BLACK AURA

Chapter 1: CrashGamer

---

The room was silent, save for the soft whir of an aging fan rotating overhead. Dim light from a dusty computer monitor bathed the space in a pale glow. Cables tangled like vines across the floor, among them candy wrappers, scattered books, and crumpled pages. It was the kind of room the world forgot — and where one boy chose to disappear.

He didn’t live in shadows by choice. No one had ever invited him into the light.

The monitor flickered.

MATCH FOUND.

The boy leaned forward. His frame was thin, worn out by hours of digital war and life’s quiet weight. His username glowed on the screen:

CrashGamer

He slid his fingers onto the keyboard with a quiet confidence that didn’t match his fragile appearance.

---

Beside him lay an old, weathered notebook. Pages were filled with hand-drawn combos, frame-perfect reactions, and diagrams of strategies no school would ever teach.

“If they won’t teach me...” he thought, flipping a page, “...I’ll teach myself.”

His next opponent's ID flashed onto the screen:

Ali_King3

Crash narrowed his eyes.

“King?” he muttered under his breath. “That’s bold.”

---

The game began like thunder. Fingers danced across keys. Crash’s inputs were swift — mechanical, cold, ruthless. But the opponent wasn't average. Ali_King3 was fast, unpredictable. Calculated.

It wasn’t a game. It was war.

Crash adapted instantly. Each attack from Ali was met with a smarter counter. Every opening widened into a brutal advantage.

He was always three steps ahead.

---

Then — victory.

The screen flashed:

WINNER: CrashGamer

Crash didn't cheer. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Victory felt normal by now.

A message appeared:

> Ali_King3:

“Nice moves. I want to meet you. Hotel Empire Gate. Tomorrow. 5 PM. – Ali”

Crash blinked at the screen. His hands hovered above the keys.

"Someone… wants to meet me? In real life?"

---

He closed his notebook gently. On its torn black cover, scrawled in faded ink, were the words:

“My Mind Is My Weapon.”

He ran a thumb across it. Maybe this was his chance…

...to finally matter.

---

The next day.

The city pulsed with indifference. Horns honked. People rushed by, each in their own universe. No one looked at the boy walking through them — hoodie up, backpack worn, eyes focused.

He stopped at a small park. From his bag, he pulled a single flower and began to plant it at the base of a tree.

A thorn nicked his finger. One drop of blood fell to the dirt.

Something shimmered — a faint black mist rose from the ground and disappeared as quickly as it came.

The boy never noticed. But the air seemed to pause, just for a moment.

---

By afternoon, Crash stood before Hotel Empire Gate. Grand. Intimidating. He clutched his notebook like it was a shield.

A sleek black SUV pulled up. A tall figure stepped out — clean, calm, sharp-eyed.

Ali.

He examined Crash, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re smaller than I expected.”

Without warning, he threw a punch — fast, direct.

Crash didn’t flinch. His hand rose and blocked it effortlessly.

“I’m not just a gamer,” he said.

“I’m an anime fan. We remember every fight.”

Ali stared at him for a second… and smiled.

“Interesting.”

---

“Come,” he said, gesturing to the SUV.

“I want to show you something.”

Crash hesitated… and stepped in. The doors closed. The engine purred.

---

They drove across forgotten corners of the city.

An abandoned train yard. A cracked war memorial. A silent playground. A rooftop above it all.

Ali spoke as he drove.

“This world isn’t fair,” he said.

“Power decides everything. Not talent. Not truth. Not even kindness.”

Crash listened quietly, absorbing every word.

---

On the rooftop, the city stretched behind them like a glowing circuit board.

Wind tugged at Crash’s hoodie as he stood beside Ali.

Ali turned to him.

“You’ve got something. Not in your fists. But in your fire.”

“So tell me… do you want to stay invisible forever?”

Crash said nothing. His fingers curled tighter around his notebook.

Ali continued:

“Come with me. Every day. I’ll show you the world from my view.”

---

Unknown to them both, a soft vibration hummed from Crash’s backpack.

His notebook.

Black mist, almost invisible, leaked into the air for the briefest second.

The power inside him... wasn’t meant to be found.

It was meant to awaken.

---

That night, Crash sat at his desk once more.

The monitor was off. The room was silent.

He stared at his own reflection in the black screen.

“He saw me,” he thought.

“Not the weak boy. The fire.”

He flipped open his notebook.

A new move began to take shape on the page.

In the corner... a small black flame drew itself without his hand.

---

Before the world knew his name…

...he had already become what it feared most.

🖤

CRASHGAMER – The Black Aura Begins

📖 BLACK AURA

Chapter 2: My Moves, My Copy

---

The morning light leaked through tiny holes in the curtain, drawing dotted lines on the floor of CrashGamer’s cramped room. The air was still — quiet like the pause between heartbeats. On the floor, cross-legged, sat Crash, his notebook open like scripture before a monk.

Every page told a story: diagrams of moves, counters, drawn limbs mid-motion, and complex flowcharts of attack-response patterns.

> “Everyone else trains muscles,”

he thought,

“I train memory. One mistake per match... I write it. Then fix it.”

