The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

Elian stepped forward. Blood pounded loudly in his ears. The damp, dark alley pressed in around them as if the whole world tried to suffocate his fury.

The first blow was his.

A direct punch to the face of the brown-haired boy with black eyes. The sharp crack of his fist hitting the jaw echoed between the grimy walls. The boy staggered, surprised, but retaliated with a brutal punch to Elian's temple, causing him to step back, disoriented.

Elian gritted his teeth. He had never trained his body in this world — unlike on Earth, where he had learned the hard way how to survive street fights. He learned how to hit... and most importantly, how not to die.

The second boy charged full force, aiming for his chest. Elian dodged with a quick twist of his body, and the kid slammed hard against the stone wall. The sound of impact was like a watermelon cracking open.

But there was no time.

Elian lunged again at the brown-haired boy. They exchanged punches. Each hit was a muffled thud, resonating with rage. Elian was smaller. Weaker. And within seconds, he was at a disadvantage.

The boy who had hit the wall got up furious and grabbed Elian from behind.

"Trash," he muttered with hatred before throwing Elian to the ground like a sack of rotten grain.

The impact knocked the air out of him. The world spun.

Knowing how to fight was useless if his body was fragile.

He cursed his stature, his nonexistent muscles, his choice to focus only on magic.

And as he tried to get up, the first kick came — a direct blow to the stomach.

The thin porridge and hard bread they had eaten that morning surged back forcefully, vomited onto the filthy ground.

Then came the kick to his head. The world darkened for a second. Sounds were muffled, as if underwater.

More kicks. To the ribs. To the legs. To the chest.

Elian felt it all. Every aching bone, every faltering breath, every impulse to survive crushed.

And then... he heard it.

"Did you really think you could protect your sister?" mocked the brown-haired boy, laughing.

"You're weak. Useless. But I'll be merciful..." He crouched beside Elian's body, whispering venomously — "I'll let you watch while we have fun with your little sister. And then... well, then you both die."

Elian saw Emanuelle's eyes. She was crying. Shaking. Frozen in fear.

Two images merged.

Luciana, lifeless, eyes open, surrounded by blood.

Emanuelle, alive... but about to be destroyed.

Something inside him shattered.

What lay buried beneath layers of feigned redemption now emerged — hungry.

But this time, it wasn't for pleasure. Not for revenge.

It was for love.

"Why are you hesitating to kill?" the voice inside hissed like a familiar serpent. "You've done it so many times... and for far less. Why? Now it's just? Now it's necessary? Now it's for her?"

Blood trickled down his forehead, but Elian no longer felt pain. Something older and stronger had awakened. A cold, controlled presence — the same that took him over when the blade plunged deep and he felt the warmth of life fade from his victims.

But now, it was different.

There was no pleasure.

There was purpose.

He clenched his bloodied fists. His body trembled, but not from fear. It was energy. It was fury.

"Manu..." he murmured weakly. "Close your eyes. Turn away. Please... don't look at me."

In shock, Emanuelle obeyed. Trembling, she turned her back, tears silently streaming down her face.

The alley, until then just dark and filthy, now became the grave of a choice.

From here on... Elian would no longer hesitate.

Because some things are worth more than the soul itself.

And protecting Emanuelle was one of them.

A cold energy flowed from Elian's sternum as if something was awakening deep within his soul — not something new, but something old, familiar... forgotten.

He remembered Maria's voice, soft and firm, during their first training sessions:

"Magic is born from feeling. From imagining. From making real what the eyes cannot see, but the heart recognizes."

And Elian... felt.

Felt every pain in his body. Every broken part. Felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth — the same taste he had known when he died stabbed on Earth.

But what he felt most... was the muffled crying of Emanuelle behind him.

During these five years, even with the physical limitations of childhood, he had trained. Learned to generate small spheres of fire, to merge them with wind to create destructive whirlwinds. Could throw flames the size of a baseball with enough force to tear wood apart.

But where he truly excelled was in earth magic.

He could blend earth and wind to launch rotating spears. Command mud beneath enemies' feet. Create hidden traps meters away. Anthony once witnessed his power — and without a word, built a secret scarecrow so Elian could train unseen.

Now, he was here. In the dark alley. With the stench of sewage mixed with the sweat of violent teenagers. His body covered in bruises. His soul on the edge of the abyss.

Elian stood up.

He fell once, but rose again, even staggering. Pain spread like burning embers through his bones, but what burned most was something different... thirst.

His golden eyes lit up with an unnatural glow. A silent gleam, like a candle in the dark.

"You..." he murmured, spitting blood. "Made one of the few people I love in this world cry."

Elian's voice was icy.

"I will show no mercy."

The two boys stopped. They were less than two meters away, but something in that voice... didn't sound like a child.

"Who do you think you are?" shouted the brown-haired boy. "You're nobody!"

But before they could advance, a black energy crackled around Elian's body. It was like thick smoke crawling over his skin, a corrupted aura — or a living memory of who he once was.

His eyes glowed.

And at that moment, they knew.

Elian was using magic.

