Chapter 49: Flashback (Pt 3)
Five years ago, in Henry and Scar’s previous world.
The shrill, electric ring of the recess bell echoed through the hallways of Westside Elementary School.
Twelve-year-old Henry stood on his tiptoes, struggling to push a heavy textbook onto the top shelf of his locker. He was remarkably small for his age, wearing a slightly oversized, faded sweater provided by the Orphanage where he lived.
It had been nine years since the accident. Nine years since the screeching tires, the twisted metal, and the shattered glass tore Henry’s world apart. Nine years since he had lost his parents to a tragic fate.
For a normal child, a tragedy of that magnitude would have been a psychological death sentence. But twelve-year-old Henry was remarkably, almost unnervingly, intact. He was a frail, quiet boy living at St. Jude’s orphanage—an upscale institution funded by a wealthy benefactor. The institution ensured he was fed and educated, but it couldn’t protect him from the harsh hierarchy of the schoolyard.
And Henry was a prime target.
He had no parents, no friends, and a tragic backstory that made him an easy mark for bullies. Yet, despite the constant torment, and the tragedy that defined him, Henry remained remarkably kind. He still smiled. He still greeted people politely. He still looked toward the future with a naive, gentle optimism.
He didn’t know that his optimism wasn’t born of resilience. It was because he never actually felt the pain. Every ounce of his grief, every nightmare, and every physical blow he took was being siphoned away into the darkest corners of his brain by the anonymous alter ego who secretly lived in his submind. Roy took it all. Roy was the sponge, the silent guardian in the mind who swallowed the agony so Henry would never feel a moment of suffering and despair.
But Henry didn’t know this. He was living his life in obliviousness.
"Hey, orphan!" A sharp voice suddenly ranged in his ears.
Henry flinched. The textbook slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Standing in a semi-circle around him were three older boys. Marcus, a fourteen-year-old with a cruel sneer, stood in the center. Flanking him were his two lackeys: Leo, a tall, lanky boy who constantly chewed on a toothpick, and Toby, a stocky kid with heavy fists and a perpetually vacant expression.
Henry bent down to pick up his book, offering a nervous, polite smile. "H-Hi, guys. I was just heading out to the yard—"
Marcus slammed his heavy boot down on the textbook, pinning it to the floor. "You’re not heading anywhere, Mercer. Today is Friday. Which means your taxes are due. Where’s our money?"
"I... I don’t have it," Henry stammered, his hands trembling as he clutched the straps of his backpack. "The matron at the orphanage didn’t give us our allowance this week because of the broken window. I’m really sorry, Marcus. Maybe next week?"
Leo scoffed, crossing his arms. "Next week? You think we’re running a charity here, huh?"
"I don’t like liars," Marcus growled, stepping into Henry’s personal space. "Empty your pockets."
"I promise, I don’t have anything!" Henry pleaded, his voice cracking with genuine fear.
Marcus didn’t care. He shoved Henry hard in the chest.
Henry stumbled backward, his spine slamming violently against the cold metal of the locker. And in that singular microsecond of physical impact, the frightened, innocent light in the twelve -year-old’s eyes completely vanished. It was extinguished instantly, replaced by a cold, hollow abyss.
Roy took over.
Unlike Henry, he didn’t cower. He didn’t fret. He slowly straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders as he leaned casually against the lockers. He looked up at the three older boys, an eerie, terrifyingly calm smirk spreading across his face.
"Hello, boys," Roy said, his voice entirely devoid of Henry’s trembling fear. It was smooth, steady, and laced with dark amusement. "Let’s get this over with, shall we? I have places to be."
Marcus frowned, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in demeanor.
"He’s doing that creepy thing again, Marcus," Toby muttered, taking a half-step back. "The weird face."
"Shut up, Toby," Marcus snapped. He grabbed Roy by the collar of his oversized sweater, hauling him up onto his toes and slamming him back against the lockers. "You think you can hold out on us, freak?"
Roy just laughed. It was a dark, mocking sound that echoed down the empty hallway. "Is that all you’ve got, Marcus? You push like a malnourished kid," he sneered. "No wonder your dad drinks. If I had you as a son, I’d probably want to kill myself."
