CONNECT; Rise Of The Undead King

I AM NOT A MONSTER

A long road stretched downward toward a small open garden, with all kinds of trees and flowers planted within it. Two little girls stood in front of an apple tree, staring at a boy perched on one of its branches, trying to pluck a very large, ripe apple.

All three of them seemed no older than five.

The boy shifted his feet forward, straining to reach the apple. His hand was only a couple of inches away, yet he could not grab it. The apple almost seemed to pull away whenever he touched it, as though it did not want to be plucked. But the boy refused to give up. He edged his legs forward, stretching his arm again and again, determined to take the apple so he could share it with his two friends.

Unfortunately, as he struggled to grab it, his foot slipped. He fell from the very top of the tree, his body striking several branches before hitting the ground.

The boy groaned as he landed, his leg breaking in the process.

"Uche!!!"

The two girls screamed, rushing over to him with worried faces. Their expressions twisted into terror when they saw the condition of his leg—it was bent into a grotesque zigzag, with bones piercing through his skin.

"Uche, are you okay?"

One of the girls asked, tears streaming down her face. She knelt beside him, reaching to check his body. But at that moment, something strange began to happen. The bones sticking out of Uche's skin slowly pulled themselves back inside, his twisted leg straightened, snapping back into place.

Uche screamed in agony as his wound closed itself, tiny blood-like tendrils stretching across his skin. He had never seen anything like this before and he felt nothing but unbearable pain.

"Arghhh!"

The two girls stumbled backward in horror, their fear replacing their concern. One of them trembled violently.

Moments later, Uche stood back on his feet, completely healed and fine. His twisted leg looked normal again, the popped out bones vanished, and it seemed as if nothing had ever happened—if not for the bewildered look on his face, and the frightened stares of his friends.

He move towards them, but was met with a sharp scream.

"Don't come closer!"

One of the girls shouted, while the other uttered a single word before they both ran off.

"Monster."

---

"You bastard, stop there!"

A group of seven students in white uniforms were chasing a young boy dressed in the same run. The boy had curly black hair, an oval-shaped face, and a well-carved figure. He appeared no older than five, while his pursuers were a few years older and much taller. Yet, despite the difference in age and size, the boy's speed was unmatched—he had already created a wide gap between himself and the others, who were gasping for breath.

Still, they did not relent.

"We must catch him! He's the only one who saw us—he must not escape!"

The boy darted through several alleys, weaving between buildings, until he finally burst onto an open street and ahead of him lay the main road.

"If I can cross to the other side and catch a bus, I'll escape,"

He thought.

Without slowing down, he sprinted across the street.

But fate was cruel. Just as he reached the road, a speeding Ferrari slammed into him, sending him flying to the roadside. The car screeched briefly, then sped off without stopping.

The seven students pursuing him froze, shocked and frightened.

"He's dead,"

One muttered, sweat dripping down his face.

"That driver hit him and didn't even stop!"

"What do we do now?"

"Run away, of course. Act like nothing happened."

"What are you saying? The kid we were chasing just died!"

"Not by our hands. He got hit by the Ferrari because he didn't look before crossing."

"But we were chasing him—people saw us!"

"It doesn't matter. The Ferrari killed him, not us. If we stay, we'll be blamed. Let's go before it's too late."

"You talk as if he's just a chicken."

"What were you expecting? You want us to go meet the cops and report we killed him? Or he was hit by a Ferrari while we were chasing him, you think they'll let us go?"

"Guys… look!"

One of them pointed toward the roadside as they were all busy arguing.

The others followed his gaze—and their breaths caught. The boy they had just seen struck by the Ferrari was now standing, walking slowly toward them. He was completely unhurt, only a smear of blood stained his face and uniform, giving him a ghastly appearance.

The seven students stumbled backward, pointing at him in terror.

"What the hell…"

"He's completely fine."

"Monster. He's a monster!"

"Run!"

"Monster!"

---

In an open field, a young boy could be seen standing, blood spattered across his white uniform, his curly black hair was disheveled, and his oval face smeared with blood. Yet he looks completely fine, he bore no wounds.

But he trembled violently, flinching as stones struck him one after another.

A crowd of students trailed behind, hurling rocks while shouting in unison:

"Monster!"

"Monster!"

"Monster!"

"We don't want you in our school anymore!"

"Go away, monster!"

They drove him relentlessly toward the school gate.

Suddenly, the boy spun around. His tear-streaked face twisted with anguish.

"I am not a monster!!!"

He shouted.

Fear flickered in the eyes of the students behind him as they froze.

---

Meanwhile, high above on the fourth floor of the school building, two men in black overcoats watched with indifferent expressions.

"So, the boy is a Connect,"

One of them said.

"Yes. Keep an eye on him. And make sure the students don't spread word about a child who can heal himself. This could change the course of humanity."

The other man spoke calmly as he turned and walked away.

---

Uche burst into the room, tears streaming down his face. He stormed into his grandmother's chamber without knocking.

"Grams!!!"

He shouted, his voice cracking with frustration.

The elderly woman turned from the corner of the room and wheeled herself toward him, smiling gently.

"Yes, my lovely son."

"This is the last time I'll ask you this,"

Uche said, his fists trembling.

"And it will be the last time you see me if you give me the same answer as before. Tell me, why am I different from everyone else? Why does my body heal on its own whenever I'm hurt? Why do you always cook me meat whenever I'm starving after an injury? Why does everyone call me a monster? Why are my friends so afraid of me? Who are my parents?"

Tears welled in his eyes as he shouted, unable to hold back his pain.

The old woman's smile faded, though she motioned for him to sit. But Uche refused.

"You're just like your father,"

She said softly, "stubborn, never backing down. And as for your questions—the answer will remain the same, until the day you're grown enough to protect yourself."

Uche said nothing. He turned and walked away, tears falling down his face freely, without once looking back.

"I'll always be waiting for you, whenever you decide to come home,"

The old woman whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

'Caesar, Maryam… I won't break my promise to you both,'

She thought.

---

In a small, bustling workshop filled with the sounds of grinding, cutting, and hammering, the walls were lined with shelves stacked high with bundles of raw metal, tools, and equipment.

Five workers labored at the center. Among them were a hunched old man with a head of white hair and long brows, two middle-aged men, a young man in his late twenties, and the youngest—barely seventeen.

The two middle-aged men guided a circular saw across a thick steel plate. The old man operated a hydraulic press, assisted by the young adult placing metal rods beneath its hiss. Meanwhile, the youngest boy sorted scraps of metal into bins, wearing safety goggles, gloves, and a dust mask.

He hovered near the saw, carefully gathering cut fragments whenever the machine paused.

Just as he stood after placing scraps into a bin, a long, sharp saber came hurtling toward him with impossible speed. Too fast to react.

The blade struck his shoulder, severing his arm clean off completely from his body.

The boy screamed in pain as his left arm dropped to the floor, blood spurting in torrents. The others froze, staring at him in horror.