Clang, the sound of the large lunchroom door echoes down the staircase. An eerie darkness carrying a sense of chill as if he's coming to meet his maker-- the one in hell.

Grabbing onto the cold, rusty, paint-chipped railing, he runs his hand down cautiously as he walks. The feeling makes him feel alive. Soon to be a part of something big, dangerous, and worth it. They informed Crescent to enter this door to compete in The Gauntlet.

The first thing on his list-- to at least sign up. Running late because of classes, but he faked being sick so the teacher let him see the nurse. Skipping on that, accompanied by Ahni, they descend into a dark staircase, what smells like an old, molded basement.

The small specs of light at the bottom step clarifies someone's down there waiting. He could hear paper tearing and a male's voice humming a taunting tune. Would Hell be this welcoming? The clinking of Ahni's shoes alerts the male that someone's approaching, so he leans over the booth and gives a slow wave.

"You're late," He calls to the two. "However, spots are still open so, you can sign up here."

Ahni taps Crescent on the arm, leaning into him with a concerned look. This setup is sending chills down his spine. It's suddenly hot though the whirring of the air conditioner told otherwise. Why is it overwhelming? The fact that there's no turning back from this. He still couldn't somehow convince Crescent to leave, right?

"I'm not fighting, Cres?"

Crescent scoffs at how little his younger brother allowed himself to sound. When Ahni didn't want to do things, he'd often cowardly back down and mumble to Crescent. Of course. Like he'd dare put Ahni in something so reckless. This wasn't his battle to fight. Crescent walks up to the booth; no greeting left his lips, but a simple,

"One, please."

The male looks between the two brothers, trying to figure out who's the participant. From the sizes, the way they looked, and the expression they gave off, he hands the ticket to Ahni.

"You're tenth. One of our participants decided he didn't want to show. Sign here." The male behind the booth spoke. An impassive expression, stained with scars and old battle wounds. He looks like he shares his own gauntlet story at some point. Now, just a desk clerk?

Crescent bit down on his bottom lip, offended by the older students' actions. Though Crescent's the one to speak, Ahni again receives the spotlight. He understands that his brother is taller and looks slightly more intimidating. He reaches over to take the ticket from Ahni, who unwillingly grabs the object and gave a little sigh.

"I'm going to act like I have composure, but don't push me. My brother is just here for support."

Crescent matter-of-factly corrects the male with a vexed tone. His eyebrows ruffle a bit, eyes rolling off to one side. Being a constant dynamite, which words could light his fuse, Crescent often finds offense in even the smallest disrespectful actions. Simple misunderstandings are not tolerated.

The male in the booth is left baffled as his eyes widen in shock. Not wanting to make matters worse, he extends the clipboard to Crescent without a word. Once signed, the male points at the door beside them, clearing his throat of awkwardness.

"Enter, walk straight. Give the gatekeeper your name and number. He will let you in. After that, keep walking. You will see a large door on your right. Preparation room-- stay put till they call your number. You..."

The male's gaze shifts onto Ahni. "... little... brother, stay in the seating area to the left of the preparation room. Sit away from the gang leaders."

Crescent nods and then wastes no time going through the heavy metal doors. The bar's cold, a sign that no one had touched it. The room he enters is bright, forcing his eyes to squint as he tries to concentrate on the path before him.

Gates placed up as thick walls created a designated walkway he must follow, met by concrete floors. If someone's to come down to look around, it'll seem like a pit built to harvest something illegal like dog fighting. The grey walls were scrubbed but still stained in an old brown substance. Everything looks similar to a cage.

In the end, he could see a male dressed in all black waiting for him.

"So, this is what he meant by Gatekeeper," Crescent spoke, leaning towards his brother. The male is large, at least six foot three. He's buff and stands proud with his hands on the other at his lower belly. He wonders if he could fight someone that big. Crescent always wants to test his limits with life. Being big and buff doesn't mean they are the best. That's why he needs to let everyone know his fierceness is in a small package. Crescent approaches with his ticket held out,

"Crescent White. Number 10."

Crescent speaks clearly. The gatekeeper takes the number without a word, stepping aside, and opening the chained gate. A large squeak pierces the quiet room, forcing Ahni to cover his ears and bow his head. Crescent remains unfazed, and the two of them enter the door. Walk a few steps, the gated wall split into a capital T shape, and Crescent's looking up at Ahni, smiling.