Marcus’s eyes widened. Those words hit him hard and bruised his pride. He boiled with anger, his face burning with fury. "I’ll kill you!" He snarled, driving a heavy fist into Roy’s stomach.
Roy doubled over, the breath leaving his lungs in a sharp hiss, but the laughter didn’t stop. He felt the pain blooming in his abdomen, but he didn’t care. He never did. The physical trauma was always absorbed by his amusement and isolated consciousness.
Roy looked back up, his eyes bright with defiant mockery. "Come on, Marcus. Put some weight into it. My grandmother hits harder than that."
"Shut up!" Marcus yelled. Then, out of fury and humiliation, he drew his fist back and swung wildly at Roy’s head. The heavy punch landed squarely on Roy’s mouth.
Roy’s head snapped violently to the side, his laughter abruptly ending.
The hallway went dead silent, save for the heavy, angry panting of the older boys.
Roy slowly reached a small, trembling hand up to his mouth. His fingers brushed against his lower lip. When he pulled his hand away, his fingertips were stained with blood. His lip was split open, the metallic taste of blood flooding his tongue.
He froze.
His expression instantly shifted from amusement to horror, which rapidly condensed into a cold, blinding rage.
Roy always tolerated the beatings from Marcus and his gang. He always provoked them to keep the bullies focused on him, and he endured the shoves and the gut punches because those dull aches faded within hours, long before he handed control back to Henry. But a deep, bleeding laceration? A split lip? That would take days to heal. That meant that when Henry eventually took back control, he would feel the stinging, persistent pain of a busted lip.
And that went against his entire mission. That went against his promise.
I promised her, he thought, as the bloody face of his dying mother flashed in his mind. I promised I would bear the pain. I promised I would protect him.
Roy slowly looked up at Marcus. "What have you done?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a dark, homicidal fury that made Leo and Toby instinctively back away. "If Henry wakes up... he will feel this."
"What the hell is he talking about?" Leo asked, looking nervously at Marcus.
Marcus shook his head in a likewise confusion. "Y-You’re crazy, Mercer. You need help." he stammered, trying to mask his sudden fear.
Meanwhile, Roy wasn’t even thinking straight anymore. Driven by a violent, protective surge of adrenaline, he suddenly lunged forward like a coiled spring. He planted his feet, twisted his hips, and drove his fist upward into the bridge of Marcus’s nose.
The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed in the hall.
Marcus screamed, blood exploding from his nostrils as he stumbled backward and crashed hard onto his rear.
The two lackeys stared in utter shock. The punching bag had just hit back.
"Argh! How dare you hit me, you freak!" Marcus shrieked through the blood. "Get him!"
Leo lunged, grabbing Roy by the shoulder. Roy didn’t try to wrestle the larger boy. He spun around, sinking his teeth viciously into the meat of Leo’s forearm. Leo howled in pain, ripping his arm back. Toby rushed in, raising a fist, but Roy swept a wild, desperate kick directly into the stocky boy’s kneecap, forcing him to stumble.
Before the brawl could escalate further, the shrill, mechanical ringing of the bell pierced the air. Recess was over. Heavy footsteps echoed from the nearby stairwell as teachers began emerging into the halls.
Marcus scrambled to his feet, tears of pain and humiliation streaming down his face. He wiped the blood from his mouth, shooting Roy a look of pure, murderous intent. "You’re dead meat, Mercer. You hear me? Dead!" he said, walking away in fury. He along with his lackeys scrambled out of the hallway, disappearing down the corridor before any of the teachers could spot them.
Roy stood alone in the hallway, his chest heaving. He wiped the blood from his own chin, his eyes cold and calculating. He calmly bent down, picked up his textbook and backpack, and walked directly to the boys’ bathroom.
He stood over the sink, washing the blood from his lips with water. He pressed a wet paper towel to his split lip, wincing slightly as the sting flared. He touched it gently, confirming that the sharp throb was still there.
He stared at his small, bruised reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t relinquish control. He would have to stay in the driver’s seat for the rest of the day, maybe even the next few days, until the wound completely closed. Henry couldn’t be allowed to feel this.
