As Wen ran towards Jin, his steps were light—like he had found a momentary bliss amidst the mess his life had become. But that lightness was fleeting. His exhausted legs gave out beneath him, and he crashed onto the cobbled street, his face smashing against the hard stone, breaking his nose and scraping his skin raw.
The people around stepped back in shock, their murmurs dying the moment they noticed the three Storm gang members entering the scene, their breath ragged from the chase. Their eyes gleamed with sinister joy as they saw Wen collapsed, their steps slowing, savoring the moment.
But Wen wasn't done.
Lifting his blood-stained face, eyes trembling in fear, he mustered the last of his strength and shouted,
"Jiinnnnnnnnnn, helppppp meeee!"
The cry rang through the streets, grabbing the attention of everyone nearby—including Jin and his group, who were just walking towards the crowd forming at the edge.
As soon as Jin heard the desperate voice, he passed Ludwig over to Yuna without a word.
"Watch him," he said, and dashed into the crowd.
When he reached the place, he saw Wen—bloody, curled up, and surrounded by three men. Each bore the signature burned claw tattoo over their forearms—Storm gang. But before any of them could lay a hand on Wen, Jin barged in. Dropping to one knee, he checked Wen's condition. His face was a mess, bloodied and bruised, but the injuries weren't life-threatening.
Seeing that, Jin stood and turned to the three men.
Two stood behind a lanky man with curly hair. A deep gash ran across the man's face, and one eye was hidden beneath a leather patch. He may have looked thin, but the mana pressure around him was no joke. Jin stepped back slightly, cautious. The man noticed.
He smirked, "Tch, kid's got some eyes on him. Alright, I'll give you one chance—scram, and leave the brat. I won't hurt you if you listen."
Jin didn't flinch. "No can do. You can leave this guy to me. I'll apologize if needed."
The man's face twitched. "A what now? You serious? Don't get involved in something you can't handle, brat. And a damn apology? Hah! You think I'm some pushover!?"
Before the argument escalated further, Yuna and Ludwig arrived. Lumine knelt beside Wen and started casting healing magic, Wen's wounds slowly vanishing.
The one-eyed man now glared at Jin and his group, his pride clearly stung. "You kids got guts. Let's see if you still run your mouths after I carve my name into your skin."
With that, he drew his twin short swords and charged forward, not giving them even a second to prepare.
But Jin reacted instantly. His aura flared, his hands catching the man's sword mid-swing.
At the same time, Yuna cast Quagmire, the ground beneath the man softening, trapping his legs.
Ludwig, though visibly shaken, cast Wind Blade. The attack missed the one-eyed man but hit the two behind him, slicing across their stomachs. Blood flowed as they cried out in pain, falling to their knees.
Lumine, having finished healing Wen, stood beside Ludwig. "I'll blind them—Lud, aim for the ones behind!"
She cast Flashbang, a sudden burst of light halting the one-eyed man's movement just as he prepared to rush at Yuna.
Ludwig didn't miss this time—he sent an Air Ball flying, knocking both henchmen unconscious.
But the man in front wasn't so easy.
Recovering quickly, he redirected himself toward Jin and slashed. But Jin, wrapped in his whitish aura, deflected the blade. He followed with a punch straight to the chin. The man's head snapped back as he fell flat on his back.
It had all happened in an instant.
The one-eyed man lay there, dazed. He blinked in disbelief. These kids—just kids—had dismantled him with spells and moves he didn't expect. For a moment, doubt crept in. Could he even win?
Then—
A voice rang out from behind him.
"Yo, One Eye. Really? Getting beat by kids?"
The one-eyed man froze. That voice—it was his nightmare.
He turned.
There stood him. The man more terrifying than even their boss.
Skell the Sinister.
The vice-leader of the Storm gang.
Brown hair. A handsome face that could've belonged to a playboy—if not for the sneer that twisted his features. Arms crossed, sword still dripping with fresh blood.
"Losing to kids, huh? That's not gonna look good for the Storm gang." He tilted his head. "Level 60 and already this pathetic… Maybe I should start calling you No Eye instead."
Before the man on the ground could respond, a blade pierced through his chest. Blood sprayed. The sword's red tip jutted out from his chest.
People screamed.
Some fled the marketplace. Others ducked behind counters and crates, peeking through cracks with wide eyes.
Skell withdrew his blade and kicked the corpse aside like trash.
Then, he turned to the kids.
His eyes lingered on Jin.
"Kid, I've seen you. Running requests like an undead for Bree. Didn't expect you to turn into such a fighter. What's it been—a year since I last saw you?"
Jin didn't move. He'd just seen this man kill someone without blinking.
And now, he was smiling.
Skell's voice was casual. "I know you kids are with Zegion. So I'll give you a deal. Leave the brat. Go home. No hard feelings."
His eyes darkened.
"But this ain't a warning. If you say no—I'll cut you down. And Z? He'll probably understand."