Panic seized the boys, but there was no time for regrets. One ran — and fell straight into a puddle of mud formed a meter away.

His face plunged into the dirt, spitting earth. When he lifted his head, he saw a stone spear form, spinning at high speed with the help of the wind.

"P-p-please... I swear, never again—"

"I don't care about your forgiveness," Elian interrupted with the coldness of an executioner. "I want you dead."

And he threw.

The spear pierced the boy's skull like a hot arrow through butter. A dull thud. Blood and brains splattered the alley wall like paint on a grotesque canvas.

The other boy — the brown-haired one — widened his eyes in horror.

"M-m-monster!" he screamed.

"Yes," Elian replied, his aura pulsing. "I am a monster. And you brought me back."

His face twisted between pain, fury... and contained pleasure. But not the same pleasure as before. It was justice. Bloody, stained justice — but justice nonetheless.

"I tried to redeem myself... I swear I tried. I wanted a new life, a clean soul. But then... worms like you show up."

He looked at Emanuelle. She was turned away, trembling, hands over her ears.

"If it's to protect her," he murmured, voice choked with hatred, "then yes, I become again the monster I once was."

The boy tried to run, heading in the opposite direction. But his feet sank in the mud. He fell face-first toward Elian.

It was the last wrong choice he made in life.

Elian pounced on him like a fierce predator. The boy's black eyes widened as fists pounded his face relentlessly.

One.

Two.

Three.

Blood flew. Teeth loosened.

Then Elian channeled a tiny flame to his index finger and without hesitation shoved it into the boy's eye.

The scream was muffled by a stone Elian created in the boy's mouth, sealing any sound.

The pain exploded. But Elian did not stop.

He created a fireball. And another. And another.

He threw them over the boy's body as if lighting a corpse in a ritual of condemnation. The smell of burning flesh spread through the alley, mixed with feces, mud, and smoke.

The boy was agonizing, already unconscious, but Elian wanted more than pain.

He wanted the end.

He created one last stone spear, thin, sharp, precise.

"For her," he whispered.

And thrust it straight into the heart.

The body shuddered. Then fell silent.

Emanuelle, still turned away, hadn't looked back. Still with hands over her ears. But her crying... never stopped.

And Elian's heart... would never be the same.

Before approaching Emanuelle, Elian took a deep breath. The smell of burnt flesh still lingered in the air, mixed with the putrid dampness of that alley. If she felt that... if she saw the bodies...

No. He couldn't let her carry more horrors.

Moving his hands with precision, he manipulated the elements. A light gust of wind dispersed the stench, dissipating some of the metallic, bitter smell that permeated the place. Then he focused on creating a thin curtain of water, cleansing the blood from his clothes, hands, and face. Finally, he dried himself with controlled heat until no visible sign of violence remained — at least on the outside.

Next, he turned the boys' bodies face down, covering the holes left by his spears with earth. The remaining blood was masked with a layer of dark mud, hiding the traces of the massacre. It was no dignified burial, nor forgiveness — just the instinct of someone who knew how to hide a crime.

Emanuelle was still turned away from everything. Shaking, alone, arms wrapped around herself, eyes squeezed shut, hands over her ears.

Elian hesitated. His hand still burned with the memory of fire, blood, death. A part of him said he shouldn't touch her... that now he was too dirty even for that.

But she was his sister.

He took a step.

"Manu?" he called softly.

She didn't respond.

Carefully, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

She jumped, spinning around with wide eyes, her face overtaken by panic. The image made Elian's heart ache. He cursed himself for letting her see, for making her feel fear... even of him.

But then, without warning, Emanuelle threw herself forward and hugged him tightly, squeezing him with her whole body.

"It's okay, Manu... I solved the problem, see?" he said in a low voice, discreetly pointing to the bodies turned over. "They're sleeping. They'll wake up soon."

He lied.

Of course he lied.

But what would be left of her childhood if she knew the truth?

"I was scared, Eli... really scared..." she whispered, voice choked with tears. "But when I saw you... I knew you'd protect me."

Elian felt his eyes burn. The rage, disgust, pain — all were drowned by that simple phrase.

"Always, Manu. I'll always protect you," he replied, stroking her hair.

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other. Emanuelle sobbed silently, her face buried in her brother's chest.

Elian closed his eyes.

For the first time since waking in this world... he was sure what he would do with his life.

He would protect her and their family. With everything he had. With everything he was.

"Let's find Dad," he finally said, voice firm. "He must be worried."

She nodded, wiping tears with the back of her hand. Her eyes were still red, but there was a trace of relief.

Together, they turned their backs on the nameless bodies.

They left the alley. Walked slowly, as if they could leave the horror behind. But they didn't. No one does.

The bodies stayed. The blood stayed. But the worst... the worst stayed inside.

Two things were born that day.

Trauma in Emanuelle.

And something inside Elian... something he thought he had left in the other world.

An ancient, bitter, cruel taste: the taste of death.

What he would become in that moment, perhaps even he did not know.

But one thing was certain:

What he would become... only time would tell.