Shadow From the Darkness

Section 1: The Other Benson

Deep inside Benson, another consciousness had always existed, quietly hibernating within him.

Benson never knew it was there.

Whenever he lost consciousness—through deep sleep, a coma, or even death—it could take control of his body, though it rarely chose to. On the few occasions it had surfaced before, Benson remembered nothing afterward except strange gaps in his memory.

But the other consciousness knew everything Benson knew.

And it could never remain for long.

Every moment it stayed in control rapidly consumed Benson’s life force.

Back in the alley, flesh and bone continued rebuilding themselves above Benson’s neck.

His jaw slowly took shape. A tongue formed inside it, followed by his lips.

They moved almost immediately.

“Heh…”

“Benson… my miserable little host.”

A crooked smile began to form across his half-restored face.

“Behold yourself. Cast upon the filthy ground, your head shattered, your body abandoned in some miserable alley.”

A faint chuckle escaped his newly formed throat.

“How utterly pathetic.”

More flesh knitted itself into place.

“And what a remarkable few days you have had. Kicked around. Rejected by one master after another. Reduced to your knees…”

His smile widened.

“Barking like a dog.”

“Heh heh…”

“And then, as though humiliation itself had not yet had its fill of you…”

“You willingly consumed dog feces.”

His laughter grew slightly louder.

“Benson… you truly do make me laugh from time to time.”

His face continued rebuilding itself.

“But do not mistake my presence for salvation. I do not exist to make you look cool.”

His newly formed eyes slowly opened.

“Nor am I here to get you a girlfriend. Even I have my limits.”

The irises turned a deep blood-red.

“I do not give a damn whether you live or die.”

His smile slowly returned.

“But… unfortunately, you and I are symbiotic.”

Two sharp fangs pushed down beneath his upper lip as the last wounds sealed.

Seconds later, the transformation was complete.

Dark Benson lay flat on the pavement for only a moment.

Then, without putting a hand on the ground, he snapped both feet upward. His entire body swung over in one smooth motion, flipping from horizontal to vertical before landing upright on his feet.

He glanced down at his hands.

His fingers had lengthened, each ending in a razor-sharp claw. The same had happened to his toes. His skin was deathly pale, almost bloodless.

He ran his claws through his hair.

It had grown long and white, falling around his shoulders.

Then he looked down at his legs.

Longer.

The short, unimposing Benson was gone.

Dark Benson now stood over 190 centimeters tall, his long limbs giving him an entirely different silhouette.

He flexed his claws, bared his fangs, and gave himself one final, satisfied inspection.

His blood-red eyes narrowed with a sly, predatory gleam.

A grin spread across his pale face.

“At last, I have returned, baby.”

Section 2: A Faint Warning

At that very moment, far across the city, Lee Kumlok was squatting in the dojo bathroom.

He had been there for nearly two hours.

For Lee, it was the most relaxing part of the day.

Then his asshole suddenly tightened.

Lee’s eyes snapped open.

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

He quickly wiped himself and flushed.

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

Lee hurried out and scanned the dojo, but there was nothing.

The danger signal had been extremely faint, and he could not tell where it had come from.

Yet somehow, it reminded him of yesterday—the moment his hand had come down toward Benson’s neck, and every instinct in his body had screamed at him to stop.

Back in the alley, the four boys were already making their way out when the tall, pale kid suddenly slowed down.

“Wait.”

The others looked back.

He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Did you guys hear that? It sounded like laughing… or more precisely, some creepy… maybe even spine-chilling chuckles. Almost like an ancient ghost whispering.”

The smoking kid and the pink-shirt kid looked back into the alley.

“I don’t know, but I kinda felt it too,” said the pink-shirt kid. “Something’s definitely a little… spooky back there.”

“I don’t know.”

The smoking kid listened for another second, then shrugged.

“Come on, dude. There’s nothing back there but a headless corpse. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He gave the pale kid a mocking look.

