The corridor buzzed with the chaotic symphony of students—shouts, laughter, lockers slamming shut, shoes squeaking on polished tiles. The air smelled of hurried footsteps and lingering cafeteria lunches. Four boys crowded around Andrew, shoulders nearly touching, clutching a single sheet of paper like a treasure map. The paper trembled slightly, caught between anticipation and nerves.
Andrew leaned in, eyes narrowing as he chewed the last bite of his sandwich, his uniform slightly rumpled and untucked, his loosened tie swinging loosely around his neck. Teachers rarely commented on his appearance—probably because they knew he was the kind of kid who flew under the radar, yet somehow commanded attention without trying.
"What is this?" Andrew asked, amusement flickering in his voice. "You guys planning a revolution without me again?"
One of the boys, eyes darting around to ensure no one was eavesdropping, whispered, "Shut up and read."
Andrew chuckled softly, taking the paper and unfolding it with a flick of his wrist. His eyes quickly scanned the headline.
*Middle School Inter-District Tournament Cancelled After Violent Incident*
He read aloud, voice steady but tinged with a hint of disapproval. "Huh. Again?"
The boy nodded eagerly, eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah. Seniors from another school jumped them. Full chaos—ambulances and everything."
Andrew's smile faded just enough to be noticeable, a flicker of seriousness crossing his face. His gaze drifted to the headline, then back to his friends. "That's messed up," he murmured. "They're kids."
"Kids who think they're fighters," another boy scoffed, crossing his arms. "Everyone wants to be tough these days."
Andrew folded the paper neatly, tucking it into his pocket. His tone was calm but firm. "Being loud doesn't make you strong."
Before anyone could respond, the sharp chime of the school bell sliced through the air, ringing out like a warning. The corridor erupted into movement; students surged toward their classes, lockers clanged shut, voices rising in a tide of noise.
Andrew stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his stance relaxed yet commanding. "Come on," he said. "We'll be late."
He drifted to the front of the group—not leading, exactly, but naturally drawing people into his orbit. A quiet gravity that made others follow without question.
Just ahead, a first-year student, new and awkward, bumped into a senior student with a rough shove. Voices escalated quickly—words turning sharp, fists clenched.
Without hesitation, Andrew stepped between them, palms raised in a calming gesture.
"Hey," he said softly, voice even. "Not worth it. You're both going to the same class anyway."
The tension lingered a moment longer, but Andrew's words were enough. The younger boy muttered an apology, eyes lowered. The senior grunted and turned away.
Andrew didn't glance back. His friends, watching in awe, murmured.
"Man," one whispered. "You should be class rep or something."
Andrew grinned, a small, humble smile. "No thanks. Too much responsibility."
They exited into the courtyard, where the morning sun cast a warm glow over the open space. Lockers, students, teachers—all bathed in an ordinary glow that made the chaos feel distant, almost normal.
From the balcony above, the principal watched with sharp, calculating eyes. Her gaze lingered on Andrew, not openly—just long enough for a flicker of her memory to surface.
A memory of a past afternoon: a knife flashing in the sunlight, blood staining the pavement, screams tearing through the air.
And a boy—Andrew—stepping forward without hesitation, not to fight, but to stand in the way.
She turned away, dismissing the thought, and Andrew vanished into the crowd, swallowed by noise and motion.
The day felt normal. That was the problem.
Because normal days were always the ones that broke first.
Andrew and his friends crossed the courtyard, laughter and chatter weaving around them. Keal nudged Andrew with his elbow.
"Andrew, let's see how many tests you're getting first place in today."
Andrew stretched, his gaze drifting upward to the clear blue sky. "It's not about winning," he said with a grin. "Just enjoy it."
Keal rolled his eyes. "You always say that."
They reached the open ground near the assembly area, where students clustered loosely. The hum of conversations faded into a low, steady drone.
Then, a figure burst onto the scene—running, breathless, with sharp green eyes and messy green hair that looked like it was alive with energy. He skidded to a halt in front of Andrew, a grin split across his face—half challenge, half excitement.
"Andrew!" the boy called out, voice eager. "Today, we're not best friends."
Andrew blinked, amused. "That's cold."
The boy smirked. "Let's see who scores higher. Winner takes the crown."
Andrew raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. May the smartest win."
They clasped hands—firm, friendly, competitive.
Then, the world shattered.
A sound—deeper, heavier than thunder—ripped through the air.
BOOM.
The ground lurched violently beneath their feet. Dust and debris erupted outward like a violent explosion, obscuring their vision. Screams erupted all around. Someone shouted for help. Someone cried out in terror.
Andrew staggered, instinct taking over. He spread his arms, grabbing the boys behind him, shielding them from the chaos. Grit stung his eyes; his mouth filled with the taste of dirt and concrete.
"What the—!"
The deafening noise collapsed into a ringing silence, ears ringing painfully. The world seemed to tilt, then settle.
As the dust settled, reality came into focus.
A section of the school's boundary wall was gone—obliterated. Not cracked, not fractured—*destroyed*. Jagged chunks of concrete lay scattered across the ground, some embedded like shrapnel, rebar twisting outward in jagged, angry spirals.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Then, a voice broke through the stunned silence, cracking with horror.
"L–look!"
A student pointed, trembling, face drained of color.
"Angels of Death…!"
The name rippled like a curse through the crowd. Everyone knew it—through news reports, whispered rumors online. Stories of unexplained battles, inhuman strength, cities torn apart, and stories buried in shadow.
"They're fighting," the boy screamed. "The Angels of Death are fighting—and they destroyed part of the school!"
Panic erupted.
Students scrambled, pushing past each other, trying to escape. Teachers shouted commands—faint, drowned out by the rising tide of fear—and somewhere beyond the broken wall, distant sirens began to wail, growing louder.
Andrew stood frozen, his face blank, eyes wide. His chest felt tight—not with fear, but with recognition.
What had just hit that wall?
It wasn't human.
---