Elion Hayes Book One: The Beast Rings

For a moment, the world felt simple.

Elion and Jordan walked through the neon-lit streets, the city buzzing around them like white noise. Just two friends, lost in conversation, pretending life wasn't complicated.

The earlier game at The Cage? Just another match. A great match, sure—probably the best Elion had played in years—but nothing worth overthinking.

Still, he couldn't help the rush of excitement. After years of drowning in lectures, tutorials, and part-time shifts, he had finally gotten to play again.

For a moment, just a moment, life felt simple.

Then, of course, his brain decided to ruin it.

He remembered the white team's glares. The way Marcus and Malik had stared him down after the final whistle. Their huddle had looked way too intense for just a bunch of guys taking an 'L' in street soccer.

They'd get over it.… Right?

Elion let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his gut. He had just gone there to play. No drama. No grudges. Just soccer.

Surely, they wouldn't hold a grudge over one game.

Surely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, they slipped into familiar conversation—their high school days. They talked about everything.

Then, about soccer.

Back then, they weren't just teammates. They were the Deadly Duo.

Sounds cringe, right? But that was during school days, so it was a pretty normal title.

Elion and Jordan had carried West Ridge High School on their backs, steamrolling their way through the city tournament and even making it to the National High School Championship as representatives of the state.

Every sports page made them sound like the ultimate duo destined for greatness. Well, not actual newspapers—let's be real, no high schooler reads those. But on social media? Oh yeah. The hype was everywhere.

But then? Life happened.

Elion went the academic route, landing a spot at Stanford University, one of the top universities in the country. Yeah, it sounded impressive—maybe even a little too impressive—but if there was one thing that set him apart besides soccer, it was his mind.

Numbers made sense when nothing else did. Mathematics. Coding. AI. He didn't just learn them—he understood them instinctively, like second nature. Patterns clicked in his brain before he even had the chance to think about them. Equations? They weren't problems; they were just puzzles waiting to be solved.

But it wasn't just numbers. Languages, too.

Elion could study a foreign language just for a few hours and somehow start piecing it together like he had been studying it for years. Sentence structures, intonations, dialects—they all made sense to him the way most people understood their native tongue.

Genius? Some people liked to throw that word around.

Elion hated it.

Being a genius meant attention. It meant people expecting things from you, watching you, waiting for you to prove something. He didn't want that.

He just wanted to be normal.

And if that meant playing down how fast he could pick up languages, how easily numbers clicked in his brain, how naturally he could break down code—then so be it.

He wasn't here to impress anyone. He was just trying to live.

Jordan? He took a step back, choosing to explore life before jumping into college—that he never attended. They even lost contact for about a year and a half after that.

Elion always respected that decision. Even admired it. Jordan did things his way, without pressure, without a set path.

Meanwhile, Elion had taken the "practical" road—scholarships, grades, and responsibility.

Still, sometimes, he wondered what Jordan hoped to find or had discovered with all that freedom.

Their conversation then turned to summer plans as they walked past the bright storefronts on the street.

"What's the plan this summer?" Jordan asked, putting his hands in his pockets. "Besides working your tail off, that is."

Elion chuckled, though it lacked real amusement. "Not much, really. Just trying to save up some money, help at home, and maybe, if I'm lucky, get a little break a few days before the break ends."

Jordan gave him a sideways look like Elion had just told him he enjoyed eating plain bread and calling it a meal.

"Dude, you're twenty," Jordan said. "You should be out having fun, not working and studying all the time."

He looked at Elion for a moment before asking, "How about we hit the beach next weekend? Grab drinks, hang out, enjoy life?"

"Beach?" Elion wanted to say yes. He really did. But reality had other ideas. "Well... Those are nice, but how I wish I could," Elion said with a sigh. "I need to help with some problem at home. My mom's been worrying about the money and my little brother..."

"Liam? Let me guess—he got into another fight?"

Elion sighed and nodded.

Jordan ran a hand down his face like he was personally exhausted by Liam's life choices. "That brat… Look, I get it. Family first, always. But you need a break, too. If you want, I can have a little chat with him."

He let out a deep sigh before adding, "You know, hit him with the classic Jordan Walker Slow Talk Special—works every time."

Elion almost laughed. Almost. Jordan had this unique ability of being able to cut through excuses like a hot knife through butter.

But taking it easy? Yeah, that wasn't even considered.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a small grocery store. It was on the corner of the block. The store looked modest, and the sign had seen better days. But everyone in the neighborhood knew it was the only place that offered the cheapest essentials. 

Nobody quite understood how the owner managed to keep prices so low—maybe he cared more about helping the community than making a profit.

Elion pushed open the door, and the overhead bell let out the weakest, most half-hearted jingle ever. If bells had emotions, this one had given up on life.

