Ch.4 The Village and the Hero I

The night was calm, indifferent as ever. Usual planetary cycle when the land turned away from the sun’s embrace just as the boy was to be turned away from fate’s warmth.

Kevin Fermi lay on bed, the dim glow of his bedside lamp covering him in warmth. His fingers clutched the edges of his favourite superhero comic. His final term of middle school was nearing its end, but that meant nothing to him now. Everything else could wait, tonight belonged to Subra- X.

Superheroes were not just entertainment, they were a bridge between childhood wonder and the ideals of courage, justice and hope. Subra- X being no exception.

He was a hero who had suffered endlessly, paid the price for power in blood and sacrifice, still moved forward without hesitation. He never used his strength for himself, only for others. His motto was ‘Power is responsibility, not a privilege.’

Excitement. The latest issue had finally arrived. He had endured the agony of waiting, of finishing his mountain of homework before, but not anymore. He flipped open the first page—

Footsteps on the stairs.

His body reacted before his mind. The comic disappeared beneath his blanket, the light clicked off, and eyes pressed shut.

The door creaked open. His mother stood at the threshold, silent, watching. Kevin willed himself to stillness, but his fluttering eyelids betrayed him.

She had seen through him.

This innocent facade filled her with maternal affection but, No! She had to be strict. She couldn’t let him stay up late, not when there was school the next morning.

But she decided to play along for time.

She closed the door. Her footsteps receded.

Kevin exhaled. The moment was his once more.

Like a thief reclaiming stolen treasure, he retrieved the comic. The bedside lamp came back to life, illuminating the panels before him.

The door swung open.

She stood there again. Her face was stern, though her eyes held a hint of affection which she worked hard to conceal.

“Kevin, what do you think you’re doing? It’s past your bedtime. You have school tomorrow.”

Caught. No escape. Still, he tried.

“Mom, just one comic. I promise it won’t take long.”

Futile.

Her head shook. “It will still be here tomorrow. Hand it over.”

For a moment, rebellion stirred. A childish urge to protest, to hold on to this hedonic joy.

But he looked at her, really looked at her. The lines of exhaustion on her face, the weight she carried alone since his father’s passing. She bore it all without complaint, ensuring that Kevin never felt the absence.

She had given him everything. And this was what she asked in return?

The fight left him. Silently, he handed her the comic.

Her fingers brushed his as she took it, warmth. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Kevin.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

The door shut. The room went into darkness.

Kevin curled beneath his blanket, disappointment in his eyes. But it did not fester. He thought of Subra- X. After all, he would have done the same, put others first even when it meant setting aside his own desires.

Kevin closed his eyes. The comic could wait.

…

..

.

Kevin awoke to muffled noises buzzing up from downstairs. Half-conscious, his mind struggled between sleep and awake. The white glow of the moon illuminated the clock by his bedside, 2:00 a.m.

“Why would Mom be awake this late?” He thought briefly. Something was wrong.

The sounds persisted. His body tensed. He slipped out of bed, each movement careful, controlled. The wooden floor felt cold beneath his feet as he crept towards his door, heart beating faster.

Then he heard them.

Two unfamiliar male voices.

“You sure no one else lives here?”

“Yes. Just the lady and her son. He’s probably sleeping in his room now. She takes him to school at 7 a.m.”

Kevin's blood ran cold.

He peeked from the staircase. Two men. Masks. The shine of steel at their waists. These were professionals.

Just as a sculptor chisels marble with precision, just as a surgeon operates his scalpel with practised fidelity, these men too treated their crime as craft.

“Then deal with the kid, too. What if he wakes up?”

Kevin stiffened. His muscles locked in place.

He took a step back, too fast. The door behind him shifted, groaned, then slammed shut with a loud noise.

The house fell into silence.

“Oh, shit!” One of the men cursed. The reaction was immediate, footsteps ran up the stairs.

Kevin turned to run.

A gloved hand seized his face, fingers clamping over his mouth before he could even think to scream. His body flailed, struggling. Like a primal instinct of prey caught in the jaws of a predator. But the man’s grip was iron.

