From Picked-On Teen to Battle-Ready Beast: The Rise of the Strongest Soldier

For a fleeting moment, Nero felt a spark of hope. Perhaps he could manage this; perhaps he wasn't quite as buggered as he'd initially thought. But as both thugs bore down on him once more, the familiar tide of dread washed over him like a pint of warm bitter.

"Stay back!" Nero cried, his voice cracking. Nero yelped, about as threatening as a wet kitten in a dogfight.

His eyes darted around like a junkie looking for his next fix, when they landed on a sorry pile of cardboard. Trash, to you and me, but to our boy? It was the goddamn Holy Grail.

He dove for it. Grabbed a box like it was made of gold, holding it up in front of him. A shield, he thought. More like a white flag in this bloodbath.

It was pathetic, really. A man cowering behind corrugated paper, thinking it'd save his sorry hide. But when you're staring down the barrel of trouble, even a scrap of hope looks like salvation.

The goons laughed. "What's that supposed to do, paper cut us to death?"

Nero's hands shook as he clutched the cardboard. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice small. "I just... I can't let you hurt me anymore."

As the bullies drew nearer, Nero found himself caught between the instinct to curl up and shield himself and an unaccustomed urge to stand his ground. He wasn’t sure if he could win, or even if he ought to try. But for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of possibility.

Nero's fingers trembled against the rough edges of the cardboard, his knuckles white with tension. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, threatening to trickle into his eyes as he slowly raised the box. The weight inside shifted slightly, causing his arms to quiver with the effort of maintaining control.

Nero's breath came in short, shallow gasps, his nostrils flaring as he tried to steady himself. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper.

The box now at eye level, Nero paused. His gaze fixed on the worn flaps, sealed shut with yellowed packing tape. He licked his lips nervously, tasting salt. He was frightened, undeniably so, but he was also weary of running. Whatever happened next, he was determined to face it head-on.

The first goon lunged, his fist connecting with the cardboard box. The impact sent Nero stumbling backward, his makeshift shield torn from his grasp. Panic surged through him as he realized he was now defenseless.

"Nowhere to run now, wimp!" the goon sneered, advancing menacingly.

Nero's eyes darted around wildly, searching for an escape. His gaze landed on a narrow gap between a dumpster and the alley wall. Without thinking, he dove for it.

"Hey!" the second goon shouted, making a grab for Nero's ankle.

Nero felt fingers brush his leg as he squeezed into the gap. His heart pounded as he scrambled through the tight space, emerging on the other side just as the first goon reached the dumpster.

"You can't hide forever!" the bully roared, trying to force his larger frame through the gap.

Nero backed away, his shoes splashing in a puddle. The sound gave him an idea. He stomped hard, sending a spray of muddy water into the goon's face.

"Argh!" The bully recoiled, sputtering and wiping his eyes.

Seizing the moment, Nero darted past him. But as he ran, his foot caught on a discarded pipe. He stumbled, certain he was about to face-plant onto the grimy concrete. To his surprise, his body seemed to right itself almost instinctively. He scooped up the pipe as he regained his balance, clutching it like a lifeline.

The second goon appeared from around the dumpster, charging at Nero with a roar. Acting on pure instinct, Nero swung the pipe low, catching the bully's ankles. The goon went down hard, his chin cracking against the ground.

Nero winced at the sound, a mixture of guilt and disbelief washing over him. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out, even as he backed away.

A rumble of thunder overhead made Nero jump. Fat raindrops began to fall, quickly turning the alley's dust into slick mud. As Nero retreated, his back hit something solid. He spun around to find himself face-to-face with a stack of empty wooden crates.

The first goon, having recovered from the muddy water attack, was closing in fast. "You're dead meat, nerd!"

Nero's mind raced. Without thinking, he grabbed the lowest crate and yanked it free. The entire stack tottered precariously.

"Watch out!" Nero cried, more out of instinct than any real concern for his pursuer.

The goon, focused solely on Nero, didn't notice the falling crates until it was too late. They came crashing down, forcing the bully to cover his head and stumble backward.

Nero used the distraction to make a break for it, his feet slipping on the increasingly muddy ground. He could hear the goons cursing and struggling behind him, but he didn't dare look back.

As he ran, Nero became acutely aware of something strange. Despite the fall earlier, the frantic scrambling, and the general chaos, he felt... okay. Better than okay, actually. The scrapes and bruises he'd expected to feel were noticeably absent. It was as if his body was healing itself in real-time.

Lost in this realization, Nero almost didn't notice the second goon cutting him off. He skidded to a halt, nearly losing his footing on the slick ground.

"End of the line, freak," the goon growled, advancing menacingly.

Nero backed up, his eyes wide with fear. But as his back pressed against a wall, something inside him shifted. He was tired of running, tired of being afraid.

With a surge of desperate courage, Nero planted his feet and braced himself. As the goon charged, Nero sidestepped at the last second. The bully, unable to stop his momentum on the slippery ground, slammed hard into the wall.

Nero stared in disbelief as the goon slumped to the ground, dazed. He'd done it. He'd actually outmaneuvered one of his tormentors.

But his victory was short-lived. A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around. The first goon glared at him, his face a mask of rage.

