Chapter 13 - 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, the way a man might lay his coat across a chair before sitting to business.

Lino’s grin returned, though tighter now.

“Yesterday,” he said, “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,” she said — and though she was slight, her voice held the crack of command. “Why don’t we get started?”

She folded her arms, eyes narrowing.

“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 didn’t flinch. He met her eyes with a steady calm that surprised even Dante.

“I’m not here to fight anyone,” he said, quiet but firm.

Mira’s smile deepened — less mocking now, more intrigued.

She stepped closer, tilting 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.”

He meant it. And it showed — clear as daylight.

Dante, meanwhile, had turned to Lino, his voice light, almost teasing.

“You and me, loudmouth.”

But before Lino could speak, Zack stepped forward.

“I’ll take him,” he said.

The voice was flat. Not raised, not snarled — but final.

Dante held the boy’s gaze. He saw what rested there — not the wild excitement of Lino nor the proud front of Tonno, but something deeper. Ruthless.

He did not blink. But his stance shifted. He was careful now.

So be it, his silence seemed to say.

Mira stepped lightly on the balls of her feet, weight shifting back and forth — a dancer preparing her rhythm.

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” she said, eyes bright.

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 against his cheek before he quite registered she’d closed the distance. Sharp and precise, it sent his head whipping to the side.

He staggered back.

BAM. Another one, same mark. His balance tilted.

“What—?”

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.

That’s where the power was. Not in muscle — in movement.

BOOM.

Alex’s head jerked. Vision blurred.

The boy never saw it. The strike shot straight between his hands, clean and sharp. His head snapped sideways from the force.

“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?” she asked. “Thought you’d be better.”

That stung.

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.”

She charged again. Another blur.

Alex moved — arms out. He didn’t want to hit her. But maybe he could catch her. Tackle her. That, at least, he understood.

He reached —

“What ?”

She was gone from his sight. Mira slid to the left already as soon as Alex threw himself.

CRACK. A straight right landed flush on his cheek.

Not a wild swing — direct. Precise.
Her back hand shot forward like a piston. No arc. No wind-up.

Just shoulder. Hip. Weight.

THUD.

That’s what made it hurt.

Alex spun to square up — swung wide, trying to trap her.

But her back foot was already coiled. She pivoted clean out of reach.

BOOM. Another straight. Same cheek. Faster this time. Sharper.

He 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—why’s she beating the hell outta that kid? He looked decent yesterday.”

Lino didn’t even glance over. “Because Mira’s not just fast—she reads him.”

Tonno blinked. “Reads him?”

“She watches his weight shifts, his foot placement. She sees 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?”

“They’re not about power. Timing. Disrupting rhythm. Snapping out and right back—no openings. She’s got it down clean: fast, light, barely committed, but controlling the whole fight.”

He gave a faint smile.

“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’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So… does she have some secret tonic or elixir that gives her those quick punches? Or is it just natural skill?”

Lino’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “No potions, Tonno. This is the real world. Just sweat and hours of practice.”

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 hard now. Not from exhaustion—yet—but from the sheer effort of pushing Zack back.

Dante landed three clean shots.
Stomach. Face. Jaw.

CRACK — Zack's head snapped.
THUD — His lip was bleeding.

And Zack just smiled.

Dante’s stomach turned.

The bastard hadn’t even blinked.

Dante had grinned, trying to keep the momentum, “You ain’t much after all—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Zack’s grin widened. Blood gleamed at the corner of his mouth.

“That all you got?” he said softly.

Dante faltered.

He wasn’t winning. Not really.
The kid across from him had the look of someone enjoying the pain. Like every blow just made him more certain.

Zack stepped forward.

THWACK — a kick flew low and fast.

He blocked with his forearm — BAM — and staggered.

Then Zack came.

Not with form. Not with control.

Just rage.

WHAM — wild swings tore through the air.

Ugly. Brutal.

Dante ducked the first.
Barely parried the second.

CRACK — countered with a sharp strike that should’ve snapped Zack’s chin —

The kid ate it like candy.

Then came the knee.

THUMP — vicious, right to the gut.

Dante buckled.

Zack grabbed him by the collar.

CRUNCH — 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.

He gritted his teeth.

“I’m not going down that easy,” he spat.

Zack’s grin never wavered.

“Let’s see about that.”

They crashed together.

Fists flew.

BAM BAM BAM

No rhythm. No grace.
Barely any defense. Just two bodies trying to break each other.

Dante wanted it finished. The pressure was too much.

Zack's elbow grazed his ribs — CRACK — a breath too slow.
Dante snapped back with a kick to the gut — THUD — 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.”

“This is absurd.", Dante thought.

"He’s taking it like nothing. Durable as hell—and no fear, either.”

“I’m no seasoned brawler. I deal in shadows, not slugfests. My fists work when my brain’s one step ahead…”

“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.

“C’mon,” she teased, “Throw something already.”

Alex knew it clearly now:
He couldn’t catch her. He didn’t want to hit her.
And even if he tried, it would only backfire.
She moved like a storm—beautiful, sudden, impossible to predict.

“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 didn’t flinch.
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—

THWUMP!
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.

Pop-pop. Smack. Thud.
Left, right, up, down.

Then again—WHAM! 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?”

Mira’s eyes tightened. Her lips drew in. She muttered under her breath, “Tch… so stubborn.”

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.”

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.”

“Still… I do drop boys his size. No wonder he wrestled Tonno. His body 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.”

She charged.

This time, she threw caution aside.

Left and right hands flew—
Whap! Thud! Crack!
Pop! Smack!
Each one sharp, fast, hammering down like hail in a thunderstorm.

Thap. Whup. Crack!

Alex’s guard rattled with every hit, arms straining, feet sliding back.

Still she kept coming—
Smack! Pop! Thump!

Relentless.

Alex gritted his teeth behind his arms

"Impossible. She’s still going?”

Then—CRACK!

Her rear hand shot forward in a straight line—no arc, no waste. 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 thought.

She reset her stance. Stepped again.

Her hands rose.

“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. Personal.

Zack laughed—sharp, clear, almost childlike.

Dante didn’t. He couldn’t.

He threw a low kick—Zack caught it and slammed an elbow into the knee.
CRACK!
A grunt. A stumble.

Dante’s punches came fast. Reckless. Desperate.
Not to win—just to end it.

Dante’s breath hitched. Arms sagged. Chest burning raw.
“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.
WHAM!
It cracked against Dante’s head like a hammer.

Then the Jester’s Grin — a full swing from the left, wild and laughing.
SMACK!
Then a backfist — the Backbite, ugly, instinctive, but it landed.
THUD!

Dante staggered. His guard broke.

He tried to clinch and wrestle. Zack shoved him off and drove a knee into his ribs.

CRUNCH!

But Zack was thriving. Dancing. Grinning like a man on fire.
Every swing screamed the same thing:

I want to hurt you.
I don’t care about winning.

And it was working.

“Come on, Dante!” he gasped aloud, desperate. “Get it together! This is nothing!”

But his body betrayed him.

His guard trembled.
His ribs shrieked with every breath.
Zack didn’t slow.

He laughed again — pure, delighted madness.
Each strike landed harder. Sloppier. More joyful.

Brutality wearing a smile.