2: Deeper Than A Bruise

She woke up in agony. It felt as if needles were prodding into her shoulder and ribs. Her legs and arms burned like fire, and she could barely see as the world around her spun in circles. She tried to push herself off the ground but immediately crashed back into the pavement with throbbing pain. Her shoulder, there was no doubt it was broken.

The rain hadn't stopped, and her clothes were soaked to the skin, the breeze tormenting her freezing body. Lazzir tried to look around from where she lay, her neck cramping miserably. It was still dark. She could see her bike in the distance through the shade of the helmet. Something was also moving on the ground several yards away, although she could not tell what it was.

Lazzir attempted to sit up again, this time using her stronger arm. She had no recollection of how she got there. Peering up at the swinging street sign above, she watched the stoplight slowly blink from yellow to red. Right, wasn't she heading home?

She staggered, planting a shaky foot into the watery ground. The earth below began to rotate violently, and the sky spiraled. Falling to her knees once more, she ripped open the shade of her helmet and vomited onto the sopping pavement. After catching her breath, she ripped her helmet off altogether and hurled it into the street.

Crawling was better. Crawling, she could manage. She inched through puddles and small rushing streams until it was within reach. Lazzir looked down, realizing that the unknown object in the distance was actually a human. She couldn't see a face under the sizeable brown coat torn and sprawled widely over their body. However, both legs poking out from the coat appeared to be twisted and repulsively broken.

They had to have been dead. Lifting a shivering hand towards the brown coat, she held her breath in preparation for what she was about to see.

"Don't touch me!"

She jolted back, grabbing her wounded shoulder as she tensed. A male face emerged from the coat, blood and lesions across his skin. His breaths were shallow and quick as his expression scrunched into wincing pain. It was clear that he was in much worse shape than she was.

"Oh, god!" Lazzir exclaimed. She leaned forward, anxiously looking down at the wounded man. "Are you okay?!"

The man writhed. "Do I look okay to you?" he squawked. "Oh, god. Oh, god! I can't die now... What a waste!"

Her eyes darted around for a moment. "I-it's okay! You're not going to die," she assured. She hurriedly dug into her jacket pocket, struggling to pull out a cell phone. She flipped it open and began to press the number 911. "I'll call for help! You'll be okay, just-"

The man reached up and forcefully slapped the phone from her hand before she could finish typing in the numbers. "Stop it, you fool!" he cried out. He rolled around, cradling his ribs. "It's too late for any of that now. You don't have a clue. You have no idea what you've done!"

Lazzir's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. She reached for her phone on the pavement a few feet away. "I'm going to get us help. I won't just let you die!"

"No!" He thrust himself forward, snatching her jacket and pulling her back. "You stupid, stupid girl! We can't do anything about it now. It's already happening, dammit!" His breaths were becoming wheezes, and his eyes roamed the sky aimlessly. He pulled her closer with a violent tug. "She's going to come for you now. Prepare yourself! Run far away from here! Don't do what I did!"

He was becoming delirious. Lazzir didn't know what to do. For a dying man, his grip was firm, and she was in too much pain to fight him. She couldn't do anything but stare back at him in horror.

The man's hold finally loosened, and his hand dropped. He calmly filled his lungs with cold air as rain fell onto his bruised cheeks. "I didn't know... dying hurt so much..."

"What?..." Lazzir's gaze was stuck on his face. It was like time stopped for just a moment as she watched him. His chest was no longer rising, and his eyes were frozen. "Wait... wait! You can't-" She sat up, coming to her senses. Folding her fingers over each other, she placed her palms on his chest. "I won't let you-" She started to press down vigorously, her shoulder cracking and screaming in pain with every compression.

She pushed harder, faster, over and over. Grinding her teeth through her own excruciating pain, she refused to stop. Gasping for air, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes.

"Please, sir," she cried. "Please don't die. I can't be the reason... that someone dies."

Suddenly, something floated across her face. Then something else. Bright specks of blue light began to multiply before her, hovering softly towards the sky. Lazzir's compressions began to weaken.

What was she seeing?

The man's body was fading, disappearing as the shining blue specks floated to the clouds. His fingers, his coat, the edge of his face—all of it started to vanish right before her eyes. She jumped back, digging her heels into the ground to push herself away, and watched as the man gradually faded into nothing.

After a few moments, the man and any trace of his existence were gone entirely. So she was left sitting alone in the quiet and rain.

----

"I'm sorry, did we startle you?"