"See you later," Crescent whispers before he turns down the correct path. Ahni watches him go, not saying a word. The more he watched his brother throughout the years, the more he saw how small Crescent's frame had been. The lack of food and nutrients Crescent denies himself is apparent as he had always fed Ahni first. With the fierce drive to fight to protect, that is something saved for someone as Ahni's size. Ahni just couldn't.

Through it all, his brother strutted with spirit. He didn't know who stood behind that door, and Crescent was ready. The concern Ahni stressed in the dorm room went on deaf ears because here they were.

He questioned why Crescent was putting himself in danger. Crescent didn't answer him. Ahni let out a soft sigh. Since yesterday Crescent spoke less; concentration was somewhere else. He even let go of the feelings he had in the lunchroom. He nearly threw a fit a few days ago and wanted to teach Kisha a lesson.

"Do your best, Cres." Ahni whispered reply, turning and heading down the hall.

It isn't like Ahni dares to stand up to his brother.

Crescent pushes open the last door before he enters a room full of a handful of students. It's clear that he's the last participant to enter. Each student seated at a desk with a number on it, all facing a giant television. He gains some looks as individuals size him up, possibly trying to guess his number or the fact that he's any good.

Crescent made his way to the only seat available before he sat down. The number on this desk isn't his number at all. The silence in the room is deadly. Everyone on edge, the tension clear. At this moment, it's like sitting in a wolf's den with starving wolves. Fresh blood and meat spewed everywhere, and no ones able to eat. They are enemies, all seated in a room. Only one person's going to come out on top.

Crescent fixes his hoodie, pulling the black hood over his head as he leans against the back of his seat. His chosen attire for a fight resembles the fighting gear he wears on the streets.

He wore a black-plain hoodie, dark blue basketball shorts, and sneakers that would give him grip. He left his glasses in the dorm room. A plain white shirt resided beneath the hoodie.

He could feel the nerves in his body ramping up, not out of fear, but the fact that eyes are to judge his every move. Aware that his skills today could make or break him.

Suddenly the room fills with the glow of the television, and all eyes turn directly to the white screen. The time in the right-hand corner read 2:59 pm.

No going back now, and he came slightly late, so he didn't have time to think about anything. Crescent made sure to keep his mind clear. He has chosen not to know who his opponents are personally.

As the flat screen strikes 3:00 pm, the screen turns. In front of the camera pops a young male. He lets off a large smile, tongue sticking between his teeth. What's fascinating is that his uniform is the same color the chubby first year calls an Elite.

"Hi, Diorn here." He raises one hand innocently.

"I am your host. Let's jump right into this. Those of you whose numbers I haven't called will remain seated. Any noise behind that door, and I'll send in someone to fuck you up." He winks.

"You will watch as everyone battles it out for the top spot. Behind me is a ring. You fight, you win, and the next opponent you face. Simple. There are no rules. It's an elimination, so if you lose, you will be kindly carried out."

The male let out a small laugh, staring eerie into the camera. His hallowed dark brown eyes seem unconcerned about what's to come. Psychopaths come in many forms. It's as if he's been waiting for a moment like this. His insanity level seemed to match Asho's.

"Give me numbers one and two." Diorn's ready to begin.

Without a gap in time, Crescent watches as two males stand up and exit the room. Being the first to join a match has to be brutal, considering this is an elimination.

There's no way they are going to survive till the end. Soon, the two males appear in front of the camera, and the host suddenly vanishes, but his shadowed figure still could be seen in the side view.

A bell hit the air; the fight has begun.

The reflection of all the participants who were called before him to fight flowed in his eyes, each number after the other. Crescent studied everyone intensely. He had to know exactly how they moved; their fighting styles. What choice in weapon they brought, their speed, and their power.

None of the matches stopped until a body remained unconscious on the ground. Dead or not, Crescent did not know, but the red liquid that spewed all over the gated ring was a clear sign injury was unavoidable.

Blood poured from eyes, and mouths, haunting the participants behind the screen of their fate. Crescent remained unfazed, his expression; none. He leans forward, hands cuffed beneath his chin to hold the weight of his head. It isn't long until the host looks over into the screen.

"Number ten."

A jolt of realization hit Crescent as Diorn spoke his number. He inhales slowly, stands up, and makes his way out of the room. As he steps into the ring, he could see the extent of what had unfolded.