“And you call yourself a gangster? You’re scared like a fucking chick—”

Before he could finish, a tall, slender figure suddenly passed straight through the group, brushing against the smoking kid’s shoulder along the way.

None of them even had time to understand what had happened.

The next instant, the smoking kid was hurled through the air.

He slammed violently into a utility pole, the cigarette flying from his mouth on impact, then bounced off it and crashed back onto the pavement.

He coughed up a mouthful of blood and slumped against the pole, his head hanging limply over his chest.

He tried to lift it.

He couldn’t.

His spine was clearly broken.

The other three froze.

Several steps ahead of them stood a tall, pale figure.

Long white hair fell around his shoulders, and two sharp fangs showed beneath his lips. He looked almost like a vampire.

And yet—

there was something horribly familiar about that face.

Even through the transformation, they could still see Benson in it.

The figure slowly turned his head toward them and gave them 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.

Benson had spent years fantasizing about becoming something like a Super Saiyan, imagining himself moving from place to place in an instant. Perhaps some fragment of Dark Benson had always lingered somewhere deep within his subconscious.

As ridiculous as those fantasies had seemed, they had not come entirely from nowhere.

Dark Benson really could do it.

His range, however, was limited to about twenty meters.

The smoking kid stared up 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.”

Then he noticed the cigarette nearby.

He bent down, picked it up delicately between two claws, and examined the 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!”

Dark Benson made no attempt to remove the cigarette.

For nearly ten seconds, he simply stood there, watching the boy writhe and scream, savoring every trace of agony on his face.

At last, 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…”

His smile widened.

“I suppose it would only be proper for me 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.

Only the dead boy’s head kept snapping violently from side to side as the remaining slaps landed, a continuous barrage of cracks tearing through the alley until all fifty had been delivered.

When it finally ended, the smoking kid’s face was barely recognizable. Much of the flesh had been stripped from both cheeks, exposing bone and teeth beneath. One eye had been knocked completely from its socket.

Dark Benson lowered his hand and studied the corpse for a moment.

“Oh, dear.”

He tilted his head.

“It would appear I was somewhat excessive.”

Section 3: Returning the Favor

Dark Benson rose to his full height and turned toward the remaining three.

None of them dared to move.

The pink-shirt kid’s shoe quietly slid a few inches to the side.

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

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

The pink-shirt kid froze.

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

His foot slowly slid back into place.

“Very well. Let us continue our little game…”

Dark Benson looked from one terrified face to another.

“Which one of you spat in my eye?”

The three exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared to answer.

“WHO THE FUCK SPAT IN MY EYE?!”

The sudden roar made all three stumble a step backward.

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

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

The tall, pale kid immediately threw both hands out in front of him.

“Oh, I—I—”

Dark Benson spat.

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

The pale kid was still halfway through closing his mouth when it shot straight inside and plunged down his throat.

A small explosion erupted within his neck.

Blood burst from his mouth.

His throat had been shattered from the inside.

The pale kid staggered backward, trembling. His eyes found the pink-shirt kid, filled with disbelief and betrayal.

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

Then his knees struck the pavement.

His arm dropped, and a moment later, he collapsed face-first onto the ground.

He was dead before he ever got the chance to explain himself.

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 who remained.

“One careless touch, and you perish.”

The stocky kid had finally had enough.

He yanked off his shirt and threw it aside.

“Okay, enough!”

He pulled out the rusty pipe and gripped it with both hands.

They were trembling slightly.

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

He tightened his grip and charged.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The rusty pipe tore through the air three times in rapid succession, each swing harder and more desperate than the last.

Dark Benson effortlessly slipped past the first two.

Halfway through the final swing—

Dark Benson vanished.

The stocky kid stopped and slowly straightened up.

Dark Benson was gone.

“What the…”

His head snapped left, then right, his eyes searching frantically ahead of him.

Then he felt something against his back.

A body.

Ice-cold.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

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

Dark Benson stood directly behind him, back to back, casually leaning against him.

One finger was already wagging from side to side.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

A mocking smile curled across his lips.