Roy sat through the rest of the school day in silence. When the final bell rang, he left the school premises immediately. He didn’t wait by the front gates for the other orphanage children and the chaperone. He slipped through a gap in the chain-link fence at the back of the yard and began the long walk back to St. Jude’s alone.
He was just two streets away from the orphanage when chaos erupted.
Roy was walking along a narrow, dead-end alleyway littered with overflowing dumpsters and broken glass, when Marcus, Leo, and Toby suddenly stepped out from behind a stack of wooden pallets, blocking the only exit.
Marcus’s nose was heavily taped, his eyes burning with venom. He wasn’t just looking to bully a kid for lunch money anymore. He was holding a jagged, heavy piece of broken masonry. Leo held a thick wooden plank, and Toby was cracking his knuckles.
Roy didn’t back away. He didn’t scream for help. He just dropped his backpack onto the dirty concrete and tried to back away. But they swarmed him instantly, boxing him in before he could run.
And then, the beating begun.
Leo swung the plank, catching Roy in the back of the knees and sending him crashing to the asphalt. Roy immediately curled into a tight ball, protecting his head with his arms as the heavy kicks rained down on his ribs, his spine, and his stomach.
"Hold him down!" Marcus yelled.
Toby and Leo grabbed Roy’s arms, pinning the struggling twelve-year-old flat against the filthy concrete.
Marcus loomed over him, panting heavily, his face twisted in rage. Then, he raised the jagged piece of masonry and slashed it violently across Roy’s face. The sharp stone tore across Roy’s left eye, slicing a deep, vertical gash down to his cheek. Roy screamed in agony as a searing, blinding pain exploded in his skull. Blood instantly flooded his vision, pouring down his face, pooling in his eye, and soaking the collar of his sweater.
"Why don’t you laugh now, freak," Marcus spat, dropping the bloody stone. Then he turned to Leo and Toby. "Come on. Let’s get out of here."
The three boys let go and began to walk out of the alley, leaving Roy to bleed out in the alley.
Roy lay on the cold concrete, his breathing shallow and ragged. Blood pooled beneath his cheek. The pain was excruciating, far worse than the split lip. It was a deep, jagged wound. And it would cause a permanent scar. Henry would wake up, look in the mirror, and feel the agony of a sliced face every single day of his life. And Roy believed it was all his fault.
He failed to protect Henry. He couldn’t keep him away from pain. He was too weak and spineless to do so.
He broke his promise to his mother.
But... he could still fix it. Right?
All he had to do was make sure Henry never felt pain again.
And in that filthy alley, as the rain began to lightly drizzle against the pavement, Roy had a terrifying enlightenment.
Taking the pain is not enough, he thought. I need to strike back and make sure they can’t hurt Henry ever again. I need to get rid of them. Permanently.
From his experience, shielding Henry from the blows didn’t stop the blows from coming. As long as the threat existed, Henry would never be truly safe. The only way to effectively protect his brother wasn’t to act as a shield. It was to become a sword.
The best form of defense is a good offense.
He had to attack them so severely, so completely, that they would never be able to raise a hand against Henry again.
Through his blood-soaked, blurred vision, Roy saw the rusted end of a heavy iron crowbar sticking out from beneath a nearby dumpster. He slowly pushed himself up from the concrete. His left eye was squeezed shut, a curtain of blood masking his face, but his right eye was wide open. And it was completely devoid of humanity.
I will protect you, Henry. At all costs.
......
Marcus, Leo, and Toby had barely made it ten paces toward the main street, when they suddenly heard the heavy scrape of iron against concrete echoing through the narrow alleyway.
They stopped in their tracks, their cruel laughter dying in their throats.
Marcus turned around, wiping the rain from his forehead, fully expecting to see the orphan crying in the mud.
Instead, he saw a demon.
Roy was on his feet. The left side of his face was a mask of freely flowing blood, but his posture was completely rigid. In his trembling hands, he dragged a rusted, heavy iron crowbar.
"You haven’t had enough, freak?" Marcus sneered, though his voice cracked slightly. He took a step back toward Roy, raising his fists. "I’ll put you in a coma this time!"
Roy didn’t speak. He didn’t make a sound. Instead, he launched himself forward with terrifying speed, driven by an overwhelming, feral instinct to protect Henry.
