? The Storm and The Beast ?
The streets reeked of old smoke and yesterday’s rain, puddles collecting in the hollows of cracked stone. Somewhere in the distance, a cartwheel rattled against cobble, but here — between the brick alleys and rusted gutters — the world was quiet. Too quiet.
Alex walked with his shoulders drawn in, steps cautious. Beside him, Dante kept a looser posture, though the sharp flick of his eyes to every corner.
They were not far from the Wolves’ haunt now.
Unseen, ahead of them, the pack was already in motion.
At the mouth of an alley, Lino grabbed Zack’s far shoulder with an arm, and extended the other — the finger at its end outstretched like the point of a hunter's spear.
Pinch is calm, walking as the small baby wolf he is right next to the angry Tonno salty about his defeat.
Mira was next to Zack, smirking, excited.
“Stay sharp,” Dante muttered, his tone gravelled and low. “Could come at us any second.”
He was not wrong. The sound of boots soon scattered across the stone — faint, but purposeful.
First came Lino, grin undimmed. Then Mira, poised and silent, her sharp eyes glinting. Tonno followed with the force of a battering ram, Pinch in his shadow, small and alert. Last came Zack — silent, straight-backed, his expression carved in stone.
Dante raised an eyebrow, his voice dry as a matchstick. “Five on two? Very gallant.”
Dante cracked his knuckles, not threatening, merely stating a readiness.
Lino’s grin returned, though tighter now. “Yesterday was just a warm-up.”
Tonno stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “No one touches our Pinch,” he growled. “Not unless they get through me first.”
Pinch, ever mute, nodded once. His hands tightened at his coat hem, small fingers as quick as they were quiet.
Tension strung itself between them like wire.
Then Mira stepped forward.
“Enough talk. Why don’t we get started? Two on two. Fair and square. Unless you're scared.”
Her gaze slid to Alex, appraising, almost curious.
“You the one who dropped Tonno yesterday?”
Alex met Mira's eyes with a steady calm.
“I’m not here to fight anyone,”
Mira’s smile deepened, mocking as she tilted her head just slightly, as if studying a puzzle.
“Afraid of losing to a girl?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m not afraid,” he replied. “But I won’t fight a girl.”
Dante, meanwhile, had turned to Lino, his voice light, almost teasing.
“You and me, little weasel.”
But before Lino could speak, Zack stepped forward.
“I’ll take him.”
Dante's grin faltered at the voice. This... was the creepy kid he didn't want to clash with.
"Damn it..."
Mira stepped lightly on her feet, weight shifting back and forth—a dancer preparing her rhythm.
“Let’s see if you can keep up,”
Alex straightened. His chest rose once with a breath, and his gaze sharpened.
This was no ordinary street scrap.
And then she moved.
Quick as a firecracker—a blur of motion.
A jab cracked tapped his cheek before he quite registered she’d closed the distance. Sharp and precise, it sent his head whipping to the side making him staggering back.
Then—
Another one, same mark.
She kept bouncing, weight shifting, steps light and unpredictable.
Step, bounce, bounce, step.
Her fists never dropped. Her smirk never faded.
Then she came again. A flurry.
Jab, jab, cross— tight, fast punches, her form compact, her guard never broken.
The jab came first: short, quick, from her front hand. It didn’t need power—just speed, a flick to measure distance and keep him off.
Then the cross. It came from her rear hand—the stronger side. She didn’t swing wildly. She turned into it. Her back foot pivoted. Her shoulder rolled forward. Her hips snapped—like a coiled spring released. A clean boxer's form.
The power is in the movement, not in the muscle.
It landed, sending Alex’s head jerking. The boy's vision blurred for a beat.
“Is this for real? No boy in the village fought like this. Not even that big guy from yesterday.”
Mira paused just long enough to tilt her head.
“What’s wrong? Thought you’d be better.”
Alex set his feet, reset his breath. His fingers curled tighter.
Mira saw it— the shift— and her grin returned with sharper edges.
“Cool,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
The tomboy charged again. Another blur... but Alex moved—arms out. Aiming to catch her, incapacitate her without hitting her.
He reached—
But she was gone from his sight.