"Welcome," the cashier droned, not even bothering to glance up from his phone. He looked so profoundly bored that even scrolling seemed to have lost its appeal.

Elion and Jordan nodded in acknowledgment before splitting up—Elion heading straight for the essentials while Jordan wandered off, probably looking for something unnecessary.

Grabbing a basket by the register, Elion moved on autopilot, picking up his usual items—milk, bread, eggs, a few cans of food. He knew the routine well. Nothing too expensive, nothing extra. Just enough to last the week.

Meanwhile, Jordan was on a personal mission to waste time.

He strolled down the aisles, picking up random items, inspecting them like he was making life-altering choices, then putting them back with a dramatic shake of his head. He repeated this at least four times before finally snatching a pack of sour candies and launching it into Elion's basket.

"Three-pointer!"

Elion caught the basket mid-motion, arching an eyebrow. "Candy? Seriously?"

Jordan flashed an unapologetic grin. "Hey, man, it's called balance. Life needs some sweetness."

Elion glanced at the pack. "But this one's sour."

Jordan threw an arm around his shoulders. "Same difference."

Elion just shook his head and kept walking—because, of course, Jordan was keeping the candy.

They made their way to the counter, standing in silence as the cashier scanned their items at the speed of someone who had long since lost the will to care.

Jordan, watching the total climb, casually leaned on the counter. "So… uh, sorry for asking, but… no news about your dad, yet?"

Elion barely reacted. His hands didn't tighten around the basket. His face didn't shift. Years of practice.

He kept his voice light, like it was no big deal. "Nah. Same as always. He calls when he's in an area with coverage."

Which, by the way? He never did.

Jordan didn't say anything for a second. Then, quieter, "But he told your mom he'd be back soon, right?"

Elion nodded, not looking up. "Yeah. Mom says it's almost time."

That part was true. His mother had said it.

But Elion didn't get his hopes up. Not after all these years.

His little sister, Alia, though? She still believed. She still ran to the door every time the phone rang, still asked when Dad was coming home.

And that? That was the part that hurt the most.

Jordan must have caught the shift in his expression, because he didn't push further. Instead, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Man. Hope he actually keeps his word this time."

Elion just gave a noncommittal shrug.

The cashier dropped the last item into the bag and muttered, "Total's sixteen fifty."

Elion pulled out his wallet, already reaching for the cash, but Jordan, apparently deciding now was the time to lighten the mood, grabbed a chocolate bar from the impulse section.

"For my emotional support," he announced.

Elion side-eyed him. "You literally just got candy."

"Exactly. I need chocolate to balance the sour."

Elion sighed but paid for the whole thing anyway, including Jordan's completely unnecessary emotional support bar.

Jordan grinned as they stepped outside into the cooler air. He unwrapped the chocolate and broke off a piece, tossing it to Elion.

"Here. Chocolate makes life better."

Elion caught it, letting the warmth of the streetlights settle over him.

Maybe. Maybe it did.

But right now? Not even chocolate could fix everything.

And neither of them realized—the night was just getting started.

The air outside had grown cooler. Somehow, Elion felt like this was what he needed. It was becoming more peaceful, too.

"It's peaceful tonight," Elion said.

"Yeah. Like the calm before the storm," Jordan replied with a chuckle.

Elion stopped for a moment. He closed his eyes just to enjoy the peace of the quiet street.

"Dude, you seem in dire need of rest," Jordan teased.

Elion replied with a smile. Everything that Jordan said was true.

As they continued down the road and stopped at the corner where they would go their separate ways, Jordan patted him on the shoulder and smiled his usual friendly smile.

"Anyway, think about the beach. You could really use a break, man."

Elion smiled a little. "Sure. No promise, but I will think about it."

"Cool. Just ring me up," Jordan said with a smile. "See you later, buddy."

Jordan had barely lifted his foot to start his usual light jog home when the air around them shifted.

It started with a shadow moving in his path.

Then another.

And another.

Elion's instincts screamed at him a second too late. By the time his brain caught up, the sidewalk was no longer just theirs. A group of guys appeared from the side streets like cockroaches in a scary movie. They approached with the skill of a planned ambush.

His stomach dropped.

The white team.

Marcus stood at the front, his expression unreadable—until he laughed.

Slow. Amused. Controlled.

The kind of laugh that didn't belong here. The kind that made Elion's stomach tighten in warning.

"Now, now," Marcus said, shaking his head as if they were misbehaving kids. "Did you really think you could just walk away after what we lost?"

Jordan tensed beside him. Elion didn't even need to look to know that his best friend was sizing up the situation, already deciding whether they could run or if they'd have to fight their way out.