Jin's breath slowed. The pressure was crushing—this guy wasn't bluffing. He was far above Level 100. Every word he spoke carried a weight that couldn't be bargained with.
But Jin stepped forward.
Eyes steady. Voice calm.
"Then fight me. Leave the others out of it. If I lose… take him. Over my dead body."
Everything stopped.
The words settled like a stone in still water.
Yuna's eyes widened at Jin's words, disbelief flashing across her face.
"What the hell are you saying, Jin!? You think I'm just gonna leave without you? Don't be an idiot!" she shouted, storming toward him and grabbing his arm.
But Jin didn't turn back. He simply shook her off, his stance unwavering.
Yuna froze for a moment, staring at his back, fists clenched. Then with a deep breath, she stepped beside him, her voice falling silent but her resolve solidifying. If he wasn't going to back down, neither was she.
Lumine followed without a word. She just quietly walked up and stood beside them. No arguments, no hesitation—her eyes spoke everything.
Ludwig was the last. His face had gone pale, and his fists trembled by his side. But even so, he clenched his jaw and stepped forward, joining them
And then… laughter.
Loud. Mad. Echoing.
Skell was laughing. The kind that made your skin crawl.
Still, the kids didn't move.
They had shared the same home.
Eaten the same food.
Grown together.
Was this worth risking their lives for?
Maybe.
But the words Zegion told them that day—when he first took them in—rang in their ears.
"Use it for good. Am I clear?"
And now, they stood—four against one. Ready to fight the strongest opponent they'd ever faced.
___________
Meanwhile, Cruiser's and Raka's fight had caused massive damage all over the back alleys. Broken shelters, splintered wood, rising dust—signs of two superhumans locked in a deathmatch. This wasn't just a brawl. It was a brutal clash to the death, a war to decide who would rule Zilt's underworld.
Half of Cruiser's territory was reduced to rubble. Fences smashed. Stones cracked. The air itself reeked of blood and sweat. Still, the gang members around kept clashing. Cruiser's men were younger, less experienced, but they fought in groups of three—each sacrifice was enough to drag down one Storm gang member. One for three. That was the trade.
But Raka and Cruiser were on a whole different level.
Both were bleeding.
Raka's forehead had a deep cut; blood ran down into his eye, but he didn't even blink. His forearms were bruised black and blue, his abdomen sliced open enough to expose the muscle underneath. He looked like he'd gone through a warzone.
Cruiser wasn't better off. His chest and stomach were leaking blood. One eye was already swollen shut, bruised purple from a direct punch. But he stood tall. Chest out, like pain was just a suggestion.
Neither of them panted. No heaving breath. They were just getting warmed up.
Then Cruiser moved.
A blur of muscle and fury.
He shot forward like a cannonball, fist cocked back, blood dripping from his knuckles. Around his arm, a brownish aura shimmered—dense, weighty, like a boulder gaining speed downhill. Raka read the motion and turned, bracing for the clash. Cruiser's punch struck Raka's left side—but not just a punch. It was a body blow, packed with that dense, grounded aura. Bones cracked. Raka grunted, teeth grinding, but he didn't stumble.
Instead, a grey aura flickered around him like smoke. He twisted mid-impact and headbutted Cruiser right in the jaw.
CRACK!
Cruiser staggered, spit and blood flying out. Raka followed it up with a spinning elbow, his feet skidding over broken gravel. Cruiser ducked just in time—but the wind from the strike still tore through the air.
Cruiser pivoted low and rammed his shoulder into Raka's gut, lifting him slightly off the ground and slamming him into the nearest stone wall. The impact created a crater, dust clouding the area as wooden beams collapsed behind them.
Raka spat blood, then grinned through it.
"You done yet?" he muttered, voice hoarse.
Cruiser didn't reply. He reeled back his fist and hammered it into Raka's face once—twice—three times. Each blow echoed through the alley, shattering the remnants of nearby crates.
But Raka didn't fall. His grey aura pulsed with each hit, flickering like a storm about to burst. He grabbed Cruiser's wrist on the fourth punch, his hand slick with blood, and yanked him forward into a brutal knee to the chest. Cruiser coughed, his ribs catching the full blow, but he twisted out before Raka could follow up.
Both men backed off a few steps.
Blood dripped from their bodies, pooling into the muddy ground, mixing with soil into a dark slush that splashed with every blow they traded. The world around them was chaos—gang members screaming, magic blasts lighting up the alleys, buildings burning at the edges. But none of that mattered.
It was just the two of them now.
Cruiser cracked his neck, his brownish aura flaring like hardened clay being tempered by battle.
Raka wiped the blood from his brow, his grey aura swelling and writhing like a wild beast barely leashed.
They lunged again.
Fists met fists. Flesh met bone. The ground beneath them cracked, dust billowing up as they exchanged blows at a speed no normal man could follow. Each strike was a bet. And these men were gamblers of death.