A cold airwave clears the sky a bit, sounds of boots circling in the streets, a mixture of hot bread and lemon vapor moves in the air just seconds before the familiar muddy smell takes the advantage as usual.

It's a new day in the city of insanity; sunrise lasts only for a few miraculous seconds just before the steam from the factories hangs in the sky with the same rubbish climate.

Only a few lights of radiation could tell it's daytime, mud dirt, and huge chaotic roads that would drive anyone mad if they walk between them for the first time, horrible smells of garbage and leftovers stuck to the flesh of the earth itself.

Red eyes filled with tears flash through the street; men and women dressed in black or green old rags, the smell was unbearable sometimes but not for everyone, not for the kid who is sitting at the entrance of an old house. Kosie lost his sense of smell a year earlier.

We are now in one of "ITEFE's" worst territories, the right side of the city center, A.K.A. "Behemoth Street."

He drew heat from scratching his worn-out vest while crowds march in all directions. When was the last time he had a respectable meal? A month, a year, Kosie couldn’t tell; for him, all days are the same now.

"Move!" a man on a horse yelled just barely before he almost crushed a woman who was crossing the road. Some stressful words were exchanged between the two men and women before everyone got back to their daily routines.

No apology came from the man as he departed, riding his grey, tired horse. Death has always been a regular guest here, especially in Behemoth, where factories kill hundreds of employees each day, but if you die, expect no dignity unless you are a rich gentleman.

Meanwhile, our friend Kosie, who hasn't considered himself part of all of this, sat quietly as a smile covered his white face; no idea could tackle through his mind now.

"Thank goodness, I still have an hour before the factory opens," the boy murmured as he stared at all these small events around him.

It's a moment of peace Kosie used to have sometimes when he got up early, a moment to remember the sweet memories he once had when he wasn't a part of this world. Life was much different behind door "1474," yes, it was, for Kosie at least.

He was on his way to becoming a man of wisdom, an alchemist like his father Mr. Graham, but all is gone when Kosie decided to go through the endless corridor to the real world so he can find Frederick and put an end to his family's curse.

"Failed! You've failed." A familiar clear voice vibrates in Kosie’s ear.

. . .

Seven years earlier this day, and inside the old house that exists on Behemoth Street just behind the door with number 1474, through the magical corridor.

"Failed! You've failed to extract gold." Mr. Graham announced while his shaking hands held a green stone.

Next to him, there was a small piece of copper.

Now we are in Mr. Graham's lab.

A huge black oven in the middle with multiple pipes coming out of it, a blue candle attached to the roof, and a few tables in the corners with many artifacts lying on top of them.

A skull of an unknown creature settled on one of the tables next to hundreds of research papers. Mr. Graham was a busy man.

"Sorry, sir. I'll be better next time," Kosie murmured while his face stared at the floor.

"You call this a philosopher's stone?" Mr. Graham yelled.

"No! Wait, please..." Kosie begged, but it was too late. Mr. Graham had already thrown the green stone into the hot oven. The poor piece melted while Kosie bit his lips; his hands tightened in surrender as he watched nine months of hard work vanish in seconds.

"Making a philosopher's stone has been a dream for all alchemists. It was a miracle to have the potential to make such an artifact, but not us! Not to my family!" Mr. Graham announced, then added, "How the hell are you supposed to hold the family name after me if you can't do such a simple task?"

Kosie did not respond to the question; his eyes wandered deep inside the hot oven. A disgusting feeling grew in his heart; the cold nasty thing spread through his little chest.

Shame! That was the word that Kosie could use to describe his emotions at the moment.

He had seen his talented father making miracles in this small lab while he, an illegitimate son, could not make a simple stone. Even Mark, his blind half-brother, was able to figure out how to do it in two years.

This was Kosie's fourth year of failing, and all he could extract with the stone he made was a small useless piece of copper.

"Again," Mr. Graham demanded in a low voice; he patted the boy's shoulder.

"You can do it, boy; you're about this close," the alchemist said while he set his thumb near his forefinger.

