Global Awakening: Only I Can Respawn

The dim light of a flickering campfire painted the cave orange. Shadows danced along the jagged stone walls, creating sinister shapes that seemed to move on their own.

A faint whimper escaped someone's lips, followed by a man's clicking tongue. Then there was silence... apart from the shallow breaths of the elves tied to wooden posts.

There were three of them—each one secured tightly. Their wrists had turned blue and their faces pale. Blood trickled from various wounds on their bodies, staining the floor.

Despite their injuries, their eyes remained sharp, full of defiance. But when they saw the young boy standing before them, all that rage turned into empathy.

But the young elf boy, who was only twelve, had fear in his emerald eyes.

"Why did you stop, my boy?" the man sighed.

"...I-I ran out," the elf boy replied.

"Collect the knives, then."

The boy nodded and rushed towards his family. Meanwhile, the man lounged near the fire, his features hidden by shadows. He idly tossed a throwing knife into the air, catching it again with practiced ease.

His movements were lazy, almost as if he was bored to death. But there was a chilling precision in how he balanced the falling blade on the tip of his fingers.

The man turned his hidden gaze to the young elf. He stared at the young man and smiled as if he remembered something.

"You know, your kind always prides itself on its resilience," he mumbled. "I'm curious. Just how far can you bend before you break?"

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the knife hurtling through the air. It whistled past the boy's trembling ears and buried itself into the post behind him.

"Though you should try being honest for once," the man continued, pointing at the clean cut in the rope. "I know what you've been doing, boy."

Before the boy could give an excuse, the man threw another blade at him. The blade missed by inches, as he wanted.

The boy still fell on his knees, covering his head in fear. The man's soft chuckle echoed in the cave. But this time, his laugh was cold and devoid of any warmth.

The papa elf clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out as the stranger toyed with their family. His mother, tied to a post before, struggled against her bindings, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Leave him alone."

The man leaned back and sighed, as if considering her words. But then shook his head.

"Leave him alone?" he repeated. "But he's just so much fun. Isn't that what your kind said to my wife and child?"

He drew another knife and got up. He approached the boy and squatted so that they were at eye level.

"Don't flinch," he whispered, pressing the blade into the boy's small palm. "It'll hurt more if you do."

"No!" the mother yelled.

Before the man could throw the blade using the boy's arm, sudden footsteps echoed from the mouth of the cave. A man with a long scar on his face stumbled in, panting.

He was calm at first, but then his face turned pale. He hurried to the knife-wielding figure and leaned in, whispering urgently into his ear.

For a moment, the man with the knives was silent. Then, slowly, he smiled. He turned back to the boy, his eyes suddenly had a shine.

"Well, well. It seems things are about to get interesting," he said, hugging the boy. "I'm afraid I'll have to end this session now."

With a sudden movement, he wrapped his hand around the boy's wrist, forcing the small hand to grip the knife tightly.

"But let's play a game before I leave," he murmured. "A game called revenge."

"No!" the boy's mother screamed, struggling desperately.

The man ignored her, guiding the boy's hand. Together, they hurled the knife. The blade flew, burying itself in the chest of the boy's mother. Her cries were cut short as her body slumped against the post.

"No!"

The boy screamed, pushing the man away. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his mother's lifeless form. Watching the boy cry, the man's smile vanished.

He won the game, and yet he was crying. The man was planning on leaving the rest. But the young man spoiled his mood.

"So noisy," he muttered as he placed his hand on the boy's head. "Time to be quiet."

The boy's father wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth, the man threw a knife at him, killing him. He did the same with the boy's sister.

"No! Stop!" the boy yelled, trying to bite the man's hand, but couldn't. He was only a century old, unable to perform extravagant moves to surprise the man and avenge his family. He could only watch them die... slowly.

"Shh..." the man whispered in his ear. "You'll all live like a happy family soon."

The next moment, a sickening crack echoed through the cavern as he twisted the boy's neck. The young elf's body went limp, collapsing at the man's feet.

But as the boy fell, he ripped the man's sleeve. It was only then that a dark tattoo was revealed—a serpent coiled around his arm, its fangs poised to strike. Beneath it lay another tattoo, the symbol of the Phantom's Bag.

The man glanced at the tattoo and shook his head. "The more I try to forget about this, the more I have to remember it. Isn't that right, Hojin?"

"...right, YuWon."

"...what did you call me?"

"Sorry... I meant..."

"It doesn't matter," the man waved his hand. "Where is he?"

"According to Soo-Ah, on the bark's second level."

"I see," the man said. "And who is with him?"

"Yeji and Anna."

"Them, huh?" the man mumbled, tracing the serpent's outline, lost in thought for a moment. "This will be fun. I knew I'd have to deal with him myself. Clean up, we'd need a place to welcome the old me."