Kevin was dragged.

Down the staircase. Each step draining his hope.

Then he saw her.

His mother, pinned to the ground. Wrists bound. Gagged with a piece of cloth. Her eyes filled with terror.

A knife pressed to her throat.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

“This is why I told you to be careful!” The robber over her growled. “You knew there was a kid here. What if he’d screamed? What if he’d called the cops?”

Kevin thrashed again. He bit down on the fingers smothering his mouth.

The man holding him hissed, but he did not let go. Instead, he jerked Kevin’s head back, forcing the boy’s head forward.

“You pull another stunt like that, your mother dies.”

Kevin froze. His entire world shrank to the glinting edge of the knife against his mother’s throat. His breath came in sharp gasps, his mind screaming at him to do something, do anything…but his body refused to move.

“Don’t worry Kev, everything will be okay,” said the shaking mother.

“Same goes for you, woman,” the second robber murmured. His own knife came out of his pocket, its tip ghosting over Kevin’s throat. “One wrong move, and he’s done.”

The two robbers dragged Kevin and his mother to the living room, forcing her to surrender her jewellery, cash, and valuables.

As she reached for her jewellery, the man pressing the knife to her throat sneered, his hand crept where it didn’t belong.

A violation not just of body, but of dignity. The world was a savage place where strength dictated action, and those who could not resist were torn apart.

Kevin's eyes filled with tears and rage warring against helplessness. His mother had worked tirelessly to keep their home, to provide for him. And now, in a single moment, all of it was being stripped away by hands that neither created nor earned, only took.

The jewellery was more than mere gold and stones, it was the last tangible memory of his father. His mother had refused to part with it, no matter how hard times became. And now these men, who had given nothing, would take everything.

Kevin couldn’t allow it.

A plan formed in his mind. If he could break free and scream, maybe, just maybe, someone would hear. The robbers didn’t seem like killers. Their patience for violence was limited to intimidation. If he could create enough noise, his mother might have time to run.

The man counting money was distracted. Now or never.

Kevin stomped down, hard, on his captor’s foot. A sharp yelp. The grip on him loosened. He tore free and bolted, lungs burning, voice exploding into the night.

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US!”

A snurl of rage. The robber lunged.

The blade flashed toward Kevin.

But before it reached him—

His mother moved.

She threw herself between them, and the knife sank into her stomach.

The world fell away, leaving only this. The crimson blooming across his mother’s clothes, her body crumpling to the floor. The gurgled gasp of pain. The tremor in her outstretched hand reaching for him.

Kevin's scream choked in his throat. No. No.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Where was the help? Where was justice?

The scent of blood filled the air.

His vision blurred. The last thing he saw was his mother’s eyes filled not with anger, nor regret, but only sorrow.

………

When Kevin opened his eyes, the sterile light of hospital lights greeted him. The world felt distant like a dream he could not wake from.

He was alive. But she was gone.

The truth did not come all at once. It seeped in through the cracks, fragment by fragment, too cruel to be absorbed in a single blow.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered to himself. Again. Again. As if repeating the words could rewrite reality.

Outside his room, the world continued its cold, mechanical march. Insurance agents handled formalities. The bank discussed the fate of the house. Forms were signed, assets moved. There was no pause, no moment of silence for the boy who had lost everything.

No one asked Kevin how he felt.

Death is not an event. It is an erasure. A name is spoken one less time. A presence becomes an absence.

Kevin was not simply alone. He was forgotten before he even had the chance to scream.

Eventually, he was sent to an orphanage. A place full of life yet devoid of meaning.

People came. People went. But Kevin remained still, a hollow shell with vacant eyes.

Days turned to weeks. The pain did not fade. It only grew sharper.

It’s not true.

It can’t be true.

Unable to bear the oppressive silence of the orphanage, Kevin decided to sneak out.

The cycle of routine, the suffocating presence of unwanted pity, the empty eyes of other abandoned children, he despised it all.

He needed to return. Not to a home, for home no longer existed, but to the ghost of what once was.