There's a blood pool, splatters, and drips; smell of iron and sweat immense. It makes him want to hold his breath. The feeling of lungs clogged up by the nauseating stench. Particles of human teeth crunched under his feet as he slowly walks toward the middle.

A male waits for him, his face drenched in crimson red. Crescent could only see the stare of his cold, empty eyes.

He's ready to fight again, to hurt the next person. A monster.

This male climbed on his opponent and crushed him until the guy stopped struggling in the last match. So that was his tactic. A plan Crescent's confident he could beat.

There were guys like this out there in street fights. They used their bodies for weight and rapid hits to immobilize their opponents. The tactic-- don't allow them on top of you.

"You with the hoodie. Plan to fight in it?" Diorn calls quickly.

Crescent's rigid look turn gaze over to the Elite that addressed him.

"You're bothered? Give me a break." He scoffs.

The male let out a small "Oof."

Before he waves his hand.

The bell rang.

Crescent was successful at every match he was in. The numbers kept climbing, and so did his status and his confidence. Nine, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are all eliminated; by this time, Crescent is only a little worn.

Participant number fifteen brought brass knuckles and managed to land a few hits on him. He was also a little tired after the drawn-out match. It would have been easier to finish each participant in set time, but he failed, and his body suffered the consequences.

Sixteen soon comes, but the hand dealt is different this time. Two students enter wearing the same thing. They are twins. Whatever. Crescent balls up his fists, rose them to his chest, and stood on guard.

Both twins charge, wasting no time standing around. As if two caged dogs were just released. Separating as they approach to make sure that one of them end up on each side of him. All Crescent could do-- block. The sound of their sneakers tells him of their closing speed. To get the upper hand, he looks to find an opening.

The Right twin throws a straight, hard punch toward Crescent's face. Crescent blocks the hit with his forearms. He has left his torso open; The Left twin throws a heavy kick, and it lands.

Crescent doubles over, his frame nearly lifted from his feet just shy to balance on tiptoes, saliva bursting from his mouth. The winds knocked out of him; hard to catch his breath, sending him to his knees, coughing.

This, a fatal opening because one twin grabs Crescent from under his arms, holding them behind his back and securing a lock on his movements. With no effort, Crescent's forced to stand up. The other twin starting to swing a barrage of punches at Crescent's midsection. The heavy and swift hits felt like someone is hitting him with a bat.

He could feel the contents in his body constricting. The feelings of nausea mixed with unbearable discomfort hit him with every blow. The pain is constant, rippling through his back and neck.

The worst part he could hear the loud grunts and sharp inhales from his opponents. The breathing technique they used to keep oxygen flowing into their bodies.

The same idea runners use. This is an indication that these two are built on stamina. Crescent knew he had to get out of this somehow. He doesn't plan to lose this match. Facing two individuals gave them the upper hand as they had double the number of limbs and thought patterns. So how could he win this?

When he was jumped in middle school, he'd only lay there blocking the blows until one boy decided to let up. He figured the kid had become tired, which gave Crescent an opportunity, but this wasn't the case.

These two were fresh. This wasn't some kids fighting over toys or throwing fits because they were upset. These were grown men on a mission. They were not too friendly either.

Crescent's tired of being a punching bag, releases a grunt, tightness in his stomach muscles, an inhale, holding his breath. The first twin punches slows in pace suddenly.

He took this as an opening and drew his knees up to his chest. Using the notion that the twin behind him will carry his weight, Crescent took the risk. The twin before him looks in disbelief that Crescent could even still move.

A punch thrown at Crescent's rib to stop him, but Crescent's leading in steps, extending his left leg. A great amount of force used, kicking the twin right in the center of his chest. The impact forces the male to stumble back and place a hand over the throbbing pain to comfort it. The twin behind him even stumbles backward, still clinging to Crescent.

The two of them ended up against the gate, with Crescent now separating the twins, and with only a few seconds to gain the lead, he needed to be free.

"You, you, you, asshole!"

Crescent yells at the top of his lungs. The anger inside of him boiling. He couldn't feel the extent of the damage to his body because he's running off adrenaline, but his focus keeps on the match. Crescent drives his knee up to his chest. He begins stomping repeatedly on the male's foot. Hard, strong blows aimed directly at the toes.

The thin shoes they wore are a piece of their tactic for speed. They needed to keep the friction from the concrete floor to a minimum. Unable to take the blows, the twin releases Crescent; however, Crescent didn't budge. He presses back, locking him between the gate and his weight.

