Imagi Mark

I never wanted to stand out. I figured if I could just blend into the walls, I could make it through Asphalt Academy without anyone noticing me. But Dustin noticed me. And the moment he did, my life started to spiral into a place I didn't think I could come back from.

It wasn't always like this. For a while, he didn't even know I existed. Then, one day in the library, that changed. After that, it was like I had a target on my back. At first, it was just words—mocking me for my hair, my height, the way I carried myself. Then it was the shoulder checks in the hallway, the books knocked out of my hands. Small things. I thought I could take it.
But Dustin didn't stop there. He didn't want me to just feel humiliated; he wanted me to feel powerless.
When Izanagi stepped in, it was the first time anyone had ever stood up for me. He was fearless in a way I could never be. I remember watching him face Dustin and his friends, kendo stick in hand, like a samurai out of one of his books. He didn't even flinch when Dustin called him names or when they laughed in his face.
But it cost him. He got suspended for bringing a weapon to school, and without him, I was alone again. The day he left, I felt the world tilt just a little more against me. "Don't let them break you." he told me. I didn't realize how hard that would be.
The week after Izanagi's suspension was hell. Dustin's torment escalated. The verbal jabs turned into bruises on my ribs, my arms, my legs. One afternoon, they cornered me behind the gym. Dustin's friends laughed as they shoved me to the ground. He didn't laugh, though. His face was calm, almost too calm.
The kicks started. I don't remember how many. I just remember the pain, sharp and unrelenting. I tried to get up, but they pushed me back down. "Stay where you belong!" one of them sneered.
Then, suddenly, they were gone. All of them except Dustin. I didn't understand why they left until he grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. The look in his eyes—hungry, angry, desperate—made my stomach churn.
"You think you're better than me?" he hissed, his grip tightening.
I shook my head, too scared to speak. He didn't believe me.
What happened next is a blur. My body remembers more than my mind does. The way I froze, the way my chest felt like it might cave in from the weight of it all. I remember the tears stinging my eyes, the humiliation burning hotter than the pain. When it was over, I couldn't even move. I just lay there, staring at the ground as he walked away.
I don't know how long it took me to get up. My body ached with every step, and my mind was blank except for one thought: get home. I limped the whole way, dragging myself through the streets.
When I walked through the door, my mother was there. She'd just come home from her second job, her face tired but kind. She looked at me and smiled, but then her expression shifted when she noticed my limp.
"Christian." she said softly, her voice full of concern. "What happened?"
"Nothing, Mama," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."
She didn't believe me, I could see it in her eyes, but she didn't push. She kissed my forehead and whispered, "You're going to be something great. I know it."
"I love you," I said, my voice breaking just a little.
I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me. The moment I was alone, I let myself fall apart. My body shook with sobs I couldn't control. I grabbed Vincula Imaginis from my desk, clutching it like it could somehow fix everything.
"I don't ever want to feel weak again." I whispered through the tears. "I just want to be strong."
When I woke up the next morning, I felt... different. My body didn't ache the way it should have. I sat up, and that's when I noticed it. My hands—they were bigger, my arms more muscular. I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, barely recognizing the person staring back at me in the mirror.
I was taller. My once-slender frame was now strong, defined, like I'd spent years training instead of one night crying. My pale skin seemed to glow under the bathroom light, and my white hair looked brighter, almost shimmering.
I reached out to steady myself on the sink, and it crumbled under my grip. I stared at the broken porcelain, my heart pounding. Something had changed. Something big.
But I didn't care about figuring it out. There was only one thing on my mind: Dustin.
At school, I found Dustin and his gang behind the gym. They were laughing, carefree, like nothing had happened. The sound of their voices made my blood boil.
I approached them slowly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on my face. One of the girls in Dustin's group noticed me first. She sneered. "What do you want, library boy?"
When she raised her hand to slap me, I caught her wrist without thinking. The sound of her bones snapping echoed through the air. She screamed, and her friends stared in shock.
I let go of her wrist, and she fell to the ground, clutching her broken hand. I bent down, reaching out to help her, but something went wrong. My grip tightened, and before I knew it, I'd torn her arm clean off.
Blood sprayed everywhere. The sight of it froze me in place.
"What the hell are you?!" Dustin shouted, his voice shaking.
Something inside me snapped. I turned to him, my lips curling into a smile that didn't feel like mine. "Stronger than you." I said.
The rest happened so fast. I don't even remember all of it. I moved like I wasn't in control of my own body, like something else had taken over. I punched, kicked, tore through them like they were nothing. By the time I reached Dustin, the others were already dead.
He tried to run, but I caught him easily. I didn't hesitate. My hand swung, and his head separated from his body in one clean motion. It hit the ground and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.
And then it was over.
I looked around at what I'd done. Blood pooled on the ground, mixing with the scattered remains of Dustin's gang. My stomach churned, and I doubled over, vomiting until there was nothing left.
I ran. I didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't stay there. My hands were stained with blood, my mind racing with the weight of what I'd done.
I didn't feel weak anymore. But I didn't feel human, either.