章節 6: Attack On The Orphanage
As Turai approached the orphanage, his keen senses alerted him to an unusual commotion. From the opposite direction, a group of men were advancing with a purposeful stride that set off alarm bells in his mind. The orphanage, situated at the end of the block, was accessible from both left and right sides. Turai was approaching from the left, while these suspicious characters were coming from the right.
Their intentions became clear as Turai noticed two of them carrying large bundles of hay, while another held a bottle of oil. The pieces fell into place in his mind – they were planning to burn down the orphanage. A weary sigh escaped his lips as he murmured, "One problem after another."
Realizing he was closer to the orphanage, Turai quickened his pace. He slipped inside, dropping off the bag of newly purchased clothes with Mrs. Benson. "Keep the children inside," he instructed her, his tone brooking no argument. Without waiting for a response, he headed back out.
As he emerged, he spotted the men, still a short distance away. His mind raced, formulating a plan. Aware of the need for discretion, Turai knew he couldn't confront them in the open where passersby might witness the encounter.
In a burst of speed that belied his small stature, Turai sprinted towards the group. Before they could fully register his presence, he had already set his plan in motion. He snatched the bottle of oil from one man's hand, smashing it over another's head. As the oil drenched the surprised man, Turai grabbed the two bundles of hay and dashed off into the distance.
The men stood dumbfounded for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Then, the oil-soaked man – apparently their leader – let out a roar of fury. "After him!" he bellowed, and the group gave chase.
Turai purposely moderated his pace, allowing them to keep up as he led them through the town's winding streets. His destination was clear in his mind – the least frequented block of the town, where they could have their confrontation away from prying eyes.
As they entered a narrow alley, Turai slowed down, feigning exhaustion. He pressed himself against the dead end, appearing cornered. The men's excitement was palpable as they closed in on their prey.
The leader, still dripping with oil, stepped forward. "We only wanted to burn down that miserable orphanage," he sneered. "Wasn't planning on hurting the brats. But after your little stunt, we'll make sure everyone suffers. It's a shame you won't be alive to see it, boy."
As the man lunged forward, a small flicker of light appeared in Turai's hand – a lit matchstick. Before the leader could react, Turai flicked the match onto him. The oil-soaked man erupted into flames, his agonized screams echoing off the alley walls.
"Ahh! Make it stop! Make it stop!!"
The other men scrambled backward, trying to avoid the flames despite their leader's frantic pleading. Seizing the moment, Turai darted forward, dropping the hay bundles onto the burning man. The fire roared higher, forcing the other men to retreat further or risk being engulfed themselves.
As the flames eventually died down, the men's shock turned to rage. Their leader lay on the ground, charred beyond recognition. Turai stood amid the carnage, his young face impassive in the face of their fury. "One down. Five to go."
"You twisted little bastard!"
"We'll kill you!"
With howls of anger, the remaining men charged at Turai, brandishing whatever makeshift weapons they had.
"Well, I wouldn't have it any other way after all." Turai, his small fists clenched, met their charge head-on. The narrow alley echoed with the sounds of the brutal confrontation as the seemingly ordinary orphan boy faced off against a group of hardened criminals.
The men, driven by rage and a desire for vengeance, fought with reckless abandon. But Turai moved with a fluid grace that seemed impossible for a child his age. He ducked under wild swings, sidestepped clumsy rushes, and retaliated with precision strikes that belied his small stature.
One man swung a heavy plank of wood, aiming for Turai's head. The boy ducked, the wood whistling over his head, and drove his fist into the man's solar plexus.
Bang!
As the attacker doubled over, gasping for breath, Turai used his momentum to drive an elbow into another man's face, sending him reeling back with a broken nose.
Bang!
A third assailant managed to grab Turai from behind, attempting to restrain him. But the boy's response was immediate and brutal.
Craaaackkk!
He drove his head back, connecting with the man's chin with a sickening crack. As the grip loosened, Turai spun free, delivering a roundhouse kick that sent the man crashing into the alley wall.
The remaining men, realizing that this was no ordinary child, hesitated. Fear began to replace their anger as they watched their comrades fall one by one to this small but lethal opponent. But Turai gave them no time to reconsider their actions. He pressed forward, a whirlwind of precise strikes and fluid movements.
In the confined space of the alley, Turai's small size became an advantage. He weaved between the men, striking vulnerable points with unerring accuracy.
Pow!
Crack!
Knees were shattered, ribs cracked, and jaws dislocated as the boy systematically dismantled his opponents.
As the last man fell, clutching a broken arm and whimpering in pain, silence descended on the alley. Turai stood amid the groaning bodies of his would-be attackers, his breathing only slightly elevated. His clothes were torn and splattered with blood, but none of it was his own.
He surveyed the scene with detached interest, ensuring that none of the men posed any further threat. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the alley, leaving behind a group of broken men who would never again underestimate a seemingly ordinary orphan boy.
"You're all lucky I don't want unnecessary spilled blood."
As Turai made his way back to the orphanage, his mind was already moving on to the next challenge. He had protected the children once again, but he knew that as long as there were those who sought to harm the innocent, his work would never be done. With a small sigh, he quickened his pace, eager to return to the only place he truly called home.
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