Chapter 35 Everyone panic, Hazel's holding a weapon

Chapter 35 Everyone panic, Hazel's holding a weapon
Hazel’s POV
I didn’t move, mostly because my legs would’ve given out if I tried. “You should’ve kept your head down,” he said. “This place eats people like you alive.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “I was a national-level athlete before my life imploded,” I said. “This?” I gestured weakly at the alley, the smell, the situation. “This is just a bad afternoon.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then he smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re just gonna talk,” he said, nodding to the others. “Right, boys?” 
They moved－ slow, deliberate, circling. My breath shortened. My palms were slick with sweat. I adjusted my stance, leaning more weight onto the shovel even as pain flared through me

“Back up,” I warned, voice low. They didn’t. I desperately started calculating escape routes－ left knee, right hip, alley width, distance to the fence－ when one of them suddenly froze. “Hold up,” he said, voice cracking. “Guys… that’s－ that’s the Gravedigger’s shovel.”
The word Gravedigger hit the air like a curse. 
He took an actual step back. The green-haired idiot followed his gaze, eyes dropping to the shovel in my hands. His face drained of color so fast I almost felt bad for him. 
“Yeah－ yeah damn it, it is,” he breathed. “That’s his shovel.” The other two recoiled like the metal had teeth. “But how?” the green-haired one stammered.
I watched the panic ripple through them, and despite the pain screaming through my body, something cold and clever clicked into place. Right. They worshipped him. Feared him. Built entire horror stories around a dumb boy who has an unhealthy emotional attachment to his shovel.
Idiots.
 An idea formed. A stupid one. One I hated so much it made my jaw clench. 
I adjusted my grip on the shovel, bringing it closer to my body, forcing myself to look calm, casual even, like I hadn’t been strangling it five minutes ago. “Ah,” I said lightly. “Yes. This shovel does belong to him.”, I swallowed. “…Kael.”

They gasped. Actually gasped. “He never goes anywhere without that thing,” one whispered. “If she has it, then－”
The green-haired guy clenched his fists. “Why?” he demanded. “Why do you have it?”
There it was. The question I was dreading. 

I cleared my throat, buying time. My pride prepared to commit murder. “Well,” I said slowly, “that’s because he’s my－” 
Nothing came out. My mouth refused to cooperate.
“He’s your what?” one of them asked nervously.
I forced a smile that probably looked more like I was baring my teeth. “He’s my－”
God, this was disgusting. “He’s－ he－”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “He’s my boyfriend.” I nearly gagged. 
Silence. Then－

“Nope,” one of them said immediately. “You guys are on your own. I’m out.” He turned on his heel and walked away at full speed. “Same,” another muttered. “I like breathing.” He ran. That left two. The third guy hesitated, shifting on his feet. “Uh… I think I should－”
“No!” the green-haired guy snapped. “We’re not leaving.” He stepped forward, eyes sharp now, angry pride replacing fear. “I don’t care if you’re his girlfriend, wife, or future widow,” he said. “We came all this way.”
My stomach tightened.
“Besides,” he added, voice lowering, “we saw him earlier. He’s injured. Badly.”
My grip tightened around the shovel.
“He won’t be doing anything for a while. There's no one who's gonna save you.”

The other guy nodded, swallowing hard, but staying put. “We teach you your lesson now,” the green-haired one continued, “and deal with the consequences later.” They advanced.
I raised the shovel instinctively, arms shaking, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Back up,” I warned. “I’m serious. I have a shovel and I’m not afraid to use it.” I tried to step back. My hip flared violently, white-hot pain tearing through me, and I hissed despite myself. 

They noticed. They laughed. The green-haired guy tilted his head, grin ugly now. “You can run if you want,” he said. “I love playing with my－”
“Don’t,” I snapped instantly. “That sentence is already a crime.”
His smile widened anyway. I tightened my grip, breath shallow, mind racing. I was trying to figure out whether swinging the shovel or screaming would get me killed faster when we all heard it. Metal. Dragged slowly across concrete. 
A harsh, deliberate scrape scrape scrape that raised goosebumps on my arms. 
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Long black coat. A thick black scarf wrapped high over his mouth and nose. Two axes; one in each hand, edges catching the dull light as they scraped along the ground behind him.

My stomach dropped. I recognized him instantly. It was kick-me-in-the-ribs psycho. 

The green-haired guy and his last lackey froze. So did I. 
For half a second, I was sure he was here to finish the job, to add another kick, maybe aim higher this time. I even tensed, ready to at least try kicking him back. (Confidence is important. Reality is optional.)
Then he spoke. “Get out.” His voice was low. Hoarse. Rough around the edges like it had been dragged through gravel. Or like he’d been screaming earlier and ran out of air.

The two boys blinked. They looked at him. Then at me. Then back at him. For a brief, confusing moment, none of us knew who he was talking to. 
Naturally, I decided to use this opportunity to escape. “Oh,” I said, forcing a casual smile and shifting my weight so I wouldn’t collapse, “you mean me. Yeah, I was just leav－”
“Not you.” He raised one axe and pointed it, very clearly at them. “Them.”
The green-haired guy frowned. “Ain’t no way in hell.”
I stared at the scarfed lunatic and mentally named him Discount Grim Reaper. 

Discount Grim Reaper didn’t blink. He just tilted his head slightly and said, very calmly, “Take one more step toward her and I’ll show you what true hell looks like.”
Silence. Pure, stunned silence.