"Really? You said this last year when I extracted iron instead," Kosie thought, but his mouth said something else.

Deep down inside him, Kosie always knew it; he'll never be a great alchemist like Mr. Graham.

. . .

"What was I thinking back then? If Dad couldn't find a cure for this curse, then how would I?" Kosie thinks while he puts his hand on his cheek, observing Behemoth Street in the present day. A familiar sound gets closer from a distance, hiding a threat to our unaware friend who has remembered a minor but important detail.

"Wait! How did I get to bed last night?" the boy thinks.

"Who cares! I shouldn't leave home anyway, and now I'm stuck here for the rest of my life," Kosie thinks. A part of him felt joyful that his father, the great alchemist, had tasted failure, but soon enough he whispers, "What am I thinking? I can't be selfish like this!"

The threatening sound is just ten meters away from Kosie now, but the boy can't hear it among all the mixed sounds in the street.

"Now what?" Kosie mockingly asks a question that would come to the mind of anyone in this world, but not him. No, he knew exactly what he would do today.

First, he'll go to work for almost twelve hours; after that, he'll get back to his poor nest, and maybe just maybe he'll have the strength to check the strange corridor, hoping to find his family behind one of those cursed doors.

Conflicted ideas fill our boy's head, but unfortunately, he was interrupted by a familiar but unexpected voice.

"Hey you!" a voice yelled from the right side of the old house.

Kosie glanced for a second; he spread his legs then dug his feet into the ground while he took a deep breath. Sweat fell off his forehead, his eyeballs got wider, and his basic instinct told him everything he needed to know.

"That voice, no way; it's too early," Kosie said, then rushed to escape, but it was too late.

"Let me go," he screamed as a huge arm grabbed him from behind before he could take another breath.

Kosie turned his head to see who it was before a cold silver touch spread through his veins; he knew who caught him.

"Easy there, kid; we're here to take you to a better place," a bearded man said while his arm was around Kosie's neck. The poor child was like a toy in the hands of the huge man; a circle made of silver material attached to the man's coat put an end to the boy's questions.

"It's Bob!" Kosie thinks as his fears find a way to him.

"Help, khh khh." The kid struggled to release those words while a huge muscle pushed against his little neck.

"What's going on?" a brave young worker from a distance exclaimed, then got closer to save the boy, but the bearded man gave him one look and...

"Bob the slums hunter, dear lord!" the young man said, then stepped aside, hiding his face as quickly as he could, and simply ran.

A single moment was enough to change courage into fear, nobility into selfishness; his courage failed him as he saved himself from punishment, and who can blame him for that? Bob works for the slums institutions; in other words, Bob works for the royal family.

"No, wait, please help me; I'm not..." Kosie begged, but the poor man had already vanished into the messy streets of Behemoth.

"Shut it," Bob yelled, then threw Kosie to the ground with mighty force, which brought the attention of people in the area.

"It's Bob the slums hunter," voices hushed in the street; women dressed in red who work in the slums, where a lot of their own family were patients, turned their faces in fear and moved away.

Men with cold faces made of iron expressions from working endless shifts at the factories barely noticed the event; no mercy, not even a cold piece of joy had touched these poor people. It seems that the last time hope walked in Behemoth Street was decades in the past, too long to even remember.

"What are you looking at?" Bob yelled as he threatened anyone who dared to glance at his face.

A face filled with an ugly scar, a scar that even Bob, who barely had dignity, was ashamed of. He got it when he was taken to the slums a few years earlier, just as he's trying to take Kosie right now.

No one could make a sound; every man and woman for themselves, and who are they to stop an employee of the slums? They all gave Kosie a look of sympathy and went on their way.

"Anyone, please!" the boy thinks, hoping that someone would have the courage to save him this time from this unfortunate fate, but the regular noise of the street carries on.

Alone in the dirt and guided by a usual disappointment, he rises, cleans the dirt off his sooty black vest, then yelled, "I'm not going back to the nuthouse! Not again; I swear I'll kill myself before my feet touch the cursed dust of that place," Kosie screamed.