His phone buzzed.

A message from Ali.

> “I’ll be near your street. Want to talk?”

---

He found himself walking toward a quiet corner near a mechanic’s shop. The sun beat down, and the world moved like a background blur. Nobody noticed him — as always.

This time, Ali arrived in a plain black car. No SUV, no luxury, no spectacle.

Wearing a plain white shirt, Ali stepped out and studied Crash.

> “You look like you haven’t slept.”

> “I was redrawing my counter-escape patterns,”

Crash replied without blinking.

Ali didn’t smile. But something in his eyes softened.

> “This kid treats life like a battlefield,” he thought.

“I like that.”

---

The two sat on the edge of an abandoned rooftop nearby. Cheap snacks between them. Silence all around.

> “You always carry that notebook?” Ali asked, casually breaking the silence.

Crash nodded.

> “It’s my second brain. I draw every move I can’t perform… yet.”

Ali raised an eyebrow, now intrigued.

> “You’re not just playing games. You’re simulating war.”

Crash looked out over the cityscape. He said nothing. But he didn’t need to. That much was true.

---

From above, the city looked calm — but Ali’s trained eyes scanned deeper. Across the street, two men stood still near a food cart. Still... too still.

> “They’re not vendors,” he thought.

“Too alert. Too focused.”

He checked his phone. No signal.

> “Let’s go,” he said softly.

“Now.”

They descended the rooftop steps fast and silent.

---

In the alley behind the building, three masked men waited. One held a baton. Another, a chain. The last stood barehanded, confident.

> “Ali,” one of them said.

“You don’t belong here anymore.”

Ali didn’t blink.

> “Still can’t come without backup, huh?”

Crash glanced at him, surprised by the calm in his voice.

---

The fight began in a flash.

Ali surged forward.

One elbow smashed into the first attacker’s jaw.

He slid under a swing, snatched the baton, and tossed it away.

A precise kick dropped the second attacker like a stone.

Then, with a twist of his arm, Ali flung the third into a wall.

> “They’re slower than I expected,” he thought.

“Badshah must be getting desperate.”

---

But the fight wasn’t over.

One attacker stumbled to his feet, eyes locking onto Crash.

He charged.

Crash’s feet froze. His mind screamed.

> “This isn’t a simulation… This is real. Real pain. Real blood.”

Instinct took over. His hand flew to the notebook, flipping pages fast.

He landed on one.

> “Sidestep – knee jab – palm push – retreat left.”

He took a breath.

Then he moved.

Sidestep. Knee. Palm. Retreat.

The attacker stumbled and crashed into a dumpster.

Crash stood trembling. His heart thundered.

> “I… I actually used my own plan. In real life.”

---

A faint curl of black mist drifted from his palm — barely visible, like heat in the air.

Ali’s gaze flickered.

He didn’t speak. But something had changed in his expression.

> “That move… something felt off.”

“The air shifted. Like it reacted to him.”

Still, he said nothing.

---

All three attackers were down. One crawled toward the alley wall.

Ali stood over him, voice sharp as broken glass.

> “Tell Badshah… I’m not dead yet.”

“And next time, send generals — not toys.”

He stepped past him, not bothering to look back.

---

As they walked through the narrow lane, the adrenaline began to fade.

Crash was quiet, but his fingers twitched.

> “That was real,” he thought.

“I fought… and didn’t freeze.”

Ali glanced sideways.

> “You alright?”

Crash gave a faint nod.

> “A little dizzy... but yeah.

My notebook saved me.”

Ali gave a half-smile — rare, and brief.

> “Then stop treating it like a journal...

and start treating it like a weapon.”

---

That night, back in his room, the glow of the monitor lit the darkness once again.

Crash sat at his desk, notebook open.

He began sketching what had just happened — every step, every movement.

He titled the page:

“Reality Combo – Alley Style”

As the pen lifted, a curl of black mist rose from the page. Silent. Soft. Alive.

He didn’t notice.

---

> “He thought he was drawing moves...

But in truth, he was drawing power.”

🖤

END OF CHAPTER 2

📖 BLACK AURA

Chapter 3: The Message in the Mist

---

The wind whispered cold over the midnight rooftop. Alone in the dark, CrashGamer sat with knees tucked to his chest, his hoodie fluttering against the breeze. His notebook lay open on his lap — its inked pages still fresh from the night before.

“Reality Combo – Alley Style.”

His fingers brushed the edge of the paper, where a darkened spot marked the place his aura had flickered — though he didn’t yet know to call it that.

> “I still feel it… the heat in my chest. That mist.”

“Was that even real?”

The air around him felt heavier. As if unseen eyes were watching.

He glanced around the rooftop, but nothing stirred — only the city lights blinking in the distance.

---

Elsewhere, Ali sat alone in a cold, steel-furnished apartment. The kind of place built for surveillance, not comfort. A flickering bulb above cast long shadows over scattered files and worn folders.

On the screen before him, footage from a hidden alley camera played in silence.

He watched it again. Zoomed in on the precise moment Crash had used his drawn technique.

There it was — unmistakable. A faint black shimmer, like heat distortion, blooming from Crash’s palm.

