In the dim, flickering hallways of the high school, where lockers rattled and sneakers screeched against worn linoleum, Kratos and Chaz ruled like untamed predators. Their muscular builds carved paths through the crowd, students parting like prey before a storm. They didn’t just walk—they stalked, their presence a raw, intimidating force that demanded submission. Kratos, with his chiseled jaw and icy stare, wore a black cap tilted low, a black hoodie clinging to his broad frame, and black jeans leading down to his Air Jordan 1 High OG “Black Toe” sneakers from the 2016 release. The Jordans were a vision of power: pristine white leather base, jet-black overlays on the toe, eyestays, and Swooshes, and bold Varsity Red accents on the heel and outsole that pulsed with menace under the fluorescent lights. The iconic Wings logo sat proudly near the ankle, a symbol of authenticity and dominance. The laces were deliberately loose, draped casually over the Nike Air-branded tongue, giving the sneakers a relaxed, almost arrogant flair that amplified Kratos’ aura. The loose lacing made the red accents pop even more, the premium leather gleaming as if daring anyone to challenge him. These sneakers weren’t just shoes—they were an extension of his sadistic will, ready to crush anyone in his path.
Chaz, his partner in cruelty, matched Kratos’ energy with a contrasting edge. His white hoodie stood out against his black cap and jeans, but his Air Jordan 1 High OG “Chicago” sneakers stole the spotlight. The iconic Chicago colorway—crisp white leather on the toe and sides, black overlays on the Swooshes and collar, and vibrant Gym Red on the toe box, heel, and outsole—radiated power. Like Kratos, Chaz wore his laces loose, the red laces hanging slack, adding a cocky, effortless swagger to his steps. The premium leather gleamed, the Air-cushioned sole giving his strides a predatory bounce, the loose laces swaying slightly with each move, making the red accents even more striking. The Nike Air logo on the tongue and the classic Wings logo near the ankle marked him as untouchable, the loose lacing a bold statement of his confidence and dominance. These weren’t just sneakers—they were weapons, fetishized symbols of their reign, making weaker kids flinch with every step.
Kratos and Chaz were not just strong but cunning, acing exams without effort, their sharp minds outwitting even the strictest teachers. Teachers hesitated to challenge them, cowed by their charm and influence. Their sadistic streak defined them—they thrived on control, on the fear they instilled, and their ability to escape consequences fueled their cruelty. No one dared report them—not when Kratos’ glare could freeze you in place, or when Chaz’s mocking grin promised worse than pain. Their favorite target, the one they tormented for sport, was Max.
Max was weakness incarnate, a perfect victim who seemed to exist for their amusement. He shuffled through the halls, head bowed, his faded grey long-sleeve t-shirt hanging loosely on his scrawny frame, the cuffs slightly frayed. His generic blue jeans sagged at the knees, and his black Converse sneakers—scuffed, with laces tightly knotted in a futile attempt at order—squeaked pathetically. The tight laces on his Converse, pulled taut and double-knotted, only highlighted his anxious, submissive nature, a stark contrast to the loose, confident style of Kratos and Chaz’s Jordans. His crooked glasses and messy brown hair added to his loser aura. Max flunked classes, had no friends, and lacked the will to fight back, accepting his role as their punching bag with a resignation that made him an easy target. To Kratos and Chaz, Max was barely human—just a toy to break when boredom struck.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, the hallway alive with students rushing to class. Max headed toward the library, his backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes glued to the floor, hoping to go unnoticed. But Kratos and Chaz had already zeroed in on him. They exchanged a glance, a silent pact that Max was today’s game. Kratos moved first, his Black Toe Jordans thudding with purpose, the loose laces swaying, the red accents flashing like danger signals, the Wings logo gleaming with authority. Chaz followed, his Chicago Jordans gleaming, the loose red laces adding a taunting swagger, the red toe box and heel cutting through the crowd. They closed in on Max like sharks, their broad frames parting the sea of students.
“Hey, Max, you little freak,” Kratos growled, his voice low and venomous. He grabbed Max’s shoulder, his grip crushing, and spun him around. Max stumbled, his tightly laced Converse scraping the linoleum, his eyes wide with dread. Chaz stepped closer, his Chicagos squeaking, the loose laces dangling as he smirked cruelly. “What’s the hurry, loser?” Chaz taunted, leaning in so close Max could smell the mint gum on his breath. “You think you’re goin’ somewhere we can’t find you?”
Max’s lips trembled, but no words came. He clutched his backpack strap, his knuckles white. “P-please,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m just… I’m just going to the library.”
Chaz laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that echoed off the lockers. “Library? What, you think readin’ some book’s gonna make you less of a pathetic fag?” He shoved Max’s chest, making him stumble back, his tightly laced Converse squeaking pitifully. “Look at those shoes,” Chaz sneered, pointing at Max’s Converse. “Tied up tight like a nerd. You think that’s gonna save you?”
Max’s eyes darted to the floor, his tightly knotted laces a stark contrast to the loose, confident style of their Jordans. “I-I’m not—” he started, but Kratos cut him off.
“Say it,” Kratos barked, stepping forward, his Black Toe Jordans inches from Max’s feet, the loose laces swaying, the red heel and Wings logo gleaming like a threat. “Say you’re a loser fag, or we’ll make this worse.”
Max’s shoulders slumped, his voice barely audible. “I’m… I’m a loser,” he mumbled, his face burning with shame.
Chaz grabbed Max’s chin, forcing his head up. “Louder, freak. And don’t skip the good part.” His Chicago Jordans tapped the floor impatiently, the loose red laces swinging, the red outsole catching the light.