It was all three of them. The thugs from before stood in front of Todotori, sinister expressions on each of their faces. He knew they would come and find him; he just didn't expect it to be so soon. It was unlikely he could run away from the situation this time.

"Hello, boys," Todotori smirked, attempting to hide his uneasiness. "Long time no see."

The giant with the forehead scar stepped forward; Todotori stepped back. He was clearly the pack's leader and more petrifying up close than before. He'd seen the man's strength in their earlier encounter, ripping an entire car door from its frame with a single arm. Fighting him wasn't going to be easy.

"I believe you have something that belongs to us," the man growled.

"That's funny, I didn't think it was yours to begin with," Todotori retorted.

Although it was true, he regretted being a smartass as soon as the words left his lips.

The two smaller men leaped into action simultaneously, coming at Todotori from either side. He dodged a fist, then a foot. They weren't too skilled but swift enough that he couldn't afford to slip up. He countered the man to the left, jabbing quickly and knocking his opponent back momentarily. The one on the right promptly picked up his partner's slack, attacking with a swift jab cross combo.

The form was sloppy. Todotori stopped his opponent's momentum just as the man's fist was within reach, grabbing his wrist and whirling him into the concrete below. To the left, the other had recovered and was going in for another hit. Dropping low, Todotori swiped his leg cleanly under the man's feet.

Two on the ground.

Before Todotori could shift his focus, his remaining foe was already on the move. Two enormous fists came crashing down over his head at immense speed, each nearly the size of his skull. Instinctively, he rolled backward across the ground to create distance. That instant, the man with the scar sent his knuckles flying into the earth. Everything within the alley rattled. Dust flew up from below, and tiny speckles of debris trickled down from the buildings. When the giant stood upright again, he left two fist-shaped imprints on the pavement.

It was the kind of strength only seen in movies and comics. Todotori knew he had to end the fight quickly before he was turned into a human paste. He was a bit rusty, but his speed was superior to that of the gorilla standing before him.

Shifting before the man could act again, Todotori sprinted up on his opponent in the blink of an eye, moving at an almost incomprehensible speed. He swung once, then twice. His attack was swift but not swift enough. Suddenly, his entire body began to tremble. Both arms, from his fingers up to his neck, instantly went numb with static.

One moment, Todotori felt a ping of pain in his ribcage. The next, his body was soaring down the alleyway. He crashed into the pavement over and over again until his limp body finally lost momentum, only coming to a halt after about fifteen yards.

It didn't make any logical sense. Was his opponent so strong that standard punches were useless? If that was the case, how could he get out of this situation alive? The power difference was becoming clearer by the moment.

He was in deep shit.

The man with the scar chuckled, his beastly voice echoing down the backstreet. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, kid," he rumbled. "Just stay down, and I'll make the rest of this short."

Todotori ignored the threats, pushing himself off the ground. Almost immediately, he doubled over with tremendous pain in his ribs. He watched as the two smaller men crawled off the ground as well. He knew he hadn't done enough to knock them out before. Taking a stabilizing step, he readied himself. Chin down and elbows bent, it was time to neutralize the enemies he knew he could handle, and quickly.

The two men ran down the alley towards him, and he urged himself to focus. The first approached wildly, swinging like a madman and yelling like one, too. Todotori found it insulting.

One simple jab cross and the man was down for good.

Next.

The second came at him more skillfully. However, he was still in over his head. Todotori ignored his attacks and made his move promptly.

A lead hook cross was enough to send his opposition into the nearby wall.

However, just as last time, the man with the scar advanced too abruptly for Todotori to counter. In fact, he didn't even have time to dodge. Like before, Todotori was met by a ginormous, raging fist, flying back several feet on impact. Attempting to regain his footing was no use. The enemy was already there. He raised his arms in defense because it was all he could do.

Pounding, pounding, pounding. The man had no formal technique, no pattern to his attacks. It was clear that he lacked any kind of training, throwing his arms about like a baby expressing a tantrum. Even still, his speed and power were so profoundly overwhelming that Todotori couldn't keep up.

The bones of his arms couldn't take it anymore, so he dropped them. Pounding, pounding, pounding. The blows seemed never-ending, his face growing numb and his sight gradually beginning to abandon him. Was this really how it was going to end for him? It happened so quickly that he couldn't even fight back. How pitiful.

The man with the scar grabbed Todotori by the leg and slammed him into the wall. He could feel the brick behind him crumbling as his head swung down, spiritless. His body somehow ended up sitting on top of the thug he'd knocked out just before. How ironic. It didn't feel so good when it was him against the wall.

