'Life… so many people are grateful for theirs. I wouldn't say I'm the only one who isn't… but I wouldn't mind dying. Not one bit.'
These were the thoughts of a downed lad, being stomped on and struck with elemental attacks—all because of his elements: Lightning and Shadow.
Nexora, a city of magic and technology, where humans are born with an element—or none.
Those without relied on tech to do their bidding. In a sense, there was equality.
But it was all an illusion.
Hidden beneath the happy smiles and laughter was a darker truth.
The weak and poor? Disregarded. Treated worse than dirt.
Mort, however, faced an even crueler fate.
Sure, he was poor and weak, but that wasn't the cause of his daily beatings.
It was his elements—cursed with two of the most infamous powers to ever grace the Earth.
To the people of Nexora, Mort was a living scapegoat.
Those elements were responsible for the most haunting catastrophe mankind had ever known.
But should that justify the abuse of a child?
Mort groaned as each elemental-enhanced kick and punch landed on him.
Pain—his oldest friend. Since he could talk, it never left.
From verbal assaults to gut-wrenching blows.
"What a loser,"
a voice taunted, followed by giggles—
each word stabbing deeper into his psyche.
He didn't ask to be born with this curse.
"I just want to be alone. Happy…"
"I'll never get tired of this, beating you up, Mort."
The voice broke him out of his bitter train of thought.
"Once a weakling, always a weakling!"
Laughter echoed through the alleyway.
Cold words rained on his broken body, each one peeling away his will to stand.
"What a loser."
'So what? Nobody's perfect.'
"Imagine being an anomaly."
'Like people with elements are 'normal'.'
"I heard he was a mistake. That's why he has only a mother."
'Shut up.'
"Freak."
'I hate all of you.'
It wouldn't stop. The voices, the sneers, the eyes.
All he could do was take his punishment, limp home again in a bloodied, torn uniform, and give his mom yet another pathetic excuse.
'Heh… I fell off the stairs again, Mom… like she'd believe it. Fifth time this week.'
'No.'
'No more.'
He couldn't keep being a punching bag.
He'd been nothing but selfish—
stressing his mom every damn day.
All those nights she sobbed and blamed herself while patching his clothes.
Working three jobs. Being labeled a pariah—
"The woman who birthed the curse."
"The woman who couldn't keep her husband."
There were other single mothers. Why should she be treated differently?
He didn't care that his dad wasn't in his life—not anymore.
His mom was more than enough.
And all he did was add to her pain.
He couldn't even fight back when that bastard threatened her earlier today.
The law? It didn't care. There was no justice.
So why bend to it?
It was time.
I won't bow anymore. I won't let anyone dictate my life—or hers.
"S-shut u-up…"
he muttered, forcing his body to move. One knee planted as he panted in pain.
The blows paused. Whether it was pity or shock, didn't matter.
What mattered was—just for a moment—he felt in control.
"What was that, you son of a whore!?"
This bastard... how dare he?!!
Rage surged, but before he could react, Jake kicked him again, hard in the gut.
Bones cracked. The sound echoed through the alley.
Some of the bullies winced.
"Jake, I think he's had enough…"
James said, queasy. He was 5'6", light-skinned, lean, with wind-tousled white hair.
"You're right, James… but this ain't over, Mort, you hear me?"
Jake—5'9", lean-muscled, with wild, fiery red hair—shouted at Mort.
They walked away, laughing.
Some chuckled nervously, uneasy after that brutal final blow.
'Are you really going to let them walk away… just like that?'
"Huh…"
Mort muttered, bleeding lips trembling.
'I must be losing it. Definitely hit my head too hard.'
'You idiot, you're not mad!'
The voice was loud, sudden—he winced.
He tried to roll over to look for the voice.
'Don't bother. You won't find us.'
Another voice—this one calmer, cooler, shadowed.
He laid back down, staring at the sky lost in thought .
'Wait… why does the sky look like… pixels?'
'You are weak. It's almost pitiful.'
The second voice again.
But it didn't feel mocking. It felt… concerned?
'Why don't you fight back?'
Even while disappointed, it didn't sound like it looked down on him.
'Well?! You gonna fight back or be a wuss?'
The first voice cut in, annoyed.
'Hurry up! I'm getting bored, kiddo!'
"I'm trying... my body hurts and who the hell are you guys?"
he whispered, barely audible.
'Don't you want to make them suffer? For everything they've done?'
The calm voice again, suddenly felt… close. Like breath on his neck.
But he was flat on the ground. No one was there.
'Fight.'
And then… silence.
Only the snickering bullies remained in earshot.
Then came the burn.
Not fire—but hotter. Like his soul was boiling.
And then…
It stopped.
"I hate all of you..."
his voice was guttural. Animalistic. Not human.
Every memory flashed—the hatred, the sneers, the hunger…
His mother crying herself to sleep.
Just because of these cursed elements?!
He never wanted them!
But now…
He rolled over. Pain gone.
Something else thrummed in its place.
'All I want for Christmas is youuuu'
(Ok, bad joke—back to the trauma.)
'All I want… is...'
He pushed himself up.
Arms trembling. Knees shaking—not from weakness, but from power.
A static hum rushed through his body—intoxicating.
"I'll make you all… pay. From now on, no one will have power over me."
Mort's voice strengthened as he stepped toward the retreating boys.
One turned, snorting.
"Oi, the idiot's saying something."
"Shut up…"
"Huh?"
The boy blinked, confused.
"I said… shut up!!!"
Mort yelled, his body sore but rising.
"Well well well… look who suddenly grew some balls."
Jake said, turning with a smug grin.
He looked at James.
"See? This is what happens when you don't cut a problem at its roots."
Jake grabbed Mort by the chin, forcing him to look up.
Bloodied, swollen, bruised—but still glaring.
Mort had woolly black hair, stood 5'7", skinny but not broken.
BAM!
A fiery fist slammed into Mort's gut, burning through his already-tattered uniform.
"They always grow back."
Jake muttered with a sadistic smirk stretching into a psychotic grin.
"Let's go, boys."
He ordered, walking off.