> “No weapon. No aura training. Still cracked the air.”

“Coincidence… or curse?”

He placed the tablet down beside a sealed envelope.

Staring back at him:

“Operation Reaper: Arrowhead’s Missing Weapon”

Ali’s eyes narrowed.

> “Black Aura… Impossible.”

---

The next morning, Crash found a note wedged into the cracks of his front door.

The paper was folded precisely. Almost military.

> “You did well yesterday. But they’ll come again.

You need to train.

Rooftop. Tonight. Midnight. — A”

He stared at the words.

> “Train? Me?”

He remembered the alley fight — the attacker rushing him, the move from his notebook saving his life.

> “I wasn’t a fighter… but now?”

“I might have to become one.”

---

Far from the city, in a hidden underground chamber, shadows gathered.

The walls pulsed with quiet power. At the center, a round table of obsidian. Behind it, three figures stood in silence, facing a screen.

On the screen: Badshah’s face. Cold, unreadable.

> “Ali is alive,” he said flatly.

“And he’s mentoring a variable.”

“Send a General. No more games.”

One of the cloaked figures stepped forward. His cloak bore scarlet lines that shimmered unnaturally. Eyes glowed faint crimson behind a silver mask.

> “I’ve waited long enough,” he said, voice like metal.

“Let me remind him what fear looks like.”

His name was Ravik.

General. Executioner.

And above all — loyal to Arrowhead.

---

Midnight returned.

Crash stood once again on the rooftop where it had all begun.

Ali waited there, arms folded, moonlight catching the white of his shirt.

> “Show me your notebook,” Ali said.

Crash handed it over hesitantly. Ali flipped through the pages — slowly, methodically. His expression unreadable.

> “He doesn’t even know what he’s doing…”

“…and yet, he’s building a fighting manual.”

> “We’re training differently,” Ali said, handing it back.

“I’ll attack. You defend — using what you’ve written. Understood?”

Crash blinked.

> “Wait… What?”

Before he could protest, Ali threw a soft jab toward his face. Crash barely dodged.

> “What the hell—!?”

---

They trained.

Ali’s attacks were slow at first — a jab here, a feint there. Crash moved based on instinct, on memory. But his reflexes lagged.

Ali faked left. Crash moved too late.

Ali swept his leg. Crash hit the concrete with a thud.

> “I know what to do… but my body isn’t fast enough.”

He flipped open his notebook. Found a page:

> “Counter Block #2 – Drop Arm + Twist”

As Ali struck again — he followed the pattern.

Step. Drop arm. Twist.

Perfect block.

Ali stepped back, brow raised slightly.

> “You don’t have raw talent,” he said.

“But you have repeatable perfection.”

“And that’s dangerous… in the right hands.”

Crash’s heart skipped.

> “Dangerous?”

“Is that… a compliment?”

And then — under his foot, for just a second — a flicker of black mist.

Ali saw it.

> “Again…”

“It’s growing.”

---

Suddenly, something shifted.

A crash. Metal tearing.

A dark shadow landed with a thud on the opposite rooftop.

A tall man stepped into view — silver mask, glowing red eyes, black coat swirling.

Ali’s stance hardened.

> “Ali,” the figure called out.

“Badshah sends his greetings.”

“You were warned.”

Ali’s voice dropped.

> “Crash. Stay back.”

But Crash was already flipping through pages.

---

Ravik leapt forward — blades of aura materializing from his arms, slicing through air.

Ali ducked, spun, countered — landed a punch to Ravik’s ribs.

The aura around the General’s body shimmered — Ali’s hand recoiled, burned.

> “Aura shield. He’s full-blooded. Damn.”

Crash watched in frozen awe. The fight wasn’t a game. It was lethal. Beautiful.

He saw Ravik’s next move — a downward arc, fast and final.

Crash didn’t think.

He moved.

He flipped to a page:

> “Aura Blade Deflect – Ledge Assist”

He sprinted in, sliding under Ravik’s leg, knocking him off balance.

Ali struck — a clean elbow to the face, followed by a slam to the rooftop tiles.

And in that moment — it happened again.

Black mist erupted from Crash’s arm. This time not a flicker — but a wave.

Everyone stopped.

Even the General.

---

Ravik’s voice cracked.

> “T-That… that wasn’t possible…”

He turned to Crash, backing away.

> “The Black Aura… was destroyed years ago…”

Ali looked at Crash.

For the first time — fear touched even his eyes.

> “He doesn’t know what he is…”

“…and that’s exactly why they’ll come for him.”

Ravik staggered back.

> “If he lives… Arrowhead falls.”

And then — he vanished.

Gone in a flash of light.

---

Crash collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, hand still steaming with black vapor.

He stared at it — trembling.

> “What’s happening to me…?”

Ali stepped closer, silent.

Then — he finally spoke.

> “You just became the most wanted boy in the world.”

---

🖤 END OF CHAPTER 3: The Message in the Mist 🖤

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Next Chapter Preview:

> “The General’s Report” – Ravik returns to Arrowhead, and the true origin of the Black Aura begins to unfold…