Marcus barely had time to react as Roy approached him, and swung the heavy iron bar with every ounce of strength he possessed.
CRACK.
The solid iron connected with the side of Marcus’s skull, the horrific sound of shattering bone echoing in the alley. Marcus’s eyes instantly rolled into the back of his head. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor with a heavy, lifeless thud. Dark blood rapidly began to pool around his head, mixing with the rain. His body went still, and he stopped breathing.
He was dead.
The alley descended into a suffocating, horrifying silence.
Leo and Toby stood paralyzed, their eyes wide with terror as they stared at Marcus’s lifeless body, their minds unable to process what had just happened. They were just stupid kids pretending to be tough, seeking fear and lunch money. They had absolutely no concept of murder.
"Marcus?" Toby whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Marcus, get up..."
Marcus didn’t move.
"H-He’s dead!" Leo’s eyes widened. "This freak killed him! And he’s going to kill us too if we don’t get out of here!" he let out a high, piercing shriek of pure panic. He spun on his heels and prepared to run. While Toby was too shocked to even move. The sight of murder had momentarily left him in a daze.
Roy’s right eye locked onto them. The instinct of an apex predator took over completely. They were threats. And threats had to be eliminated.
He lunged forward before Leo could take a second step, swinging the crowbar low and shattering the kid’s kneecap. The boy shrieked and collapsed to the ground, clutching his shattered leg as he writhed in the filthy puddles.
Roy stepped over him, and without hesitation, raised the iron bar and brought it down violently onto Leo’s neck. He struck mercilessly, mechanically, and repeatedly, his face showing no ounce of emotion. He hit the boy again. And again. And again. He didn’t stop until the Leo’s screaming turned into a wet gurgle, and then, silence. The boy was dead.
Roy turned, his chest heaving, his sweater soaked in blood and gore.
Toby, who had managed to recover from his shock while Roy was brutally bashing Leo’s neck in, had wanted to run as well. But his mind was still disoriented and his movement was disorganized. He had slipped on the wet floor, fell, and was now crawling frantically on his hands and knees, sobbing hysterically.
"Please! Help! Somebody help me! Please!" he yelled.
Roy walked toward him. He didn’t run. He just walked, his grip tight on the blood-slicked iron. He caught up to the terrified boy just inches from the edge of the alley.
Toby flipped onto his back, holding his hands up to shield his face, crying so hard he was choking on his own tears. "Please, Henry. Don’t do this. I’m begging you."
Roy looked down at him. There was no kindness, no flicker of humanity, and no compassion. Just a cold, calculated cruelty. He raised the weapon high and brought it down without hesitation.
CRACK. THUD.
When it was finally over, Roy stood alone in the center of the slaughter. He dropped the crowbar. It clattered loudly against the concrete. He stood in the pouring rain, staring at the three mangled bodies surrounding him. He felt no guilt. He felt no remorse. He only felt a cold, dark satisfaction.
"Now," Roy whispered to the corpses, his voice carrying an eerie, unsettling calm. "You won’t be able to hurt Henry ever again."
But as the initial rush of adrenaline began to fade, the cold, logistical reality of the world crashed down on him: He had just murdered three children in broad daylight. The police would come to find the bodies. They would conduct their investigations and discover it was he who murdered them. And they would lock him away in a cold, dark cell for the rest of his life.
And what about Henry? If Roy ever relinquished control, Henry would wake up in a cage, forced to face the horrific trauma, the blood, and the legal consequences of a slaughter he didn’t even commit. The guilt would shatter Henry’s fragile mind entirely.
And his promise would be broken completely.
Roy couldn’t let that happen.
To protect Henry, Henry had to disappear. For good.
Standing there in the rain, Roy decided to make the ultimate sacrifice. He retreated deep into their shared consciousness and found the door to the submind where Henry rested peacefully in oblivious slumber. Without hesitation, Roy locked that door from the outside, trapping Henry safely in the dark, ignorant void, and threw away the key, leaving him in a forever slumber.
Now, Roy would stay in the driver’s seat permanently, spending his life on the run to keep Henry from ever going to jail. He turned his back on the school, the orphanage, and his old life, and walked out of the alley, vanishing completely into the sprawling, unforgiving shadows of the city streets.
......