He could feel the giant stomping his way, but he couldn't look up to watch him. Todotori embraced the warm feeling of his own blood running down his face and arms, accepting that it would probably be the last thing he ever felt.

"I thought I told you to stay down," the monster thundered closer. "Sometimes you have to beat a dog to make it obey."

Todotori let out a slow breath, blinking indifferently. He wished the ogre would stop talking and end it already. He looked over at the man lying underneath him, and he was still breathing. At least someone else would make it out of the forsaken alley alive.

Unexpectedly, something shiny under the man's hip caught Todotori's attention. He tilted his head slightly, trying to figure out what it was. Through blurred vision, he almost didn't recognize it at first.

It was a gun.

Guns had been strictly outlawed since Todotori was a child, and they had been entirely out of production for several years. Anyone caught with the weapon was sentenced to life in prison. The city police weren't even allowed to carry guns, so how did a scummy criminal obtain such a thing? A chill ran down Todotori's spine. There was no telling who these men really were.

"Do you think your life was worth stealing that dingy little necklace, now?" The beast was only a few feet away.

Todotori's eyes flicked around the alley for a moment. Every muscle in his body tensed as the ground rumbled under the giant's feet. He carefully, cautiously inched his hand across the concrete to the unconscious man's hip - to the gun.

Suddenly, there was a massive hand around his throat. Todotori ground his teeth, the blood in his head having nowhere to go as the man with the scar picked him up by his neck. His feet dangled helplessly a few inches from the ground.

The beast forced Todotori to look him in the eye. "Answer me, you mut," he demanded.

His eyes were watering. There were only a few moments before everything would turn black. "Actually... probably... not," Todotori struggled to respond. "But this... this will feel good."

Todotori lifted his right hand, and in it was a small silver pistol. Without hesitation, he held the gun up below the beast's chin and pulled the trigger.

The sound was louder than he thought it would be.

The man's body fell limp with a thud, and Todotori somehow landed on his feet. His gait was swaying as he stepped over the bodies. Looking down at his hand, the world spun as the gun shook between his fingers. He'd just killed a man. He dropped the chunk of metal on the ground lethargically, forgetting about it almost immediately.

Todotori lurched forward, the pain catching up to him. Coughing aggressively, blood spewed from his mouth and down the front of his hoodie. He stumbled from side to side as he walked down the alley, his brain blank aside from the indescribable agony. He hadn't made it out alive yet.

Clapping.

Clapping echoed off the buildings from behind. It was a slow, haunting rhythm. Todotori stopped dead in his tracks, an incomprehensible feeling taking over him. His bones filled with dread and rancor. He could feel the fear and misery coursing through his veins, the air suddenly becoming harrowingly bitter.

Slowly, he turned his head back to the darkness.

"Simply amazing," slithered an enchanting yet chilly voice. "I'll admit, you've impressed me."

A shadow emerged from the black. It had hair like ink that was long and twisted. Walking with eloquence, it swayed gently with every step. Its skin was of an umber so deep that it reminded him of a blackwater iris, and it had eyes of pure black that suffocated the world of all color and life. It was a woman.

She stopped just at the edge of the darkness, close enough for him to see her.

"Allow me to introduce myself," she said in that soft and unsettling tone. "I am Halo."

----

The bells strung to the handle of the door rang in welcome.

"Misu! Misu, save us!" a small voice cried as the front door rammed open. Two young boys sprinted into the gym, panting like they'd run for miles.

The gym was packed that day, like most days back then. Several adults were practicing on punching bags and dummies. Some were sparring in the back corner, while others simply stretched or finished a light workout. The air smelled like sweat and freshly waxed floors, and the afternoon sun painted the entire space with a light marigold and yellow tint through the shopfront glass.

The man spun around, looking curiously as the two boys came trampling his way. When they reached him, they grabbed onto his pant legs in fear and desperation.

"Please, Misu, you have to stop him! He said he was going to chop us up and eat us!" one of the little boys pleaded.

"Yes, he did!" the other cried. He pointed to a large bruise on the corner of his left eye. "Look, he already punched me in the eye!"

Misu was a middle-aged man, possibly around fifty. His hair was beginning to turn white, though it was mostly dark brown. He had a reasonably broad build and was very fit for his age. Bending over, he looked closer at the two boys before him.

"Who did that to you?" he asked calmly.

"I did!"

The shout came from the front doorway. There, staring down the length of the gym with eyes like an inferno, stood a small child. It was so small, in fact, that its clothes were practically falling from its bony, malnourished body. The child's brown hair was matted with mud and oil, and its skin was thick with grime. With grinding teeth, the tiny being curled its fists.

