Thamuz and Narek left the store, while Dhexna followed them, opening the door to let her two customers out. The fresh air on the street contrasted with the stuffy atmosphere inside.

"Don't hesitate to visit me more often, dear!" Dhexna shouted, her voice echoing down the street as she watched Thamuz walk away.

A shiver ran down Thamuz's spine upon hearing those words. He turned his head one last time to see Dhexna and raised his hand in farewell, his new clothes swaying gently with the movement.

Narek could barely contain his laughter, his face reddened and tears of amusement appearing in his eyes. Thamuz, noticing this, gave him a pat on the back that sounded like thunder.

"Don't make fun of that," he said, his voice tinged with annoyance and embarrassment.

Narek let out a big sigh from Thamuz's blow before bursting into laughter, holding his stomach and leaning on his knees.

"The oldest tailor in the city, in love with a young man like you," he laughed uncontrollably, his voice broken by laughter.

Thamuz, irritated by Narek's teasing, continued walking with his hands in the pockets of his new coat. Narek, catching his breath, followed his pace and lightly touched his shoulder.

"Hey! Don't be like that, they were just small jokes," he said, trying to reconcile with his friend.

"It's the first time I've felt touched like that. I felt... strange," Thamuz confessed, his gaze lost on the horizon.

"It's understandable. You had never felt the touch of a woman other than your mother, and it had to be with one of the oldest people in this city. But, considering how great your clothes look, I think it was worth it," Narek commented, holding a piece of the coat Thamuz was wearing, admiring the quality of the fabric.

"Yes, you're right. Although I don't understand why she reacted like that suddenly when she saw me," said Thamuz, remembering Dhexna's first impression of him.

"It's normal for someone like her. After all, she's never had any kind of romantic relationship in her three hundred and forty-five years of life," Narek replied, putting his hands on his back, his tone becoming more serious.

"Really?" Thamuz questioned, surprise evident in his voice.

"My father is one hundred and ten years old, and in all that time, he has never seen Dhexna with any man or woman. She's simply someone reserved, with her only company being her fabrics and machines," Narek responded, his gaze fixed on the ground as the two walked.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud bang echoed from a nearby alley. Narek and Thamuz turned their heads abruptly towards the noise, their senses alert.

"Did you hear that, Narek?" Thamuz asked, his voice noting curiosity.

"Loud and clear," Narek responded, his tone laden with a strange anticipation.

Another bang sounded, followed by the crash of something heavy being knocked to the ground. Thamuz felt intrigued by the sounds, while Narek's eyes widened, a spark of recognition shining in them.

"It's started," Narek murmured, as if in a trance.

"Started what?" Thamuz questioned, his curiosity growing by the moment.

"Follow me," Narek said with determination, starting to walk towards the alley.

Thamuz, puzzled by the sudden change in his friend, followed him. His new coat billowed in the air like dark wings, and his black boots creaked rhythmically with each step, as if marking the beat of a hidden melody.

Upon reaching the alley, Narek noticed the different advertising posters adorning the walls. They showed two burly, muscular men, their fists raised in combat position, their faces contorted in fierce determination.

Thamuz also observed these notices, his gaze stopping on an address written in small letters at the bottom of the posters. Narek continued advancing until he stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

"It's begun," he whispered excitedly.

Before them unfolded a small shamonak arena, a clandestine spectacle pulsing with raw and violent energy. Two fighters were in the center, their bodies tense in a low combat position, motionless like statues about to come to life.

Thamuz reached Narek and contemplated the scene in amazement. Around them, small improvised stands housed a colorful crowd, their faces illuminated by a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"What is this?" Thamuz asked, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

"These are unofficial shamonak fights, the most violent thing you can find in this city," Narek replied, with admiration in his voice.

Narek looked back at Thamuz and gestured for him to follow. As they advanced, Thamuz absorbed the environment around him, his senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the scene.

The people in the stands held various foods and drinks, some laughing with anticipation while others watched the combat with cautious eyes. Street vendors wandered among the crowd, hawking their wares with strident voices.

"Get your blanket with the face of Obhelux, the fastest of them all!" shouted one of the vendors, waving a colorful cloth with the image of a fierce-looking fighter.

Thamuz walked alongside Narek until they stopped in front of what appeared to be an improvised wooden establishment. A thin boy, considerably smaller than Narek, was standing with his back turned, manning the stand.

"Hello, we want two tickets to see the fight," Narek said, holding up two fingers.

The boy turned upon hearing Narek, a nervous smile lighting up his face as he held a worn sign.

"That'll be two green pamtan," the boy announced, his voice trembling slightly.

"Alright, Thamuz, you pay," Narek said, walking away from the establishment with a mischievous smile.

Thamuz's imposing height prevented him from seeing the boy well, so he crouched down to be face to face, not realizing how his intimidating presence frightened the young vendor, who began to visibly tremble.

"Don't... hurt me," the boy pleaded, with a broken voice.

