In the Name of Passion

"…"

He truly didn't know what to say to the three men without repeating some cliche phrase from one of the many books he had read.

So he silently walked between Chloe and her assailants without a word, throwing a glare at the thuggish trio.

But to help his cause, he tried to intimidate the scoundrels by raising a sense of wariness in them.

"Who the hell are you?"

Mark frowned.

They seemed to be on a high from menacing the brunette. Their self-inflated ego wouldn't be so easily manipulated.

He really didn't want to fight the three. Two of them were above his weight class, and fighting such people is always a pain.

"She's with me."

The tall man amongst the three smirked as he stepped up, walking uncomfortably close to Mark.

"It seems we have a funny guy here. You? With her? Keep your shitty dreams to your self."

The young bartender kept his face from distorting in disgust.

'God, his breath reeks!'

As much as Mark hated it, he held his ground before the lanky man. A stalwart sensation emerged within him as he resolved himself to not back down.

He continued piercing the tall man with a taciturn glare. After having been through all kinds of horrors in the hoods, something like this was nothing much.

His expression remained frighteningly pensive, his eyes locked on the assailant's.

The two glared at each other for a while.

Eventually, the lofty vagrant became intimidated by the young man's solemnity. Mark's ability finally took effect.

Alas, that was where things went wrong.

The lanky idiot opened his foul hole of a mouth, a snorting noise resounding from the horrid pit as he inhaled.

And spit.

The repulsive thing landed not so far from Mark's eye, the viscous liquid appearing as a stain on his neatly-kept face.

He would have felt disgusted, but under the unchanging visage, even that emotion was washed away under the torrent of rage that surged within.

His mind had been set alight, blooming into a wonderful blaze that seemed to heat up every part of his body.

'Calm down, stay still, don't be an idiot and he will go away. Just. Don't. Move…'

Somewhere in that thought Mark had already realized that his fist connected with the lanky man's ugly face. A grunt resounded through the street as the wastrel was knocked back a meter.

Mark had no hesitation, quickly following up with another punch to the unsteady guy. The surrounding people quickly turned around, feeling the aura of terrible dread that the young man aggressively radiated.

He continued raining punches on the man, eventually driving the scoundrel to its knees under the unceasing rampage.

Mark was enamored in the beat down to the point that he forgot two others accompanied the scoundrel.

An arm wrapped around his neck and fiercely pulled.

One of the man's companions put Mark in a desperate chokehold with trembling arms while the other rushed forward to attack.

Seeing this, the young man pulled down and squatted to grab the leg of his captor before channeling all of his strength to lift it up, flipping the scoundrel over.

While doing so, a fist flew into his head, momentarily stunning him as he reflexively backed away.

'Goddamn it!'

A ringing noise echoed through his skull while he tried to make out his now blurry surroundings.

The lanky man had just risen, the second one was collapsed on the floor, and the third was running right at him.

Mark hastily ducked, feeling a swift wind blow above his head, then delivered a nearly blind uppercut to the vagrant's chin. Every movement caused the ringing in his head to amplify, nearly dazing him.

It was one thing to fight unharmed, but a hit to the head changes just about everything.

He tried to move forward but stepped with absolute sloppiness- barely even able to move in the right direction.

His ability was momentarily deactivated from the overbearing stress on his mind. The three scoundrels seemed to have been endowed with a second wind.

Poising himself, he prepared for another round as the lanky man rushed forward.

In return, Mark abruptly dashed to meet the tall man. Closing the distance against people with larger limbs was always advantageous.

And so, before the wretch could react, he had already drawn his fist, launching it forward in a vicious punch to the gut.

Saliva flew from the scoundrel's horrid mouth before the lanky figure collapsed on the ground.

At that moment, Mark reactivated his ability in an attempt to scare off the other two, but was disappointingly met with looks of hapless determination.

"Go get them!"

A large ring had formed from the passing people who had nothing better to do than see a raw street brawl.

After having seen Mark knock out one of the scoundrels, applaud burst from the engrossed audience. He could barely make out some bets being made between those watching.