"An' I'm not a he! I'm a she!" her tiny voice screamed, now drawing the attention of everyone within the gym. She stomped her bare feet across the wooded floors towards the three of them. "If ya wanna be a tattletale, I'll give ya another black eye, little boy!"

The two boys shuffled behind Misu in terror when he stood up straight. He smiled, amused, as the little girl approached. "Now, wait a second," he said gently. "I don't think I can allow you to do that, little girl."

She stopped just a few feet before him, attitude exuding from her petite body. "Then I'll just have to give you a black eye, too!" she exclaimed.

Misu covered his mouth as he chucked at the girl. "You're something else, aren't you?" he grinned. "What's your name?"

The girl widened her stance cartoonishly and raised her nose to the sky. She slammed a thumb into her chest and shouted, "I'm Lazzir Yuno, and I'm the strongest fighter this city's ever seen!"

"Street rat," one of the little boys whispered mockingly from behind Misu's leg. The man cut his eyes at the boy, and the giggles immediately halted. He stepped to the little girl, peering down at her.

"You might be right, little girl," he stated, "you look pretty strong to me. My name is Misu. Why don't we be friends?"

The door slammed shut with a clang.

Lazzir stared into the empty gym, the open room feeling cold and stale. It was dark and blue in the night, moonlight shining through the storefront glass. The rain had stopped a while ago without a cloud left behind.

A single yellow-orange light shone from a door in the far corner, and a shadowy staircase faced the front. She looked to the right wall, where a giant mirror stretched across the room.

Boy, did she look like shit? Her hair was soaked and tangled within her ponytail, her face red from the cold. All of her clothes were wet down to the first layer, and any blood that may have been speckled on her arms or legs had long been washed away. She gripped her aching shoulder with a sigh. What a mess.

Her shoes sloshed as she dragged her feet across the gym floor. Stopping in the doorway of the lit room in the corner, she peered inside with a tired expression. It was a small office with just enough room for a desk and one bookshelf.

Misu lay on the desk. The old man rested his wrinkled, gray head on one arm while the other still held a pen, fast asleep. He breathed deeply, ruffling some of the papers sprawled about the desk. Lazzir stepped into the room with a huff.

"Old man always falls asleep at his desk," she said under her breath, digging into her pockets. "He better not complain when he wakes up with a crick in his neck."

Lazzir pulled a handful of soggy bills from her pockets and dropped them into a small jar labeled 'rent' on the table's edge. She figured wet bills were better than no bills, especially since the jar was entirely empty beforehand. Misu hated it when she gave him money, though he never truly turned it down. He never asked her where it came from either, which she was thankful for.

She turned to exit the room but stopped momentarily to look at the bookshelf near the doorway. It didn't store any actual books, only ancient newspapers and dusty trophies. The newspapers and trophies were from Misu's glory days. He remained undefeated his entire career, and they even nicknamed him 'The King.' His matches were extremely popular and were broadcast on radio stations in his later years before retirement. When he opened his own gym, people from all over came to train with him.

It was hard to imagine it now, watching as he slobbered over his desk.

On the top shelf, among the trophies, stood a single picture in an old wooden frame. It was an image of Lazzir as a child. She wore tiny boxing gloves and a cringeworthy fighting uniform, smiling excessively into the camera. That was about sixteen years ago.

It had been sixteen years since Misu took her in.

She lowered her head and left quietly, rounding to the stairs. Opening the door to the upper apartment, she shuffled into her room and removed her soggy shoes. She ripped the jacket from her back and slid her sweatpants off, leaving all items carelessly on the floor. Shivering, she rushed into the bathroom and cut on a warm shower.

She took care while bathing so as not to irritate her wounds. She had deep, purple bruises down all of her limbs. Road rash marked her skin, and the cuts stung like pins as water ran over them. The most significant of her injuries, however, was her left shoulder. It made it difficult to do anything, pain shooting down her entire arm if she did so much as straighten her elbow. It was a battle just to wash her hair. She hated to admit it, but she'd have to go to the hospital in the morning.

Lazzir stepped out of the shower and dried off, changing into a large T-shirt, shorts, and socks. She then hovered over the sink, reaching for the mirror to access the medicine cabinet.

That's when she saw it.

A small black mark could be seen on the right side of her neck. She lifted her hand to touch it, assuming it was a stain or marker. She rubbed it with her finger, and it didn't smudge. She rubbed it again, this time with more aggression. Still, the black mark did not disappear. She used her shirt, a towel, water, and soap. Nothing.