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

The stocky kid could feel that ice-cold body pressed against his back.

Dark Benson was right there, openly mocking him.

Rage surged through him.

He spun around and swept the pipe with all his strength.

WHOOSH!

Dark Benson ducked beneath it.

The stocky kid immediately turned with the swing, ready to strike again—

then 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 the pipe with both hands.

Section 4: Dragon Pipe Dance

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.

His evasions were almost insultingly small—a slight tilt of the head, a subtle lean of the torso, the smallest shift of a shoulder.

Every swing missed him by inches.

Then the stocky kid saw it.

An opening.

The angle was perfect.

The speed was perfect.

There was nowhere left for Dark Benson to dodge—not unless he finally moved his feet.

For the first time, the corner of the stocky kid’s mouth began to rise.

The pipe came down—

Dark Benson vanished.

WHOOSH!

The pipe tore through empty air.

The smile disappeared from the stocky kid’s face.

An instant later, Dark Benson reappeared in exactly the same spot, still crouching over his shoe.

His claws were already back at the knot, carefully pulling and tightening it with the same serious concentration as before, as though the attack had never happened.

His feet had never shifted an inch.

The stocky kid finally stopped, bent over, and sucked in several deep breaths, his arms burning from the barrage.

Dark Benson, meanwhile, gave the knot one final, careful pull.

“Ah. At last.”

He slowly rose to his feet and looked down at his handiwork with quiet satisfaction.

“A splendid knot.”

Something in the stocky kid snapped.

With a furious roar, he leaped into the air, raised the pipe high above his head, and poured every last ounce of strength into one final attack.

SERIOUS SERIES…

SERIOUS SWING!

The pipe came crashing down with tremendous force, roaring through the air as tiny sparks flickered along its path.

Dark Benson merely raised one hand and gently caught it between two fingers.

CLINK.

The impact made those two fingers tremble ever so slightly.

Then everything stopped.

For a fraction of a second, the stocky kid hung in the air, both hands still wrapped around the pipe, his entire weight suspended from it.

Then his feet dropped back onto the pavement.

He pulled.

Nothing.

He pulled harder, twisting the pipe with both hands, but it remained firmly trapped between Dark Benson’s two fingers.

Gritting his teeth, the stocky kid gave one final desperate yank.

The pipe did not move an inch.

Then Dark Benson felt it.

Benson’s life force had already been heavily drained.

If he remained in control much longer, his miserable host would likely spend the next two or three days lying in bed, weak, exhausted, and barely able to drag himself around.

It was time to bring the game to an end.

Dark Benson applied a little more pressure with his fingers.

CRACK.

The rusty pipe snapped in two.

The stocky kid immediately released his half and stumbled two steps backward.

Dark Benson opened his fingers a moment later, letting the broken piece fall naturally from his hand.

CLANG.

It struck the pavement.

The stocky kid stared at him, breathing hard.

“You fucking coward! All you do is dodge! You don’t even have the balls to attack me!”

He backed away another half-step.

“What a fucking loser!”

Dark Benson regarded him for a moment.

Section 5: Once Was Enough

Then Dark Benson raised one finger and casually swept it through the air in front of the stocky kid.

That was all.

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.

Then he burst into wild laughter.

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

His laughter grew louder, almost hysterical.

“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.

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

He took a slow drag and wondered how the four newbies 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.”

Section 6: Begone

Back in the alley, the pink-shirt kid stood exactly where Dark Benson had left him, staring blankly at the bodies around him.

He seemed to have forgotten how to move.

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 slowly turned his blood-red eyes toward him.

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

The pink-shirt kid needed no further invitation.

He dropped onto all fours and scrambled away.

At first his movements were clumsy and frantic, his hands and feet slapping awkwardly against the pavement.

But after several strides, something changed.

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 into the distance.

Then he walked to a quiet corner of the alley and sat down against the wall.

The strength was already beginning to leave his body.

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

His long white hair gradually shortened.

The deathly pallor faded from his skin.

His claws withdrew.

His fangs disappeared.

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.