Taking this risk is worth it. The grip on the soles of his shoes and the concrete allow stiffened leg to become a kickstand. The twin screams, raising his hands and placing them at Crescent's back.

He couldn't push him off. The screams alert the first twin, and he comes running to help his pinned brother. He cocks back his hand, wincing, but aims a punch straight for Crescent's face. It's good that the two twins are nearly the same size as himself because, as his gaze fell on the first twin's fist, Crescent wraps his leg around the second twin's knee before suddenly ducking as if falling forward.

The second twin's head suddenly twists to one side, his cheek digging into the gate. The force so strong that blood splatter from his lips, and pieces of teeth hurl into the air. This didn't stop Crescent.

He shifts weight, now between the two men. Crescent wraps his arms around the first twin, and with much force, pushes forward.

With his tangled leg, the second twin is pulled to a seating position, his back grinding against the metal wall. The first twin moved back by Crescent. The two sent to the ground with Crescent now on top.

He straddles the male without slowing in his pace, unleashing a bunch of punches to the male's head. The twin draw his hands up, but Crescent's way ahead of him. He swings a left hook, knocking the male on the side of his temple.

The blow dazes the twin for a second, and his defense weakens. Crescent sends his fist straight into the male's drawn-up guard, breaking the arms apart and landing one right on the nose.

The male calls out to his brother, who has taken time to examine his foot, groaning in pain. The side of his face swollen and blocked vision with blood dripping from his lips doesn't help the hysteria he's hearing.

The second twin weakly jumps to his feet, stumbling forward, but succeeds at extending his arms out to grab Crescent. He yanks Crescent by the hood, sending the rim of the hoodie into his neck. The choking, forcing him to shift his weight as the air in his chest becomes trapped. Taking deep breaths, coughing to release the feeling in his throat, Crescent's lungs burn from sharp inhales. He's finally starting to feel the punches to his midsection.

Rolling over, placing his hands on the ground, he weakly pushes himself to his feet, trying to gain his footing, but his weight goes forward, and he staggers to his knees.

To dodge two individuals, he has to be faster than them or be strong enough to take on their hits. The only image that kept him from giving in was Ahni. He's somewhere watching. Maybe not so proud of him right now, but this is all for him.

He manages to catch himself with his hands, forcing his body to stand. He has to end the match. The only way to do so is to deliver his onslaught on the weakest twin. The second male would be the target because of his foot.

Crescent ran his hand over his mouth to wipe away the escaping saliva. He huffs, his gaze concentrating on the second twin who's scooting backward towards the gate. Crescent's lazily blurred vision trying to keep focus on the figures.

He's trying to use the gate to pull himself up, but Crescent's plans otherwise. Slowly limping towards the male, reaching out and aggressively grappling his hair, forcing the male's head to one side, Crescent grits his teeth, drawing back his fist.

One hit turns two, three, four. He's sending them to the side of the male's head, not allowing the pain inside of him to hold him back.

The sounds of bones hitting flesh echo the air, Crescent's screams growing in sudden intensity. All those years of anger and fights swell up inside of him. People tried to top him. Getting in his way, and now the recent memory of the lunchroom pissed him off even more.

The side of the male's face soon turns red, blood splattering out of his ear. Where there are no rules, murder is accepted. He had never hurt someone this badly, nor had he wanted to, but now he had to prove to everyone watching. This school, these students, they are not going to get the best of him.

No matter how beaten he becomes. His endurance is strong.

So much regret because he allowed these two to get the upper hand. He needs everyone watching to know that he's here. To bask in him, be shaken by him, and know that this could be anyone in his way.

The "Uhns," that made their way into the air soon turn into a full-out war cry.

"CAN YOU SEE?!"

Crescent yells through the rattling chain, cries of the twin at his mercy, and the pounding of flesh. He demands they remember him. So far, he carries the gauntlet with the most wins. He has proven himself this year. The arrogance fill the air as sweat drops to the ground. Knowing his size is underestimated, he felt he has proven himself beyond expectations.

This life, he could be in it. Control it. Did he want it?

Yes.

"I am here! And you will NEVER forget me!" Crescent suddenly calls again.

Ahni stands up, running to the gate, grabbing hold of it. Kisha and Saikai are the ones he approaches. Their interest seems locked in the commotion in the cage.

His brother's zoned out in anger. He knew Crescent had this inside of him. That drive to hurt someone beyond normalcy, but he never wanted to see it, nor did he want Crescent to regret it. The capabilities in those fiery eyes shined a killer or at least a person who didn't fear killing someone.