Mira slid to the left already as soon as Alex threw himself.
A straight right landed flush on his cheek. Her back hand shot forward like a piston. No arc. No wind-up.
Just shoulder. Hip. Weight. That’s what made it hurt.
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Alex reeled.“
This is crazy! Forget about not hitting her. Even if I tried—I can’t.”
She was too good.
Too fast.
And she wasn’t done yet.
“Get him, Mira!” Pinch shouted from the sideline, clutching his coin pouch with both hands.
Tonno leaned closer to Lino, brow furrowed.
“Say—He looked decent yesterday. How is he losing so easily to Mira?”
Lino didn’t even glance over.
“Because Mira’s not just fast—she reads him. She watches his weight shifts, his foot placement. That makes her see when he’s about to lunge before he does it.”
Lino nodded toward the two fighters.
“See how she’s using mostly jabs?”
Tonno squinted.
“What, those little punches with her left hand? Yeah, yeah...”
“They’re not about power." Lino carried on, "Timing. Disrupting rhythm. Snapping out and right back—no openings. She’s got it down clean: light, barely committed, but controlling the whole fight. She was trained well. Leo taught her, after all.”
Tonno scoffed.
“You always talk like you’ve been in a hundred fights.”
“You’re the one asking”
Tonno rolled his eyes.
“Alright, expert—what about Zack? Want to break him down too?”
Lino hesitated. His gaze drifted across the yard to the second fight.
“Mira is trained,” Lino said at last. “Zack? There’s nothing to analyze.”
His voice grew quiet.
"He is just full of bad intentions."
Dante was breathing from the sheer effort of pushing Zack back.
Ironically, Zack didn't land one hit yet... still, Dante was the one who wanted the fight over.
He landed three clean shots.
Stomach. Face. Jaw.
But the boy just smiled, making Dante’s stomach turn.
Dante had grinned, trying to keep the momentum,
“You ain’t much after all—”
Zack’s grin widened. Blood gleamed at the corner of his mouth.
“That all you got?”
Dante bit his lip in frustration.
"He is hurt... he is just bluffing, trying to look tough. Don't let it get to you."
The kid across from him had the look of someone enjoying the pain. Like every blow just made him more certain.
Zack advanced, all his punches were telegraphed to Dante... yet every swing tore through the air with an insane power.
Ugly. Brutal.
Dante ducked the first.
Barely parried the second.
Then countered with a sharp strike that should’ve snapped Zack’s chin—
The kid ate it like it was nothing.
Then came the knee. Vicious, right to Dante's gut as he buckled.
Zack grabbed him by the collar, not letting him fall in peace.
A headbutt. Straight to the nose.
The world tilted.
Zack leaned in, still holding him upright.
“You hit like a fly, fella,” he whispered. “No one’s falling from that. Not me.”
Dante staggered, wiping blood from his brow—nose or forehead, he wasn’t sure.
“I’m not going down that easy,” he spat.
Zack’s grin never wavered.
“Let’s see about that.”
They crashed together.
Fists flew.
No rhythm. No grace.
Barely any defense.
Dante wanted it finished. The pressure was too much.
Zack's elbow grazed his ribs a breath too slow.
Dante snapped back with a kick to the gut nearly swept his balance.
And still—Zack was grinning.
Off to the side, Pinch flinched. He’d known Zack a long time—years, even. And still… still he wasn’t used to this. The grinning. The brutality. The way Zack kept smiling like a boy unwrapping presents.
Tonno stiffened, eyes wide.
“This is brutal” he whispered. “That boy might have lost his ribs right there.”
Lino didn’t blink, but was nervous.
“He better just run away,” he muttered. “Or Zack might permanently disable him or something.”
Dante's mind screamed.
“I’m no seasoned brawler. I deal in shadows, not slugfests. My fists work when my brain’s one step ahead… Still, I know I'm not weak! But this lunatic?”
“He’s real trouble.”
On the other side, Mira had not let up.
Another blow caught Alex high on the cheek.
He was panting, bruised, retreating now, not running—but defending, backing away, trying to read her.
But she kept finding gaps...
Still, it annoyed her that she was the only one punching. There was resistance, but Alex is not fighting back either.