'Damned pleasure-seekers with nothing better to do. Go do something- anything else than watch. Like… help!?'

He refocused on the fight as the two well-built thugs surrounded him on both sides.

Unwilling to be stuck in the center, Mark rushed toward the one who he had uppercutted and threw a punch to the man's face.

But he suspended his right fist in mid-air, opting for a feint instead.

Using the forward momentum, he changed his attack into yet another uppercut and swung his left arm with all his power up to the wastrel's chin.

A crack resounded through the city, followed by a gasp by the surrounding audience.

Wasting no time, Mark put his right fist back into motion, swinging it downward at the now defenseless face, ramming it into the wretch's chin once more.

Another crack resounded through the streets as he felt the resistance to his fist loosen.

It seems the scoundrel's chin had been thoroughly shattered.

"You bastard!"

While the second man fell to the ground screaming in utter agony, the third one was wholly enraged, making a mad dash to Mark and grabbing his neck with two hands.

'Damn- it! Why is it only- choking with - you!?'

With no other option, Mark fiercely pinched the vagrant's windpipe, raising the man's head in an attempt to block all air from coming into his body.

A dreadlful silence fell as the onlookers expectantly gazed at the desperate struggle of the remaining two, eagerly awaiting the victor of the attrition.

"…"

Mark's vision continually blurred, the ringing in his head amplified, and his thoughts started to elude him as a sensation of lightheadedness permeated the young man.

He could feel the same happening to the vagrant as the situation became more and more desperate.

Neither was about to give up, feeling the need to see things through no matter the cost.

The sound of the death knell could vaguely be heard- or maybe it was just the overwhelmingly load ringing and buzzing in his head.

Caught up in their hapless struggle, both men were surprised when two delicate arms tried to take them apart.

"Stop- killing- yourselves!"

A sense of clarity returned to Mark's mind as the pressure on his mind was inexplicably suppressed.

'Shit- what am I doing. This is going to kill me.'

He quickly thought of what to do. That said, he went as fast as his lightheaded mind allowed him to.

And barely a moment later, he loosened his choke while instilling senses of ease and relief on the man across from him. The two hands around his neck then loosened.

After feeling that, he immediately pushed with all his strength, knocking the scoundrel back while also pushing himself away and onto the floor.

The two inhaled heavily, trying to take in as much air as possible. Mark could swear that under the ringing in his mind he could hear groans coming from the crowd, but he honestly didn't care. An urge for survival overpowered everything else.

He looked up after feeling a shadow encompass him.

A familiarly delicate hand was extended before him.

Mustering all his remaining strength, he took hold of it and used the aid to bring himself up.

The brunette rested his arm around her back and began to take him away.

He unhesitatingly followed her lead, struggling to take steps with his winded body, still scrounging for air to fill the void in his lungs.

Looking back, Mark saw the three scoundrels still sprawled on the ground: one unconscious, one writhing in an indescribable agony, and the third too exhausted to move.

The crowd around them had already dispersed. The fading remnants of a trafficked street being the only proof of onlookers.

Going into a shallow alley, the brunette left Mark for a second. Perhaps she was getting something, or simply abandoned him. She said something but her words were drowned by the noise in his head, he couldn't really think straight either.

Some time passed before he eventually saw something approach him.

More importantly, a cup of water was held just before his eyes.

Feeling his utterly parched throat, he greedily snatched the cup and desperately drank from it. A few droplets spilled from the sides of his mouth, but he paid them little attention.

That being until a handkerchief suddenly wiped them away, along with everything else on his sullied face.

"Thanks…"

The brunette continued to dab his face, a blood red color had appeared on the white cloth.

"Chloe."

She paused and put away the handkerchief, then took the water when he finished drinking from it.

An endearing warmth enveloped Mark's head as two fair arms brought him into a gentle embrace.

A hand ruffled his brown hair, a soothing sensation putting an indescribable blanket over the chaos in his mind.

Her lips whispered softly into his ear.

"Thank you for saving me back there…"

He smiled.

The pain didn't feel so bad anymore.