They aren't monsters. Are not like those in this school! Aren't gang members and people who rape, kill, and extort others. Are not like those that do drugs. They don't belong here! Their family isn't broken. They were not raised in a loveless atmosphere. Mom and Dad were not filled with hatred! Aunt Suewell loved them!

 His older brother loves him, smiles at him, and gave him whatever he wants. Yes, they struggled day by day, but the care in Crescent's heart is gold. Ahni knew his brother... He knew!

Their only means is survival, so why did Crescent resemble a stranger right now? A perfect fit for this life...

"E-e-excuse me, but stop the fight!"

Ahni calls to Saikai, who shoots him a glance, a smile in pure amusement. He doesn't want to look away from the fight, but a nuisance is in his ear. Watching Crescent pummelling another human being gives him goosebumps.

"You are ruining the moment. Sit your ass down and be quiet." That's all he spits back at Ahni, but Ahni refuses to give up. What's wrong with these people?! They all look to be loving it. The light in their eyes. The devilish teeth-filled smile. What's so funny about watching human beings act like caged animals?! This isn't right!

The air is bitter, more so than it's ever been. Laying on the vents amid winter didn't compare. This chill is something else. Something he feels without shivers, and the energy is so dark. All the thirst in their actions being fed by... the brother he thought he knew...

The one called Asho is so excited he even let out a girl's cry every time Crescent lands a punch. Saikai only cheering the events on, counting every hit out loud. Vergyl watches intensely, and in the rough of it all, successfully, Ahni catches the expression of Kisha, who is averting his gaze multiple times. Kisha focus is on Diorn, waiting for something-- no, hoping for something?

"Locklear!"

Ahni calls, having forgotten his first name. He shakes the gate to make sure Kisha heard him. A heavy rattling in one ear brought Kisha's eyes to Ahni; the younger male riddled with concern over the fight.

Sweating, panicking, and having a tough time realizing what's happening. His pupils are dilated in shock, fingers turning red from the grip on the gate. A trembling of his bottom lip and the erupting understanding that he is helpless.

His brother unexpectedly murders someone. If a fight like this could upset him, Kisha wonders why Ahni is here. The gauntlet isn't for the faint of hearts. Kisha watches as Ahni suddenly fell to his knees, unable to hold himself anymore.

"You-you're not enjoying this, right? You could stop the fight, can't you?" Ahni tries calmly reasoning with Kisha, who seems uninterested in what he has to say. "The way you're looking. My brother isn't like that."

"What....?" Kisha whispers.

He's unsure how Ahni could even state a pointless thing. This is the gauntlet, a series of matches that have been witnessed for years. That's to pick out the strongest. Everyone who comes to these matches knows the risk. This is the rule, even if they end up losing more than just a few teeth.

"I don't know," Ahni confide. "I know that look on your face because I feel the same, Locklear. You want to help, but you just can't."

Kisha suddenly froze as Ahni read him like a book. His digits tightly close into his left palm, a slight pain radiating up his wrist. What could a stranger know about anything? Are the internal thoughts running through him obvious? Seeing Crescent in a fight did bring out desires he couldn't explain, but it isn't like he'd make a fool to act upon them. Kisha's eyes slowly drift to the tight fist. Foolish fleeting feelings towards a nobody? It's absurd. What's so interesting about another male he hadn't seen... ever?

"That concludes this fight!" Diorn yells.

Ahni instantly looking over to see that the Elite threw in the towel after yelling so loud everyone turns in disappointment.

"The infamous badass twins have lost. Such a shame to have a reputation on the streets and then be consumed by the gauntlet."

The Elite turns his gaze to an area with a large frontal glass.

"And to think you were betting on them, boss?"

The dark-tinted glass had no way to see inside; however, there's someone inside, and Diorn's excited gaze knows they are watching— everyone did, except the participants.

Crescent feels heavy, his body finally taking its last reserved energy and throwing it out the window. He falls to one knee, one eye closing as he huffs frantically to catch his breath.

Blood dripping from his hand soon pools right below him. He stares at what he has done. The lifeless slumped body leaning against the gate. Features covered in battered skin, blood dripping from multiple gashes. The twin unrecognizable. A loud squealing door reveals the large male in black, shadowing over them as he approaches.