“C’mon,” she teased, “Throw something already.”
Alex knew it clearly now.
“I can't match her speed. And I can't catch her. But…” he thought, lowering his stance, pulling his arms tight around his face, “I noticed something… Let’s see.”
He stopped dodging. Instead, he turtled up—guarding only his face. His ribs, gut, and sides lay completely exposed.
Across from him, Mira hesitated. Her footwork didn’t slow, but her eyes flicked once, twice, taking in the shift.
She narrowed her gaze. “He’s guarding his face. Makes sense—I’ve already messed it up.”
“But this… this smells like bait.”
Still, she wasn't afraid. She adjusted. Composed. If he wanted to test something, so would she.
One, two, three—she darted left, then right, then left again.
Light pat-pats of fists tapping his forearms guarding his face.
Then—she ducked, pivoted low—
A heavy body shot slammed into his liver. It landed clean on his liver. Her whole weight behind it.
Lino’s voice rang out low from the sidelines. “Yep. This one is over.”
Pinch screamed. "Yaaay!"
Tonno added. "Cool. Now let's watch Zack's fight."
But Alex didn’t drop.
He shifted slightly. A step back. A slight bend. But nothing more.
Mira blinked. Just once. Then she reset.
She didn’t panic. No. That wasn’t her way. But a seed of confusion had been planted.
Alex remained as he was—arms up, face shielded, body still wide open.
Another flurry — Mira is faster this time.
Left, right, up, down.
Then again—to the ribs.
He absorbed it all. Like stone in a rainstorm.
Tonno’s voice, uncertain. “What the…?”
Lino leaned forward. “He didn’t drop? He’s not even… in pain?”
Inside the tight shell of his guard, Alex’s thoughts were calm, steady.
“Getting hit in the face hurts a lot. But her strikes to my body—I can take those. Once she gets close... I will catch her!”
Mira stepped in again—but this time, Alex moved. Just slightly. One step forward. A fraction of pressure. And Mira had to retreat.
For the first time, she felt it— the sheer will behind that stillness.
It was like striking a wall that had decided to lean forward. Just a little.
“He’s not fighting back... but he’s not breaking either.”
Her chest tightened. That familiar flicker. Doubt.
“I hate this… I hate to admit it, but… I’m not Tonno. I’m not Zack. I don’t have that kind of weight and their power.”
“Still… I do drop boys his size. No wonder he wrestled Tonno. His raw strength is no joke.”
But then her jaw set. Her fists came up again. “Doesn’t matter. He still can’t catch me.”
“You want to protect that pretty face so bad? Let’s see how you handle this.”
This time, she threw caution aside.
Left and right hands flew—Each one sharp, fast, hammering down like hail in a thunderstorm. Alex’s guard rattled with every hit, arms straining, feet sliding back.
Still she kept coming—
Relentless.
Still no opening to catch her.
Alex gritted his teeth behind his arms
"Impossible. She’s still going?”
Then—
Her rear hand shot forward in a straight line. Her shoulder rolled, her hips turned. Full-body power in a single breath.
His balance and guard broke for a second.
She saw it.
A glint in her eyes. “There!”
She reset her stance, confident than ever again.
“If your body can take it, then I’m coming back for your face. Your guard won't last long.”
Zack and Dante are still at it. No technique. No defense. Just fists and fury.
They collided like animals—Zack grinning, Dante snarling. Each swing was brutal. Wild. Almost personal.
Zack laughed—sharp, clear, almost childlike.
Dante’s punches came fast. Reckless. Desperate. They landed, but it looked like each one made Zack stronger.
“This isn’t good…What the hell is wrong with this kid?”
Zack was so fond of his brutality that he’d given names to the moves that really hurt — like trophies he wielded with pride.
His fist flew — the Guillotine. It cracked against Dante’s guard over his head like a hammer.
Then the Jester’s Grin — a full swing from the left, wild and laughing that threw Dante off balance.
Then a backfist — the Backbite, ugly, instinctive, but it landed.
Every swing screamed the same thing:
"I want to hurt you. I don’t care about winning."
And it was working.
Each strike landed harder. Sloppier. More joyful.
Like brutality wearing a smile.
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