. . .

Three years earlier this day and in front of the same old house on Behemoth Street, the six locks of the old house cracked one after the other and opened slowly from inside. After a few stressful seconds, the last lock stopped cracking.

A small child pushed the door slowly; his silver vest suggested he had a respectable place in society. A white face with pink circles on both cheeks, black-shaped hair, and rare black eyes; if someone saw this child, they would consider him a ghost.

"One step at a time," little Kosie pushed himself and took his first free steps in the city of ITEFE.

The street of Behemoth was not much different than it is in the present day; the same pigeon nests, the same climate, and most importantly, the cloudy sky that consumed any radiation from the sun.

"So dark in here!" Kosie staggered as his eyes struggled to get used to this strange atmosphere; he had lived his entire life in a bubble, and now it's time to face the cruel world.

"Hold it there, boy!" A voice from the center of the street shouted.

"Yes!" Kosie responded while he saw a man with a silver chain in his hand getting closer.

Kosie didn't need knowledge to know this man's intent; the scared looks of everyone in the street told him everything.

"Run!" a weak voice whispered in the boy's mind.

"Why?" Kosie thought and waited for an answer.

"Just run, kid! Now!" the same reflective voice screamed this time in the boy's mind.

"Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter, run!" the voice screamed, and suddenly Kosie's body shook for a moment.

"No!" Kosie responded, then added, "No more running; I'm not my father."

This little monologue happened in a few seconds, and our boy made a decision he'll regret for the next two years. He stayed put in his place until the strange man reached him.

"Where are your parents, boy?" the man demanded, then touched the boy's shoulder.

"His...his at work," Kosie automatically responded as he ignored the inner voice he heard earlier.

"Well, he's always at work," Kosie thought, then stared at the man's hand.

"He's trying to take control," Kosie wondered.

"Can I help you, sir?" the boy demanded as he moved the man's hand from his silver vest.

"Actually, you might," the man smirked, then whistled.

. . .

. . .

A year after this, and inside Louis's asylum institution, cold air spreads through the rooms of patients. The sound of water drops echoed all around; the walls were painted white, iron bars attached to the outer side of the windows.

Five icy pools with roiling chairs inside were designed specifically for a sick but noble purpose.

The smell of alcohol got the best of the air; the sound of a metal key turning slowly, a small figure sneaked into one of the rooms and shut the door behind him slowly to avoid any suspicions.

Inside the room, he took a second to catch his breath; his chest moved up and down for a few minutes before he finally sat on the ground, then observed the sleeping boy ahead of him.

"You fool, you're sleeping?" Horras whispered, then stood quickly.

Kosie moved away the worn blankets he had been hiding under all night. He sniffed the wooden bed, then replied, "They didn't catch you this time; too bad I've started to enjoy the place without your stupid disturbances."

"You were supposed to watch the exit and send me a signal if one of the guards was near!"

"For God's sake! Are you with me or with them?" Horras exclaimed.

"Who cares? Have you found any way out of here?" Kosie asked.

"Maybe," Horras laughed, then settled his back against the cold wall of the room.

"And..." Kosie demanded. The two boys exchanged a meaningful look for a few seconds, and through their eyes, many words were exchanged.

"Do you want the good news first?" Horras asked, then lowered his head to the ground.

Kosie released a tired breath, then rose from the cracked bed.

"Keep it for yourself; give me the bad ones," Kosie said.

"They doubled the guards, and...and the locks on every entrance in the asylum will be changed by tomorrow morning."

"Nice; guess you won't need that key any longer; have a good night," Kosie said as he took his time to put his head on the pillow and squished his little body between the covers.

Horras stayed in his position; a huge black bruise was on his left eye, a part of his old shoe was covered in ice, and his body shook with every breath the boy took.

Horras stared at Kosie and waited in the dark until...

"Wake up." A strange scream echoed all around the institution, followed by a usual silence.

"Here we go again," Kosie thought as a black hand reached his neck and snatched him from his place.

