BLACK AURA – Chapter 2: “My Moves, My Copy”

📖 BLACK AURA

Chapter 2: My Moves, My Copy

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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

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