Spoiler alert: It wasn't looking good for option one.

Elion gulped. This sounded bad.

Jordan, on the other hand, smirked. "Damn. Didn't realize losing a match meant calling in a hit squad. You guys always take street soccer this seriously?"

Elion snapped his head toward him, stunned. 'Dude, are you seriously talking back?'

He had never seen Jordan act like this. Back in school, Jordan had always been the calm one, the guy who let his skills do the talking. He had the build of an athlete, sure, but he had never been the type to start—or escalate—a fight. So why did he look so confident now?

Elion did not want to take risks. Not here. Not now. He raised his hands, trying to de-escalate the situation.

"Wait a minute. Let's just talk this out. How much did you guys lose?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes, then lifted a hand—five fingers up.

Elion's brain immediately did the math. Five hundred?

If that was all, then fine. He could cover that. Money could be earned back. But if he ended up in the hospital tonight, that would be a much bigger problem. His mother would panic, he wouldn't be able to work, and he'd be in even worse shape than before.

Elion exhaled slowly, like a man about to make a really bad investment. "Alright. Fine. I'll cover your loss. Five hundred, right?"

He pulled out his phone, already opening his banking app. "Just give me your transfer code, and let's call it a night."

Because, honestly? Five hundred bucks was a lot, but it was still cheaper than a hospital bill.

But nobody responded. Everyone looked at him like he was a fool.

Then—laughter.

Loud. Amused. Mocking.

Malik shook his head. His grin was full of pure disbelief. "Who the hell bets everything on just five hundred bucks?"

Elion's fingers froze over the screen. He glanced up. "Then… how much exactly?"

Jordan let out a sharp exhale and shot Elion a look. "Don't entertain these guys." Then he turned back to Marcus. "Who asked you to bet five thousand?"

Five. Thousand. Dollars.

Elion's stomach flipped. His brain went full error mode. His ears must've glitched.

Because there was no way— No. Freaking. Way.

"Who bets five grand on a street match?!" Elion blurted.

"Yeah, they're fools for doing that," Jordan said with a chuckle.

"Shut your mouth!" Malik clenched his fists, his body tensing up. He stepped forward, ready to swing, but Marcus raised a hand, stopping him.

Marcus's jaw tightened. "We're not stupid. We've beaten Raymond and his team over and over. That's why we bet big. We never thought two nobodies would show up and ruin everything."

Elion could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. This wasn't just a post-game grudge. This was serious. And he believed they weren't getting out of here without a fight.

Elion took a step back. Then another.

The sidewalk suddenly felt smaller.

Marcus stepped forward. Malik cracked his knuckles.

The others shifted closer—too close. Then—Jordan's shoulder bumped his.

They weren't backing up anymore. They were being herded.

Elion barely had time to process that thought before his back hit brick.

Great. Just great.

The city lights went away, leaving them in the dark and quiet. They were in a narrow alley with old brick walls, far from anyone who could see them—from witnesses.

"Any plan, Jordan?" Elion asked. He felt his heart racing. This wasn't just about getting intimidated anymore. They were being cornered.

Jordan seemed strangely calm, as if they were just waiting for a bus instead of dealing with a group of guys who were angry about five thousand dollars.

Elion's brain went into overdrive, desperately flipping through his mental survival guide for How to Get Out of a Street Fight Without Becoming a Headline.

Step one: Talk his way out.

Except… that only worked if the other side had ears instead of rage-induced tunnel vision. Judging by the way Malik was cracking his knuckles like a villain in a bad action movie, diplomacy was already off the table.

Step two: Run.

Nope. Too many of them, too little space, and honestly? He wasn't sure if Jordan would let him run. That guy thrived on bad decisions.

Step three: Fight.

Also a bad idea. Elion could handle himself, but these guys weren't here for a friendly spar. If things escalated, someone was walking away with a broken nose—or worse.

And to top it all off? He was still holding the groceries.

Because, of course, he was.

It wasn't enough that his night had gone completely off the rails—now he had to protect the eggs like they were ancient relics while potentially getting punched in the face.

Man, he really needed to survive this. And not just for the sake of his bones—he really didn't want to go home and explain to his mother why their whole week supply was now a smoothie at the bottom of a plastic bag.

Which left him with exactly one option.

He turned to Jordan.

His best friend. His ride-or-die. The human embodiment of chaos in hoodie form. The guy who somehow had a remarkable talent for making any situation worse before (sometimes, accidentally) making it better.

Jordan tilted his head, studying Marcus like he was just mildly inconvenienced.

Then, with a grin that spelled pure trouble, he cracked his knuckles.

Yeah. This was going downhill fast.

So yeah. Elion braced himself.

Whatever happened next? It was absolutely, 100% going to be Jordan's fault.