In the blink of an eye, the boy was hanged like a puppet from the collar of his worn-out vest.

A shadowy figure stared at the boy; the black hand shook for a moment before it grabbed the boy with a strangely unstable force. Rage emanated from this ugly poor creature while Kosie closed his eyes.

"How could you be so cold?" Horras asked as his eyes focused on Kosie.

"Look at me." Horras screamed, then threw the key he had and grabbed Kosie with two hands this time.

Kosie opened his eyes while he observed his half-mad roommate.

The two children had been living in this room for the past year, and during this time in the asylum, both of them shared their darkest secrets and hopes; maybe not all the secrets, but Horras and Kosie were more than friends; they were brothers.

The residents of the asylum started to make some noise; the sound of boots turning in the hallway approached.

"Can't you keep it down a bit?" Kosie replied, then added, "Listen, I have a plan to escape from here."

Horras stood still for about a second, his hands letting go of Kosie.

The sound of keys turning in the keyhole grew louder.

"A plan?" Horras thought, then asked, "Is this one of your sick jokes?"

The door opened from the outside, and a strange light spread in the dark room.

"Damn it," Horras muttered while he hid his eyes and stepped away from the entrance to the far side of the room.

"Looks like someone is being naughty this night," a man's voice echoed.

"Happy now?" Kosie stared at his friend.

Horras touched the wall behind him as he faced the guard.

"Maybe a fresh bath will calm you down, you two boys," the captain of the guards said while more than five employees of the slums came through the only door of the room.

A few iron chains near metal bars, the employees were well-equipped to start the fight, and unlike them, the two boys had nothing to defend themselves except a wooden bowl of soap.

He observed his wet shoe, his arms and legs attached to the roiling chair outside this room while icy water circled around his nose, slowly reaching his chest and freezing his brain— a fresh bath, like the captain said; the image started to get clear for him.

"Stay away!" Horras screamed; he wasn't going to surrender without a fight.

Meanwhile, in a second, Kosie moved behind Horras and brought a white nail from his pocket; he slid it through Horras's neck.

In just seconds, blood spilled on the wet floor.

Horras's eyes opened wide as he turned to look at Kosie in shock; he touched his neck to sense a red liquid, and for a moment, Horras felt warm, a strange feeling that hadn't touched him since he was born in Louis's asylum. Although he had never gone outside, he had been able to gather details from other patients.

A few moments passed, and the warm, comfortable feeling began to fade away, replaced by a familiar sensation—pain.

The boy tried to talk, but instead of air, blood came through his mouth.

Horras kneeled down, both hands on the ground, his bulging eyes turning blue, and while he struggled to get some air, Kosie got closer to his ear and whispered, "Now we escape; just do as I said."

Kosie brought the nail near his neck this time and...

. . .

. . .

Back to present day, Behemoth Street; our boy has spent a year in Louis's asylum, and after he somehow managed to escape, Kosie promised himself that he'll never go back to the madhouse, at least not alive.

"You've been there before, huh?" Bob said with a smile on his lips.

"Looks like we've got one here, John. How much do you think we'll have for this little brat?" Bob asked, then turned around.

Kosie didn't hesitate for a second when Bob turned his back; he turned in the opposite direction and rushed to escape, but a man blocked his way, and he was thrown to the opposite direction and fell to the ground.

Dizzy from the strong impact and out of help, the second man took advantage and caught his left arm from behind.

"Well, it depends! If he has been in the slums before, then I guess that will cost us half the bounty," John answered.

"Damn it, maybe we should cut his tongue then," Bob replied as he thought about the trade he'll have from ITEFE's Bishop.

"Let me go! No way I'm going back, I'm not crazy!" the screaming voice of the child cut Bob's line of thoughts.

"You're not, huh?" Bob said while he turned to the boy again. The slums hunter knelt, his breaths coming closer to Kosie's face, then with a gentle move, he waved a wooden knife across the boy's cheek.

"Prove it then!" the bounty hunter yelled with pleasure while red blood fell from Kosie's face.

...............................................................

{...chapter two ends...}

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