Gregory Vs Ebilade

"Why do you keep dodging!" Charles bellowed, his voice shaking with fury as he swung the stick wildly at Ebilade, each strike fueled by blind anger. His face was flushed red, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as he lost control, his arms flailing in frustration.

Ebilade sidestepped effortlessly, his expression calm but alert. "Why won't I?" he shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Did you really expect me to stand still and let you hit me?"

The mocking tone only fanned the flames of Charles' rage. His grip on the stick tightened, veins bulging on his forearms as he swung again, more recklessly than before. "You bastard!" he screamed, his voice hoarse, eyes wild with desperation. Each swing became more erratic, more uncoordinated. He was losing control, abandoning any form of defense in his frenzy to land a hit.

Ebilade's gaze sharpened. He saw his moment.

As Charles wound up for another wild strike, his body completely exposed, Ebilade ducked beneath the swing, his movements precise and swift. His fist clenched tightly as he shot up with a devastating uppercut. His knuckles connected with Charles' jaw with a resounding crack, the force of the punch lifting Charles off his feet.

Time seemed to slow for a moment. Charles' body was airborne, his eyes wide with shock, arms flailing helplessly as he was sent crashing down. He hit the ground hard, the impact reverberating through the alley. The stick clattered from his grip, rolling away as he groaned in pain, his hands instinctively clutching his face.

The other boys, who had been watching with smug amusement, froze. The cocky smirks disappeared, replaced by stunned silence. They exchanged nervous glances, clearly not expecting this outcome.

Ebilade stood over Charles, his chest heaving from the adrenaline rush, but his expression remained calm. He looked down at his opponent, blood still dripping from his lip, but his eyes burned with a quiet intensity. "Next time," he said, his voice steady and low, "pick a fight you can actually win."

The slow, deliberate sound of hands coming together echoed through the alley, breaking the tense silence. Ebilade, still catching his breath, turned to see Gregory stepping forward, his lips curled into a twisted grin. His cold, dark eyes gleamed with sinister amusement as he clapped, a mockery of applause. The air seemed to thicken with danger as he approached.

"Impressive," Gregory said, his voice smooth but dripping with menace. "The way you handled the situation, making Charles refuse help from the others and using that to your advantage. I have to say, that was some genius thinking." His grin widened as his gaze shifted briefly to Charles, who was still writhing on the ground, clutching his jaw. "Pathetic indeed."

Gregory's tone turned darker as he pulled out the knife he had flashed earlier, its cold blade catching the faint streetlight. He flicked his wrist casually, the weapon glinting as if hungry for blood. "Don't worry, Charles," he said, his eyes never leaving Ebilade. "I'll take it from here." He paused, turning slightly toward Charles. "You don't mind if I use this now, do you?"

Charles, still groaning in pain, spat blood onto the pavement and managed a bitter laugh. "I don't care. You can kill him for all I care," he muttered through gritted teeth.

The words struck Ebilade like a hammer. His eyes widened, and his heart raced with fear. Gregory's laughter filled the alley—cold, terrifying, and unhinged. It echoed off the walls, sending chills through the group. Even the other boys, who had seemed eager for a fight just moments ago, shrank back, their expressions twisting in fear.

Ebilade's instincts screamed at him to run, but his body betrayed him. His legs felt like lead, rooted to the spot. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stared at Gregory, whose expression had morphed into something purely predatory. Ebilade's breath quickened, his muscles tense, but despite the primal urge to flee, he couldn't move. His body seemed locked in place as the danger closed in.

Gregory raised the knife, the malicious grin on his face growing wider. His eyes glinted with sadistic delight. "This is what I've been waiting for," he said in a low, menacing voice. "Hey, nothing personal. Just doing it for a friend." Without another word, he lunged at Ebilade, the blade flashing as it sliced through the air, aimed straight for Ebilade's throat.

Time slowed. Ebilade's mind raced, his senses going into overdrive as death approached. He could see every detail: the wicked gleam in Gregory's eyes, the cruel curl of his lips, the glint of the knife as it streaked toward him. His breath caught in his throat. Fear coursed through his veins like ice water.

Instinct took over. At the last second, Ebilade jerked to the side, just enough to avoid the full force of the strike. The blade grazed his neck, a sharp sting spreading as blood oozed from the shallow cut. He stumbled backward, clutching the wound, his eyes wide with shock.

Gregory's grin grew even more terrifying as he licked his lips, his laughter filling the night once more. "Oh, you dodged. But how long can you keep this up?" He took a step closer, his knife glinting with anticipation.

Ebilade's heart thundered in his chest. His mind screamed at him to move, to fight, to do anything to survive.

Ebilade's breath was ragged, his hand pressing tightly against the shallow wound on his neck. His eyes never left Gregory, who stood before him with that twisted grin plastered on his face, like a predator toying with its prey. Fear gnawed at Ebilade's insides, but mixed with it was something else—an anger that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Why are you doing this?" Ebilade managed to ask, his voice strained but defiant. "And who are you even?" His eyes flickered with a glint of resolve, despite the weight of dread that hung over him.

Gregory's eyes lit up with a manic glint as he slowly raised the knife, his grin widening into something grotesque. He glanced down at the blood smeared on the blade, pausing for a moment before licking it with deliberate slowness, savoring it like a twisted ritual. The sight made Ebilade's stomach churn. Gregory's tongue slid over the edge of the blade, his eyes never leaving Ebilade's as if daring him to react.

"It's nothing personal," Gregory said, his voice disturbingly casual, like he was discussing the weather. "Like I told you before. And who am I?" He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers through everyone watching. "I'm Gregory. Greg, if you prefer. And..." He paused, his grin growing wider, more psychotic. "I'm the one who's going to send you to the hospital."

The way he said it, as if it was a foregone conclusion, sent a fresh wave of terror through Ebilade. The other boys stood frozen, too, their bravado from earlier drained away. They looked like they were caught in the web of something far darker than they'd anticipated, and Gregory was the spider in the center of it all.

Ebilade's heart raced, and the cold grip of fear tightened around his chest. He could feel it—the inevitability of his fate, the looming presence of death in Gregory's every movement. But something shifted inside him. If this was how it was going to end, if he had no choice but to face this, then he wasn't going to die on his knees. He wasn't going to die running.

A fire ignited in his eyes, and his grip tightened around his neck. The pain in his body dulled as adrenaline surged through him, pushing aside the fear. His mind focused, sharpening like a blade. He would confront Gregory, and if he was going down, he would go down fighting.

Ebilade straightened, his muscles tensing as he prepared himself. His eyes locked onto Gregory's, who, for a brief moment, seemed to sense the shift in the air. There was a flicker of surprise in Gregory's expression, but it was quickly replaced by a sadistic grin.

"You're not running?" Gregory tilted his head slightly, amused. "Good. Makes it more fun that way."

Ebilade took a slow, deliberate breath, his heart hammering in his chest, but his gaze never wavered. "If you're going to kill me," he said quietly, his voice steady, "I'll make sure you remember me."

Gregory's grin faltered for the briefest of moments before his laughter filled the alley once more, but this time, there was a hint of something different—an acknowledgment of the fight that was about to come.