He doesn't check for a pulse. Kneeling, grabbing hold of the twin's foot. And like garbage dragging the unconscious male from the ring. A path of blood follows, smearing, and spreading. The other twin freaks, following his lifeless brother, crying and pleading with the gatekeeper that he isn't just some trash.

Crescent had a little time to himself. He has forgotten what number he's on. How many of these lowlifes has he taken out? Balling up his bloodied fists, Crescent pushes himself to his feet once more. If he allows his mind to wander, then he will lose.

"Seventeen!"

The Elite calls. No sooner did a very tall male enter the gate. A pure brute. His hands are bandaged, and scars riddled his body. One of his eyes looks as if its been gouged out.

His haircut so short, with no shoes. A street boxer who may have earned his living sacrificing his body. Crescent took a deep breath, rolling his eyes. The opponents are getting worse. The brute approaches the middle, and Crescent follows. No words shared before the bell rings.

The brute throws a punch, expecting the already battered Crescent to cannot dodge, but that's a foolish mistake. Crescent shifts his weight to one side. Making sure that his footings balanced. The heavy punch sent a gust of air to hit him, a sign that those hands are something deadly.

The brute swings again, slower, heavier. This time Crescent's reaction is also a little slower. He's more tired than before. He lost his footing, the brute taking advantage and reaching out, grabbing hold of Crescent's hoodie.

Crescent panics, lifting his arms and throwing his weight downward. He attempts to come out of the hoodie, but the brute instantly lets go. Now, with the hoodie covering his vision, Crescent's vulnerable.

He feels the heavy hit to kill right into his rib cage, sending him flying into the gate. Crescent inhales suddenly, his chest compressing and forcing him to wheeze.

The pain ripples through him, hitting his legs like a ton of bricks as they're sent to buckle. No time to react because another strong uppercut sends Crescent's frame even further into the gate. The knuckles lock with his face. That's the very last thing he remembers as he falls unconscious.

"Oh, shit!" The Elite calls out.

Ahni can't sit to see any more of this, glad that Crescent's finally eliminated. He stands up, pushing through the gate, and runs towards the area Crescent resides. He looks at his brother in panic, not a sign that he's alive.

Ahni's heart sinks. The entire room could hear those punches landing against Crescent's small frame. As Ahni manages to catch up to the gatekeeper, he slips past when the large male opens the door.

"No! I'll carry him!"

Ahni calls back, running to his brother's side. He lifts his hands to stop the gatekeeper. His brother isn't to be dragged out like some piece of trash.

Ahni places Crescent's arms around his shoulder and picks him up. He's lifeless, but his heavy snoring is a sign he's alive. Ahni carries Crescent from the ring, losing his strength in one of the gated halls, and sinks to his knees with Crescent in his arms.

He pulls the hoodie from his body, tossing it off to one side so that he could see the damage. His face blackened on one side, lip busted and blue. His eye shut, and blood making a small path from the corner. Ahni grips his brother in panic.

"Crescent, why? Why do you always have to do this!? We lost Mom and Dad, Aunt and Uncle, but why do we have to lose each other!?"

Ahni cradles him, unsure of what to do. He holds Crescent tightly, burrowing his face into his brother's shoulder. A subtle rock as he whimpers. What if there are some broken bones? What if his brother's dying right now? After the gauntlet, where are the injured going?

The gauntlet means nothing if the participants are left to rot after their injuries. All of this for nothing. Just for the entertainment of cruel individuals. He hates them all.

"I know you're probaaaaably upset. We urge that family stay from the gauntlet. I think."

An unfamiliar voice hit Ahni's ears, but he refuses to look up.

"Well, that's quite rude of you to ignore me!"

The voice demands again, this time much louder and impatient. Ahni slowly draws his head from Crescent, looking at the person before him. His face stained with tears. This was the individual that was counting loudly. One of the gang leaders. What is his name again?

"Hello!" Asho calls out.

"Your brother is fantastic!" Those sadistic eyes look over the battered Crescent as if he's the most beautiful object they have landed on. 

Ahni looks at the individual with a confused look, swallowing hard to push down the lump in his throat. Maybe this is his chance to get Crescent some help. A low and broken voice pleads in the air.

"Can you help him?"

"Of course!" Asho speaks, grinning. "Follow me."

(((A/N

I had to leave out much emotion. This chapter is already pushing 5.5k words. Is that too many words?

Don't be afraid to tell me what you think by commenting.❤️❤️

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