He slipped away unnoticed. The streets were quiet. The world carried on, indifferent to his suffering.

Was this not the nature of existence? Indifference. The universe did not stop for the weak, the grieving, or the broken. The laws of nature dictated survival, and the laws of men followed suit.

Kevin reached the house. The house that had been a crime scene. The house that had once held warmth, love, and life.

He entered through a secret passage only he knew. A remnant of childhood mischief.

Inside, everything was in place. The bloodstains were gone, the floors scrubbed, the furniture restored.

Yet the air was thick with the weight of what had gone. The silence was not peaceful. It was unbearable, oppressive.

Kevin stepped into the living room. He hesitated, then forced himself to speak.

“Mom, I’m back.”

Silence.

He forced a smile, the kind a child wears when trying to convince himself that everything will be alright. “School today was a real pain, but I managed to survive.”

He turned to the corner of the room, to an empty space, and continued in a playful tone, “And Mr. Superhero, you're here too? Thanks for saving us the other day. But don’t think you can start hitting on my mom just because of that!”

There was no response, yet his mind filled it. His mother, smiling warmly. The hero who had saved them, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, exuding effortless confidence.

Hallucinations. His fractured mind had woven a tapestry of illusions to mask the void of loss. But illusions, slowly, became indistinguishable from reality.

Sanity is not a virtue. It is merely a consensus of perception. If the world he sees is false, but it keeps him alive, does that make it any less real?

A placebo, just like belief.

And so, it became his routine. Night after night, he escaped the orphanage, returning to this empty house to be with his mother and his mentor.

He shared stories of his day, sought advice, laughed at their imaginary banter.

The mind, in its desperation, could be a cruel saviour. It had shielded him from despair by creating a falsehood so complex that he could no longer see the truth.

One evening, as they sat together in this fake solace, Kevin posed a question.

“How do I become a superhero like you?”

The figure of the hero, of Kevin’s delusion, regarded him with a solemn expression.

“Becoming a hero isn’t easy, kid,” the man said. “It takes sacrifice. You’ll have to leave everything behind.”

Kevin hesitated. “Leave… everything? Even my mom?”

The man nodded. “Sometimes, to achieve greatness, we must make hard choices. Your mom wouldn’t want you to leave, don’t you think?”

Kevin clenched his fists. “Sir, you saved us when we needed it most. I want to do the same. There are people out there who need someone like you. But you can’t be everywhere… so please, take me as your apprentice. I want to be just like you.”

No matter how hard the hallucinations tried but Kevin would not let go. In the end the imaginary hero bend to his will, maybe that is what his mind wanted all along.

“If that is your resolve, then I won’t stop you,” the man said.

Kevin turned to his mother. Her warm, loving eyes, filled with pride and sorrow. A silent farewell that never truly happened.

“I’ll miss you, Mom,” he whispered. “But I’ll do it. I’ll make you proud.”

In truth, there was no mother. No mentor. Only a fractured mind speaking to ghosts.

That night, he left the orphanage for good. Set forth on a journey that existed solely in his imagination.

In the end, he had lost one world, so he built another. He had lost one mother, so he kept her alive in memory.

And if reality would not let him be strong, then he would carve strength from the bones of his own mind.

If the world did not need him, he would make it need him.

The hero he dreamed of did not exist. So, he would become him.

Kevin believed he was training under his master’s guidance. The reality was that he was alone, mimicking training regimens from comic books, pushing his body to its limits under the delusion of tutelage.

Every punch, every sprint, every drop of sweat was fuelled by a voice that did not exist.

Years passed.

Kevin ceased to exist. In his place stood Rict Rex, a self-proclaimed hero in a world that had not asked for one. His schizophrenia, untreated, remained a growing wound upon his psyche.

To him, his mother was alive, watching over him with quiet pride.

His mentor, his guide, never left his side, offering guidance and strength.

A hero born from tragedy, sustained by delusion, and bound for a fate that neither he nor his imaginary mentor could predict.

Now, in this new world, for how long was this hero bound to be stable.