"Stop! Stop!"
Joshua's voice rang through the alley, ragged and desperate as he sprinted toward the group of boys. His lungs burned, and his legs ached, but he didn't slow. He didn't think. He just ran.
The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed in the narrow alleyway—sharp, cruel, and rhythmic. The smallest boy in the group was curled against the wall, shielding his face as kicks and punches rained down on him.
Joshua's heart thundered.
He charged forward and launched himself off the ground.
His fist smashed into the leader's stomach.
A thud. A gasp. The boy's eyes widened, and he crumpled to his knees, arms wrapping around his midsection as he wheezed.
The others froze, their fists mid-air, their mouths parted in shock.
Joshua stood over them, fists clenched, body shaking—not from fear, but fury. The sting in his knuckles only fueled the fire rising in his chest. His breathing was heavy, but his gaze didn't waver.
The alley went still. The only sound was the harsh rasp of the leader trying to breathe.
Then the boy looked up, hate burning in his eyes. "So… the orphan thinks he's a hero now?" he spat. His lips curled into a cruel sneer. "You think just because your precious parents ascended to the ancestral realm, you're better than us?"
Joshua's jaw tightened.
The leader straightened slowly, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Let's show him. No one touches us and walks away."
The others moved. No more hesitation.
Joshua braced himself.
One of them lunged. Joshua sidestepped and drove his fist into the boy's ribs. A grunt. But another came fast—a foot swinging toward his head.
He raised his arm to block. The kick landed hard and knocked him sideways. Before he could recover, arms locked around his torso from behind.
"Got him!" someone shouted.
Pain followed. Fists slammed into his ribs. One, two, three. Joshua gasped. It felt like his lungs were collapsing. But he didn't stop. He twisted sharply and drove his elbow into the nose of the one holding him. There was a crunch and a scream.
The grip loosened.
Joshua spun and shoved him back—but another fist caught him across the face. He staggered. Blood filled his mouth.
He tackled the attacker, knocking him down. Two quick punches. Then a sharp kick caught him in the ribs and sent him rolling.
CRACK.
The pain was immediate, searing. His side screamed. He hit the ground, struggling to breathe.
Then—a foot on his back. Pressing him down.
"Stay down, orphan," the leader snarled.
Joshua growled low in his throat. "No."
With a burst of strength, he twisted and kicked upward, striking the leader's knee. The boy howled and fell back. Joshua rolled, gasping for breath, every inch of him aching.
But he was outnumbered. Five against one.
Two of them grabbed his arms and pinned him. The leader approached, a savage grin on his face. His fist slammed into Joshua's stomach. Then again. And again.
Joshua doubled over.
A fist to his jaw. His vision swam.
Another blow to the side. He crumpled.
The pain was too much. He couldn't move.
The leader stood over him, sneering. "That's what you get for interfering."
Laughter echoed in the alley as the boys disappeared into the shadows, their footsteps fading.
Joshua lay there, still.
Every breath burned. His chest throbbed. His eye was already swelling shut. He tasted blood.
But then he heard something—soft, shaky breaths.
He turned his head slowly. The boy they had been beating was still there, curled against the wall.
Joshua groaned and dragged himself forward. Each movement sent shocks of pain through his body. But he reached the boy and knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Joshua's voice was barely a whisper.
The boy looked up—his face bruised, one eye nearly shut, lip split.
"I… I think so," he whispered.
Joshua helped him sit up. "What's your name?"
"Nyamewero David."
Joshua offered a small, tired smile. "Nice to meet you, David. I couldn't just walk away."
David looked down. "They always pick on me," he murmured. "I don't have anyone left. My parents died when I was little. My uncle didn't care about me. I guess they saw that. They said I'm a burden."
Joshua's expression hardened. He knew that feeling—being left behind, feeling like you didn't matter.
He squeezed David's shoulder gently. "You're not a burden. And you're not alone anymore."
David blinked, surprised.
Joshua nodded. "I've got your back."
A slow, hopeful smile spread across David's face. "And I've got yours."
They sat for a moment—two boys bruised, battered, and bound by something new.
Then, leaning on each other, they stood and began limping toward the mouth of the alley.
They didn't see the figure watching.
A tall silhouette stood cloaked in shadow at the far end of the alley, unmoving. A hood concealed its face, but faintly glowing eyes peeked from beneath the folds.
The figure tilted its head, as if studying them.
And then, it whispered—so low, the wind had to lean in to hear.
"The fire in him... it burns stronger than I expected."
Then it vanished into the wind, leaving behind only silence.
And the beginning of something far greater than either boy could imagine.