“I’m a loser… fag,” Max whispered, his voice breaking, tears welling behind his glasses. The words burned, but he knew resistance was futile.
Kratos smirked, his loose-laced Jordans and Wings logo making him look even more imposing. “That’s right. Now let’s have some fun.” He yanked Max by the arm, dragging him toward the nearby bathroom, Chaz following with a grin, his loose laces swaying with each step. The door swung open with a creak, and they shoved Max inside. The bathroom was empty, the air heavy with bleach and dampness, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Max’s backpack hit the tiled floor with a thud as Kratos slammed him against the wall. “You know how this goes,” Kratos said, his black cap casting a shadow over his eyes, his loose-laced Black Toes and their Wings logo gleaming with menace. Max’s knees buckled, his grey t-shirt clinging to his bony frame, his tightly laced Converse useless as he cowered.
Chaz struck first, his fist connecting with Max’s face, snapping his head back. Max gasped, his glasses sliding down his nose, and he collapsed to the floor, sitting with his back against the cold tiles. “Look at you,” Chaz sneered, his white hoodie stark against the grimy walls. “Can’t even take a hit without cryin’.” He lifted his Chicago Jordan, the loose laces dangling, the red outsole and Wings logo hovering over Max’s back like a guillotine. With deliberate cruelty, he pressed down, the Air cushioning compressing as he leaned his weight onto Max’s spine. Max whimpered, his hands scrabbling at the tiles, his tightly laced Converse useless.
“You’re not even worth the dirt on my sole,” Chaz said, grinding his foot harder, the loose laces swaying, the red and white leather gleaming. “Say it again, Max. Tell us what you are.”
“I’m a loser fag,” Max choked out, his voice muffled, his face pressed against the tiles. Chaz laughed, easing up just enough to let Max breathe before stepping down again.
Kratos joined in, his Black Toe Jordan looming over Max’s head, the loose laces swaying, the Wings logo a cruel emblem of power. The black leather and red heel mocked Max’s weakness as Kratos pressed the sole against his scalp, the pressure excruciating. “You’re our bitch, Max,” Kratos said, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. “You exist for us to fuck with.” He leaned harder, the Varsity Red accents a cruel contrast to Max’s pale, trembling face, forcing his head to bow under the weight.
Blood trickled from Max’s nose, staining the tiles. Kratos noticed and grinned, a predator savoring his kill. He lifted his foot, the loose laces swaying, then slammed it down, kicking Max’s face to the floor with a sickening crack. The blood smeared across the tiles, and Kratos stepped directly onto Max’s nose, twisting his Black Toe Jordan to grind the blood into the sole. The white leather base was now streaked with crimson, the black overlays and red accents making the blood a perverse trophy. “Check it out,” Kratos said, lifting his foot to admire the stained sole. “You’re part of my kicks now, loser.”
Chaz chuckled, stepping forward. “My turn.” His Chicago Jordan came down on Max’s nose, the loose laces swinging, the red outsole smearing more blood across the leather, the white panels now marked with crimson streaks. “Matches my colorway,” Chaz said, his voice thick with mockery as he pressed harder, making Max wince. “You’re makin’ my Jordans look better, fag.”
Max’s hands shot up, trying to shield his head, but it was futile. The beating intensified. Kratos and Chaz took turns kicking Max’s chest, stomach, and face, their Jordans a blur of black, white, and red, the loose laces swaying with each strike, the Wings logos gleaming. Kratos’ Black Toes struck with precision, the red heel leaving bruises on Max’s ribs. Chaz’s Chicagos were relentless, the red toe box and outsole marking Max’s skin with every kick. Max curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head, his tightly laced Converse scraping uselessly against the tiles. The thin canvas of his sneakers offered no protection, no power—nothing compared to the premium leather and Air-cushioned dominance of their loose-laced Jordans.
“Keep sayin’ it,” Chaz demanded, stomping on Max’s chest, the red outsole of his Chicago pressing into Max’s sternum, the loose laces dangling mockingly. “What are you?”
“I’m a loser fag,” Max gasped, his voice hoarse, blood dripping from his nose. Chaz stomped again, harder, the Air cushioning absorbing the impact but not the cruelty.
Kratos joined in, his Black Toe Jordan slamming onto Max’s stomach, the loose laces swaying, making him gag. “Louder!” Kratos barked, stomping again, the red heel leaving a fresh bruise. “Scream it so the whole school knows!”
“I’m a loser fag!” Max cried, tears mixing with the blood on his face, his glasses fogged with pain and humiliation.
They didn’t stop until they were bored, until Max was a broken heap on the floor, his breathing shallow, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Kratos stepped back, wiping his Black Toe Jordan on the tiles, the loose laces swaying, the Wings logo still pristine, leaving some blood streaks as a deliberate mark of victory. Chaz did the same, his Chicago Jordans carrying Max’s blood like a badge of dominance, the loose laces adding to his cocky swagger. They stood over him, their broad frames filling the bathroom, their sneakers gleaming under the lights. “Stay down, fag,” Chaz spat, kicking Max’s leg one last time for good measure.
Without another word, they turned and left, their loose-laced Jordans thudding against the tiles, leaving Max sprawled like a discarded rag. To them, it was just another day, another workout. Max lay there, his grey t-shirt soaked with sweat and blood, his jeans torn, his tightly laced Converse scuffed and useless. He was nothing to them—just a weak, submissive shadow in their world of power and cruelty.
Follow Master Kratos
Instagram: MasterKratos28
BlueSky: MasterKratos28
X: MasterKratos28
Every school needs guys like Kratos and Chaz to keep losers like max in their place.
Fuck yeah! you’re right!