The battlefield was a shattered mess of concrete and dust. Amidst the wreckage of the school boundary wall, a figure lay sprawled, dust clinging to his jet-black hair and blood threading down from a cut above his brow. His name wasn't spoken aloud—yet everyone called him *Crazy Bouncer*, a legend born from chaos.
With a grunt, he pushed himself upright. Broken concrete shifted beneath his boots, grinding and cracking with each movement. His breath came in ragged gasps—raw, primal. A grin stretched across his face, unhinged and wide, teeth bared like he was reveling in the destruction, in the chaos.
Across the ruined gap stood another figure. Still. Calm. An unyielding presence.
A smooth, expressionless mask covered his face. The surface was pristine—unmarked by smoke, blood, or debris. It was as if this figure belonged to another world, untouched by the violence around him. He stood as if this wreckage was his territory—familiar, safe, controlled.
"Crazy Bouncer," the masked man said casually, his voice carrying across the debris like a whisper of wind. "Today, I'm going to win."
Crazy Bouncer tilted his head, considering the statement with a wild grin. Then he barked a laugh, blood flicking from his lips as he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"You talk too much," he rasped, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, muscles bunching beneath torn fabric. The air around him seemed to pulse with raw energy.
"Let's begin… one more time."
Around them, the world was on fire.
Students' screams echoed as they fled in all directions, bodies trembling with terror. Teachers, frantic and desperate, dragged the injured toward the main building, their shouts swallowed by the rising chaos. Somewhere beyond the campus, sirens howled—a distant, ominous wail that grew louder with each second.
But the two combatants paid no heed.
They only looked at each other.
The ground beneath Crazy Bouncer's feet cracked like a spiderweb as he took a step forward. Cracks radiated outward, spidering across the earth. The masked man didn't move an inch.
*Two Angels of Death.*
Not fighting for revenge.
Not fighting for survival.
Fighting for recognition.
And right in the heart of their battlefield stood a battered school, its walls scarred and broken, a silent witness to their deadly dance.
---
**"Everyone—listen to me!"**
Andrew's voice cut through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding. Heads snapped toward him, eyes wide with shock and fear.
"Don't run outside!" he shouted, voice firm. "Get inside the main building—basement level. Now!"
Panic froze the crowd—bodies trembling, eyes darting between the burning chaos outside and the safe sanctuary within. The students hesitated, caught between instinct and trust.
Andrew climbed onto a fallen bench near the center of the courtyard, raising his arm and pointing toward the reinforced doors that led to the basement.
"If you scatter, they'll destroy the whole school!" he bellowed. "Stay together—move!"
His voice didn't waver. It was steady, commanding. An anchor amid chaos.
"They're fighting out here," Andrew continued, voice calm but urgent. "The basement's reinforced—it's like a bunker. We'll be safer there."
A heartbeat of silence.
Then, chaos erupted again.
One student bolted, then another, breaking from the line of students. Teachers quickly adapted, echoing Andrew's instructions. Panic transformed into controlled motion—helping injured students to their feet, guiding others away from danger, forming orderly lines.
"Slow down!" Andrew called. "No pushing—help each other!"
They listened. Somehow, they trusted him—perhaps because his calm was contagious, or maybe because they saw in him the resolve to keep them alive.
Keal stared at Andrew, disbelief etched across his face.
"Since when do you talk like that?" he asked, voice trembling.
Andrew didn't answer. His focus was locked on the shattered boundary, where dust still drifted in the air like smoke from a dying fire.
The ground trembled again—another shockwave ripping through the courtyard. Windows shattered outward, a deafening groan of concrete and steel. Pieces of the wall cracked and splintered, threatening to collapse further.
"Hurry!" Andrew yelled, voice frantic now.
Within minutes, the open ground was emptied. The last students sprinted down the stairwell toward the basement, heavy doors slamming shut behind them.
Andrew remained, rooted in place.
Not because he wanted to stay.
Because someone had to make sure everyone got out.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his pounding heart to steady.
Then—
A shadow fell across him.
He turned sharply.
Crazy Bouncer, blood smeared across his face and clothes, eyes gleaming with feral excitement, approached him. His grin stretched impossibly wide.
"Well," he said, voice rough but amused. "Looks like we've got an audience."
Andrew clenched his fists, instinct flaring.
For the first time that day, a cold realization blossomed in his chest—this chaos was no longer contained. It was spilling out into the world, unstoppable.
The masked man—*Dancer of Death*—tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a whisper only he could hear.
"We still have an audience," he said softly.
His gaze shifted past Andrew, toward the scene beyond.
Near the collapsed boundary, a girl—no older than a first-year—stood frozen, her body trembling violently. One leg was trapped between shattered slabs of concrete. She was directly in the path of the two Angels.
Crazy Bouncer followed the gaze and laughed, a dark, feral sound.
"Hah. Looks like the show's not over," he said, cracking his knuckles.
He turned back to the masked man. "What's your name, mask?"
The figure paused, then answered softly.
"Dancer of Death."
In the next heartbeat, he moved.
Not forward—
around.
His body spun low, feet barely touching the ground, twisting in a fluid, impossible arc. He rolled, then snapped upward with deadly intent, unleashing a kick that tore through the air.
Crazy Bouncer barely reacted in time, leaping back as the strike missed his head by inches.
BOOM.
The impact shattered the concrete wall behind him—an explosion of bricks and dust. A jagged brick shot through the air like a bullet, spinning toward the girl.
She didn't scream.
Andrew's mind went blank.
Without thinking, he ran.
Crossing twenty meters in seconds, his feet pounding the pavement, the world narrowing to breath and motion. The brick blurred, spinning rapidly toward the girl's head.
He twisted sideways, arms wrapping around her like a shield.
CRACK.
The brick slammed into Andrew's back, pain exploding across his spine like lightning. White-hot and blinding. His lungs emptied as he rolled across the concrete, the girl sobbing helplessly against his chest.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Then, slowly, he pushed himself up.
Deliberate. Steady.
His back screamed. Blood trickled down his side. But he stood tall, shielding the girl from the battlefield.
Crazy Bouncer stared, eyes wide with unrestrained hunger.
The *Dancer of Death* hung still, watching.
Andrew wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his hands trembling—not from fear, but from shock. How fast he'd moved—how close he'd come to losing everything.
"Get inside," he whispered, voice hoarse.
The girl scrambled away, tears streaming, disappearing into the building's safety.
Silence fell over the wreckage.
Then—
The masked man spoke first.
"…Interesting."
Crazy Bouncer's grin returned—feral, hungry.
"That speed," he muttered. "You shouldn't be able to move like that."
He rolled his shoulders, stepping toward Andrew, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Well," he said softly, "looks like the kid wants to play."
Andrew straightened, pain pulsating through his spine. The world around him was broken, his body battered. Yet, in that moment, he refused to step back.
He met the challenge head-on.
And the chaos roared on.
--