"That's it," the bully snarled. "No more games."

As the goon drew back his fist, time seemed to slow down for Nero. He was still scared, still uncertain, but something had changed. He'd held his own, if only for a moment. And somehow, impossibly, his body seemed to be on his side for once.

Nero tensed, ready to dodge, to fight, to do whatever it took. He didn't know if he could win, but for the first time in years, he was willing to try.

The goon's fist came crashing toward Nero's face. Instinctively, Nero threw up his hands, but in his flustered state, his body twisted, and his elbow bore the brunt of the attack. The jarring impact sent a dull ache coursing through Nero's arm, yet it was far more manageable than he'd anticipated. As he staggered back, cradling his sore limb, his eyes darted to his attacker. For the briefest of moments, the goon’s expression betrayed him—a flicker of pain crossed his features before he quickly masked it, jaw clenched in a desperate bid to maintain his air of bravado. He forced a sneer, attempting to look unfazed, but Nero could see through the charade; the man wasn’t as impervious as he wanted to appear. A subtle, newfound confidence stirred within Nero—he hadn’t merely withstood the blow, but had turned it against his adversary.

"That all you got, nerd?" the bully sneered, advancing menacingly.

Nero's mind raced. He couldn't outfight them, that much was clear. But maybe he could outsmart them. His eyes darted around the alley, taking in every detail.

"I don't want to fight you," Nero pleaded, backing away. His foot nudged something metallic – an old paint can. An idea sparked in his mind.

As the goon lunged forward, Nero sidestepped and kicked the paint can. It skittered across the wet ground, right under the bully's foot. The goon's eyes widened in surprise as he lost his balance, arms windmilling wildly.

Nero didn't wait to see him fall. He darted towards a pile of discarded cardboard boxes, his shoes slipping on the rain-slicked concrete. Behind him, he heard the satisfying thud of the goon hitting the ground, followed by a string of curses.

"You're dead, you little rat!" the second goon shouted, having recovered from his earlier daze.

Heart pounding, Nero reached the boxes. He grabbed one, then another, scattering them across the narrow alley as he retreated. The pursuing goon, in his rage, didn't notice the makeshift obstacle course until it was too late. He tripped over a box, stumbled over another, and finally lost his footing on a third, crashing face-first into a puddle.

Nero used the moment of chaos to duck behind a dumpster, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He pressed a hand to his side where one of the goons had managed to land a punch earlier. To his amazement, the pain was already fading. If only his fear would disappear as quickly.

"Where are you, you little freak?" The first goon's voice echoed off the alley walls.

Nero's eyes landed on a coil of rope hanging on a nearby hook. Next to it was a rusty old pulley attached to the wall, probably left over from some long-ago construction project. His analytical mind kicked into overdrive.

Working quickly, Nero threaded the rope through the pulley. He tied one end to the dumpster's wheel and left the other end loose on the ground, hidden under some trash. Then he took a deep breath and stepped out from his hiding place.

"H-hey!" Nero called out, his voice cracking. "Over here!"

The goons whirled around, their faces contorted with rage. They charged towards him, splashing through puddles.

Nero waited until the last possible second before diving to the side. As he moved, he yanked hard on the hidden rope. The dumpster suddenly rolled forward, catching both goons by surprise. They collided with it hard, the impact sending them sprawling backwards into the wet garbage strewn across the alley floor.

For a moment, Nero could only stare in disbelief at his successful trap. But the groans of the goons snapped him back to reality. They were down, but not out.

"I'm sorry!" Nero blurted out. "I didn't mean to... I just... please, can't we stop this?"

The goons struggled to their feet, looking far worse for wear. They exchanged a glance, confusion and caution mingling in their eyes.

"What... what are you?" the first goon asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice.

Nero backed away, hands raised placatingly. "I'm just me," he said, his voice shaky but growing stronger. "I'm the same person I've always been. I just... I can't let you hurt me anymore."

The goons hesitated, clearly uncertain how to deal with this unexpected, unyielding version of their once-helpless victim. The alley fell silent, save for the soft patter of rain and the drip of water from the eaves above.

Nero held his ground, his heart thudding in his chest. He was still frightened, still yearned to flee. But for the first time, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in his tormentors' eyes. And in that instant, despite his fear, despite his frailty, Nero realised that something fundamental had shifted.

The standoff stretched on, rain pelting down around them. Nero's mind raced, searching for a way out of this stalemate. The goons, though wary, were starting to regain their confidence.

"Enough of this," the first goon growled, taking a menacing step forward.

Suddenly, a loud crack split the air. Nero flinched, his eyes darting upward. A large branch from the tree overhanging the alley, weakened by the downpour, was starting to give way.

Time seemed to slow down. Nero's analytical mind kicked into overdrive. The branch, the goons' position, the slippery ground – it all aligned in a split second of realization.

"Watch out!" Nero cried, more out of instinct than any real concern for his tormentors.

The goons, caught off guard by Nero's warning, hesitated. It was all the time Nero needed. He lunged forward, grabbing a discarded sheet of corrugated metal leaning against the alley wall. With strength born of desperation, he slid it across the wet ground, right under the goons' feet.

The bullies, their attention still on the creaking branch above, didn't notice the new danger beneath them.