What the-?

She stared at herself in disbelief, gripping the edge of the sink as she leaned in for a better look. With her head turned, she could plainly see it. It was an 'I' like the Roman numerals Misu taught her as a child.

"One?" she uttered to herself in disbelief. "Where the hell did this come from?!"

She spent the next few minutes scraping her skin raw. It was no use. Whatever it was, it was permanent. It was as if she'd been tattooed in her sleep, and on her neck of all places.

"What is going on today?!" she yelled into the mirror with exasperation. She started pacing the room like a madwoman. "First, I accidentally kill a man. Then, that same man blows up into a million blue specks as his body disappears into thin air! Now, I've got this weird-ass mark on my neck that won't come off no matter what I do! What next?!"

Suddenly, there was a rumble from deep within Lazzir's empty stomach.

She bent over, pointing at her abdomen threateningly. "You shut up!" she ordered. After a moment, she stood straight, looking to her reflection for counsel. "I've lost my mind."

The microwave buzzed as she glared at her cup of noodles within. Her mind spun, and she was too exhausted to contemplate it all. She massaged her neck as she stared off blankly.

"Oh well," she groaned. The microwave beeped. "I'll deal with it tomorrow." She turned away, slurping her cheap noodles as she walked toward her room.

"You'll deal with what tomorrow?"

Lazzir jolted. It was a voice she didn't recognize. She spun on her heels, immediately alert and ready to fight. She was holding her cup of noodles as if it were a weapon.

It was a man. He sat in the window on the other end of the kitchen, completely relaxed. The moon outlined his silhouette and provided just enough light to make out the details of his face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he chuckled with a shy grin. He stood up from the windowsill, stepping in Lazzir's direction. "My name is-"

"Ahhhhh!" Lazzir screamed. She stepped back, rearing her noodles and throwing them square at his face.

There was a splash as the noodles crashed into the opposite wall. Chicken broth ran down the pale wallpaper, still steaming. Somehow, she missed him. Her head was still foggy from the wreck. Now needing a better weapon, she scanned the kitchen and settled for a dirty pan on the stove. She held it out menacingly.

"Don't even try it, thief!" she warned. She held her left arm close to her body as she shook the pan at him. "I might be injured, but I can still take you on!"

The man paused, looking confused for a second. Abruptly, he busted into booming laughter. He threw his head back and grabbed his ribs as he tried to control his outburst.

She watched, bewildered. When the laughter didn't stop, she became aggravated. "What's so funny?" she demanded. "I'll beat you into a pulp, I mean it!"

Wiping a tear from his eye, the man beamed at her. "I'm not a thief," he said. "I was hoping we could be friends."

Lazzir's heart hammered inside her chest. "Like hell, we can! Leave now before I make you!"

"Make me? How are you going to do that?" He inched closer again, running his finger along the counter.

Without hesitation, Lazzir hurled the pan at the man's head. This time, she didn't miss—her aim was spot on. However, the pan soared across the kitchen and flew into the other wall, denting it.

It went through him. She watched it happen. The moment the pan would have hit the man's face, it flew straight through him and into the wall as if he weren't there. Lazzir's knees suddenly grew weak. She wasn't hallucinating. After all the strange things to happen today-

"A ghost?" she mumbled.

"Not a ghost," the man replied with a cheeky grin, running a hand through his wavy black hair.

Lazzir grabbed a fork from the countertop and launched it at him. The result was the same. A cup, another fork, a small pot. They all went directly into the wall behind him as he stepped closer and closer.

When he was within reach, she raised onto her toes and threw her leg up in a roundhouse kick. The form was perfect, but her foot simply whipped through the air. She tried a combo with her right arm. Nothing was making contact. He really was a ghost.

"What are you?!" she pleaded, finally deciding to retreat.

She took a step back, ramming into the drywall behind her. Her legs buckled with the impact, and she fell to the ground with a thud. Cradling her shoulder helplessly, she watched the strange man crouch before her.

She stared at him, her entire body shaking in fear. He had piercing green eyes that gazed over her like lasers. She didn't notice them until that moment, but they almost seemed to glow in the dark. What was he going to do to her?

The man tilted his head, still grinning. As frightening as he was in the moment, his smile still somehow seemed genuine. "I really hate to have to do this, but I can tell you're going to be a fighter," he stated. "I'm sorry."

She felt a sharp pinch in her neck and then felt nothing.