Ice-cold.

What the hell? Is this guy even alive? Why is his body so cold?

Dark Benson stood directly behind him, casually leaning against his back, wagging one finger from side to side.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

“Such mighty blows… and yet not one could find its mark.”

Furious, the stocky kid spun around and swung his pipe with all his strength.

WHOOSH!

Dark Benson ducked beneath it.

The stocky kid turned, ready to strike again, but stopped.

Dark Benson was crouching on the ground, tying his shoelace.

“Ah. Of all moments, my shoelace chooses now to come undone.”

He calmly tightened the knot.

“One careless step, and I might trip over myself. The consequences could be most severe.”

The stocky kid’s face twitched.

“You motherfucker!”

He raised his pipe with both hands.

DRAGON PIPE DANCE!

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The rusty pipe erupted into a furious barrage, swinging at Dark Benson from every direction.

Dark Benson’s feet never moved. He avoided every strike with a slight tilt of his head, a subtle lean of his body, or a small shift of his shoulder.

Then the stocky kid spotted an opening.

The angle was perfect. There was nowhere left for Dark Benson to dodge without moving his feet.

A grin spread across the stocky kid’s face as his pipe came crashing down.

Dark Benson vanished.

WHOOSH!

The pipe struck nothing.

An instant later, Dark Benson reappeared in exactly the same spot, still crouching over his shoe, carefully tightening the knot as though nothing had happened.

The stocky kid finally stopped, bent over, and struggled to catch his breath.

Dark Benson gave the knot one final pull and slowly stood up.

“Ah. At last. A splendid knot.”

Something inside the stocky kid snapped.

With a furious roar, he leaped into the air, raising the pipe high above his head.

SERIOUS SERIES…

SERIOUS SWING!

The pipe came crashing straight toward Dark Benson’s head.

Just then, a gust of wind swept a few strands of his long white hair across his face.

“Accursed wind,” he muttered, casually raising one hand to smooth it back.

CRACK!

The pipe struck his forearm, bending it at an unnatural angle.

The stocky kid landed on his feet, grinning.

“HAHA! How do you like that, motherfucker?!”

“Oh dear. Was that your mightiest blow?” Dark Benson remarked as his forearm snapped back into place. “How… disappointing.”

The stocky kid’s grin vanished.

“What the fuck…”

He stepped backward, his hands beginning to tremble.

Dark Benson slowly flexed his restored arm, then turned his blood-red eyes toward him.

But he could already feel Benson’s life force draining away. Every moment he remained in control consumed his host’s energy, and he had drained enough to leave Benson weak and exhausted for the next two or three days.

It was time to end the game.

Section 7: The Shadow Devours the Stocky Kid

Dark Benson regarded the stocky kid for a moment.

Then, without warning, he swept one claw across the boy’s chest and abdomen in a single, lightning-fast motion.

The stocky kid blinked.

He looked down at his bare torso, then back at Dark Benson.

Nothing had happened.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

“HAHAHAHA! Look at you! What the fuck was that? You some kind of ballet dancer now?”

His laughter grew louder.

“HAHAHAHAHA—”

A thin red line appeared across his abdomen.

The laughter stopped.

The stocky kid looked down as blood began seeping from the line.

“What the…”

The wound suddenly split open.

His eyes widened as his intestines began slipping from his abdomen. He instinctively caught them with both hands, desperately trying to hold them in, but they continued sliding through his fingers and spilling onto the pavement.

Dark Benson watched him struggle, a faint smile touching his lips.

“Ah. So this is what mortals mean when they speak of laughing their guts out.”

The stocky kid stared at him in horror as more slipped between his fingers.

“How remarkably literal.”

His knees buckled. A heavy mass of intestines dropped onto the pavement, followed by the stocky kid himself.

He collapsed beside them and went still as blood spread beneath his body.

Dark Benson had finally attacked him.

Once had been enough.

Section 8: Begone

Elsewhere, Canelo lounged on his couch watching TV, a cigarette between his fingers.

He took a slow drag, wondering how his four new recruits were doing.

“Hmm… they probably fine.”

He stared at the television for a few seconds. The stocky kid’s arrogant, reckless face flashed through his mind.

“Mm… I’m not so sure ’bout that.”

He took another drag and shrugged.

“Whatever.”

Back in Local Alley, the pink-shirt kid stood frozen, staring at the bodies of his three companions.

Dark Benson glanced at him.

“Why do you still stand there? Go. Begone.”

The pink-shirt kid blinked.

“You… you mean I can just go now? You’re not gonna kill me?”

Dark Benson turned his blood-red eyes toward him.

“Begone. Crawl away like the dog you are, before I change my mind.”

The pink-shirt kid immediately dropped onto all fours and scrambled away.

At first, his movements were clumsy and frantic. But after several strides, his arms and legs began falling into a strangely natural rhythm, and he started moving faster.

He never noticed. He was far too terrified to look back.

Dark Benson watched him disappear, then walked to a quiet corner of the alley and sat against the wall.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and became still.

His long white hair shortened, his claws withdrew, and his fangs disappeared. The deathly pallor faded from his skin as his tall frame slowly shrank back to its ordinary size.

Within moments, Dark Benson was gone.

Only Benson and his watermelon hair remained, unconscious against the wall.