The Thief and the Fight

Ryne stumbled through the dimly lit alley, his heart pounding in my chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The case of power cubes had been snatched from his grasp by a merciless thief just moments ago.

Ryne listened out for anything that could pinpoint the location of the thief. A pot shattered close by.

Ryne vaulted over a railing by some steps and climbed the gutter piping up a building and raced towards the direction of the noise. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of the cloaked thief darting through the alleys.

Determination fueled Ryne's quickened steps as he followed the elusive figure from the rooftops. The thief doubled around an abandoned building twice before checking around them to see if they were in the clear before entering.

Ryne descended from the building on the other side of the alley and walked towards it, his fists clenched.

Without them, I'll get beaten again. Without them, I won't get to uncover what's in that bunker...

Thick with an eerie stillness, the air threatened to choke him with the silence. Broken windows stared back at him like hollow eyes, and the creaking of rusty metal echoed in the silence. A dim light illuminated a section of the interior, and humanoid shadows danced on the cracked concrete walls.

As Ryne drew nearer, his heart skipped a beat. Two burly thugs emerged from the depths of the forsaken building, perched at a rickety table like vultures waiting for their prey.

The first thug had the build of a small mountain, with arms as thick as tree trunks and a neck that seemed to blur into his shoulders. His shaved head glistened faintly in the dim light, and a scar cut across his left eyebrow, giving him a menacing air.

Leaner but no less intimidating, the second thug's wiry muscles tensed beneath a worn leather jacket, the scent of stale sweat and cheap cigarettes clinging to him. His long, scraggly hair framed a face marked by a crooked nose and a permanent sneer that made Ryne feel smaller than he already was.

"I'm not much of a fighter, but I will make sure you give me back that case," Ryne said, standing as tall as he could.

"Let's just see about that," the thief sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

From behind the thugs, the thief stepped forward, casually tossing the stolen case onto the table.

Lean and wiry, he possessed the kind of muscles that implied swiftness and nimbleness over power. Almost as tall as Ryne, the hood of a tattered sweatshirt partially obscured his sharp features. His movements were deliberate, almost feline, as if he was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

The act of placing the case down felt less like surrender and more like a challenge, one that twisted the knot of fury and desperation tightening in Ryne's chest.

Ryne clenched his fists tighter and breathed deeply.

Without warning, the tension snapped like a taut wire, and the three of them lunged at Ryne.

The first blow, from one of the larger thugs, struck Ryne square in the face, disorienting his senses. Stars exploded in Ryne's vision as pain exploded through his skull. The world swayed, spinning like a sinister carousel going out of control.

Through the haze of confusion, Ryne fought back with every ounce of strength he could summon. His fists flew through the air, completely untrained, yet colliding with flesh and bone. Ryne paid no attention to where he struck his opponents.

The sores in Ryne's mouth from the beatings over the last few days opened back up and he could taste the familiar metallic tang of blood on his lips. Each impact brought a searing pain, a reminder that survival required sacrifice.

Steeling himself, Ryne focused on the largest thug, his brawny frame looming before him.

Ryne's fist connected to his cheekbone with a thunderous crack, sending the thug crashing to the floor, momentarily dazed. It was a fleeting victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Ryne's attention shifted to the smaller thug, a merciless scoundrel with eyes filled with sadistic glee and a bit of fear after witnessing the bigger one go down.

A primal instinct guided Ryne's foot, and with a swift and merciless strike, he unleashed a devastating blow to the smaller thug's groin. The thug crumpled to the ground, a twisted grimace contorting his already unnerving features.

Now, with the thief in Ryne's grasp, Ryne gripped his trembling form by the throat. Fear shimmered in his eyes, his voice reduced to a trembling whisper.

"D-don't hurt me, boss! Just take it!" The thief stammered through choked breaths, labeling Ryne as his boss, a pitiful attempt to save his own skin.

Boss? Interesting.

Using his strength for himself for the first time taught Ryne a valuable lesson: Never underestimate your own potential.

A surge of bitter satisfaction coursed through Ryne's battered body as he tightened his grip.

"I-i'll steal for you! You can have the case back! I'll do anything-"

Ryne's grip relaxed, but his glare remained unyielding, a silent warning etched upon his face.

"Leave me be, I'll find you here if I need you," Ryne growled, the words resonating with an air of finality.

The thief nodded before staggering back, stumbling away from Ryne like a wounded animal retreating from a predator. His footsteps echoed through the desolate building, fading into the darkness. The two thugs followed him shortly after.

Ryne stood alone, the scars of the encounter etched upon his body. He closed and opened his fists while inspecting them, surprised at his own strength.

The case of power cubes lay before him, reclaimed from the foolish bastards who dared steal from him. As Ryne watched the thief's retreating figure vanish from the building, a bitter taste of victory danced across his tongue.

Who knew I had that much anger inside me? That I could be capable of such violence?

Ryne took another deep breath and calmed himself. He grabbed the case and checked the state of the cubes. Both hummed softly with energy and showed no sign of damage. He fastened the clips of the case and left the abandoned building.