Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power Chapter 1: A Cowardly Death

Chapter 1 –

BOOM—!

A powerful fist smashed right into the face of a youth sporting vivid orange hair, knocking him flat onto the ground.

No scream escaped him. Only a deep, gritty groan.

The punch's deliverer—a lanky figure with sleek blue hair—sneered from above. "What, is that everything you've got?" he taunted. "Come on, Boris. Show some spirit. Crawl around, shed a few tears—do anything."

Laughter exploded from the onlookers. Roughly half a dozen pupils encircled them loosely, uniforms impeccably neat, stares chillingly detached.

All of them attended the same prestigious academy. And this spot on the grounds—overlooked by all—was a hidden service area tucked behind the science lab structure. The sort of location where cries wouldn't carry very far.

For these tormentors, it was merely routine.

Boris remained still. Silent. He huddled on the fractured concrete, fingers faintly stirring by his side.

The quiet grated on Luke—the one with blue locks. He dropped low, seized Boris's shirt front, and hoisted his battered visage close enough to peer into those lackluster, golden orbs.

"I told you to yell, you weird little pest."

Boris met his gaze. Not rebelliously. Merely vacant.

Exhaustion gripped him.

Luke's jaw clenched.

"Think a scholarship puts you on our level?" Luke grumbled, his tone softening slightly. "My old man treats types like you as playthings. I'm simply the guy who voices it."

He slammed him back down. With force.

One from the crowd booted him in the spine. Another chuckled uneasily, whispering, "He's totally desensitized now, dude. Not even twitching."

Additional blows landed. More intense. Quicker.

Thud. Crack. A moist cough bubbled from Boris's mouth. Crimson seeped from his lip's edge.

"Hey," a steady voice called from the rear. "That's sufficient."

The bunch pivoted. A lofty pupil with golden strands—Nathan—advanced, pockets stuffed casually. Trailing him was an eye-catching female with raven tresses, arms folded, face inscrutable.

Luke exhaled in annoyance. "Why do you keep spoiling the entertainment, Nathan?"

Nathan arched a brow. "Since your idea of enjoyment could lead to our suspension. Or worse—disinheritance."

The implication lingered.

Luke frowned deeply. "Nobody's disinheriting me. You know my father's status."

Nathan's inflection grew a bit keener. "Absolutely. And the faculty knows it too. Believe they'll shield you once your outbursts hit the news?"

Quiet descended.

Nathan addressed the rest. "Lift him up. Take him to the infirmary. If questioned, claim responsibility. Not Luke. Not me."

Reluctance rippled through them.

"Are you listening?" Nathan's pitch lowered ominously. "Should he perish without you shielding Luke, you're in line next." His words chilled.

The group hustled, hoisting Boris's slack form and hurrying away.

Luke lingered, panting heavily.

"He's alive," Nathan noted, "but you've dodged a bullet."

Luke grumbled, "I'm not afraid of you."

Nathan grinned slyly. "Correct. But your father's wrath terrifies you."

From the group’s rear, the girl chimed in at last, tone airy and upbeat. "Finished here? I'm famished."

"Katy," Nathan replied, "discovered a fresh spot in the city center. Ridiculously pricey."

"And you're covering it," Katy quipped, elbowing Luke.

"Hold on? I footed the bill previously."

"Given this chaos, you're buying once more," Nathan declared, striding off.

They departed as one—chuckling, squabbling—like typical longtime pals off for a meal.

In their wake, Boris's blood stained the concrete.

...

Medical Center – Later That Night

Harsh fluorescents hummed above. Boris reclined in the bed, wrapped in bandages, flesh mottled with welts. His chest ached fiercely. His gullet burned.

Yet the deepest wound wasn't physical.

It ravaged his spirit... his thoughts...!

It consumed all else.

Eyes fixed on the blank ceiling, he lay motionless. Recollections surfaced, gradual yet piercing.

The fatal crash that claimed his mom, dad, and elder sibling. The phone call that shattered his world. He'd skipped the trip to wrap up schoolwork.

Diligent, not brilliant. Merely tenacious. His folks had lauded that trait.

Now, their encouragement faded away.

Life had constricted since. Instructors overlooked him. Peers shunned him. Labeled "the silent type," he turned into the ideal victim.

Then she entered the picture.

Katy.

She'd beamed at him once. Chosen the seat beside his in lecture. Inquired about his days off.

For a moment, hope flickered—perhaps companionship returned.

Reality struck soon after.

It was all a wager. A challenge from Luke.

"Did you really believe I had feelings for you?" she'd scoffed. "Lord, you're even more pitiful than imagined."

The entire room had roared.

On that day, Boris broke.

His retort was a single word. Nothing more.

"Bitch."

That sufficed to ignite it all.

The abuse persisted endlessly.

A rap at the door.

Boris's reverie shattered instantly.

In walked a lady in white coat. Miss Johnson. The school medic.

"Back so soon," she murmured softly, as if accustomed.

Boris offered no response.

She breathed a sigh. "Those responsible claimed it was a joke that escalated. Discipline awaits them."

He shifted to face her. His tone rasped yet held firm. "We both know they weren't the culprits. And it wasn't just a harmless jest."

She stiffened.

"Admit it," he pressed. "The whole world does."

Her hands balled up.

"Forgive me, Boris," she breathed. "My girl's at stake. I can't risk it..."

He inclined his head gradually. Not acceptance—but defeat.

She departed.

Solitude enveloped Boris once more.

Again.

He scanned the barren chamber. Icy. Hushed. Sole comfort from the hanging saline bag.

"Why bother?" he whispered.

What remained? Suffering? Shame?

Stemming from lacking their influence and lineage?

Influence. Might.

Traits forever absent. Traits denied him.

A chuckle escaped.

Hollow, acrid. Fractured.

Echoes of unraveling sanity.

He groped for his device—display shattered, lens blurred yet functional.

He tapped "record."

"I'm Boris. Viewing this means I'm likely departed. This institution allowed my destruction—and you spectated. Now witness this as well."

His words quivered. Not terror—but profundity.

Upon conclusion, he shared it.

Across all platforms.

Next, he clamped his tongue fiercely.

"Farewell," he breathed.

To emptiness.

No audience lingered.

Unbeknownst to him, demise stirred a force buried inside.

A personal essence.

Something...supernatural.

—End of Chapter 1—