"How am I going to hurt you? We don't even know each other," Thamuz replied, confused. He rummaged in his pocket and took out his pamtan bag. "Here, two green pamtan."

The boy extended his trembling hand and grabbed the coins, hurrying to open a drawer and take out two tickets that he handed to Thamuz with a quick gesture.

Thamuz took the tickets and nodded his head, walking towards where Narek was waiting for him at the entrance stand. A girl examined their tickets with a critical eye before allowing them to pass.

Upon entering the enclosure, Thamuz and Narek found themselves in an environment charged with energy and anticipation. They took their seats in the stands, their eyes fixed on the combat arena.

The two fighters in the center were a study in contrasts. One, with multiple scars crisscrossing his face and a strange circle with a red dot in the center of his chest, was a mountain of muscles. The other, smaller but no less intimidating, sported a thick beard and claw marks painted on his chest.

"Who are they?" Thamuz asked, curiosity palpable in his voice.

"The one you see with many scars is called Bastion, 'the living dead,'" Narek replied, pointing to the giant.

"Why do they call him that?" Thamuz questioned, intrigued.

"He has never expressed a grimace of pain in all his fights, not even when they broke his arm or tore pieces of flesh from him," Narek explained, with horror in his voice.

"What about the other one?" Thamuz asked, pointing to the bearded fighter with a gesture of his thumb.

"That's Obhelux, 'the voracious flash,'" Narek replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "He's called that because his blows are so fast they can barely be seen, like flashes of light. It's a spectacle to see him in action."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Thamuz nodded, his gaze alternating between the two fighters. He felt a strange mixture of fascination and apprehension, as if something inside him resonated with the raw energy of the place.

The sharp sound of a bell tore through the air, announcing the start of the fight. The two fighters, previously motionless like marble statues, came to life, moving in circles, their eyes scrutinizing every detail of their opponent.

Bastion, a mountain of muscle and scars, adopted a low position, his arms close to his chest, protecting his vital points. Obhelux, more agile and slender, extended one arm with an open hand, while the other remained close to his chest, his fist tightly clenched.

Suddenly, Obhelux moved his foot and seemed to vanish into thin air, as if he were smoke. Bastion felt a brutal impact on his face, seeing Obhelux materialized in front of him, his open palm still vibrating from the blow.

Bastion stepped back a few paces, his hand grazing his bleeding nose. However, his face remained impassive, showing not a hint of pain. He extended his arms, opening his palms as if trying to embrace the air itself.

Obhelux let out a mocking laugh at his opponent's stance. With an agile step, he disappeared again, reappearing to hit Bastion from different angles, his speed increasing with each attack.

Bastion, covering his head to avoid a decisive blow, was executing a silent plan. He let Obhelux hit him incessantly, meticulously memorizing his rival's attack pattern.

"Now he'll attack me on the shoulder," Bastion anticipated in his mind, his concentration unshakeable.

He waited for Obhelux's blow and, just as it was about to impact, raised his palm with millimetric precision, connecting with Obhelux's face. The sound of bones cracking resonated in the arena, making the crowd hold their breath.

Obhelux stepped back, his hands covering his bruised face. He looked up to see Bastion, imposing in front of him, his arms raised like the wings of a bird of prey. Obhelux's eyes opened with disbelief and terror at what was about to happen.

With a speed that contradicted his size, Bastion grabbed Obhelux by the back, his fingers sinking into his opponent's spine. With a jump that seemed to defy gravity, he rose into the air, carrying a helpless Obhelux with him.

The impact was brutal. Obhelux's head crashed against the ground with seismic force, making the stands and the arena tremble. The crash was followed by a sepulchral silence.

Obhelux lay on the ground, his body convulsing in search of air, while Bastion stood over him, his figure casting an ominous shadow over his fallen rival.

"The fight is over!" exclaimed a resonant voice in the air, announcing the end of the epic confrontation.

The crowd in the stands rose in unison, cheering fervently for Bastion. The champion, with an impassive face, descended from the combat arena with firm steps, getting lost among the human tide that chanted his name.

"He really is an extraordinary fighter," Thamuz commented, applauding with admiration.

"That technique he used is typical of a consummate master," Narek added, with a gleam of amazement in his eyes.

As the heat of the battle dissipated, the spectators began to disperse, their voices intertwining in a tapestry of emotion and amazement at the spectacle they had witnessed. Thamuz and Narek joined the flow, their words brimming with enthusiasm for what they had just experienced.

"What's the name of that devastating technique that Bastion used?" Thamuz inquired, his curiosity palpable.

"It's the legendary Tomaketan," Narek explained fervently. "The pinnacle of shamonak, as difficult to master as it is powerful in its execution. It's said that only one in a thousand warriors manages to perfect it."

Suddenly, a voice as melodious as the song of an exotic bird rose above the murmur of the crowd.

"Narek!" called the voice, laden with emotion.

Narek turned with lightning speed, his eyes anxiously scrutinizing the crowd. His face lit up as he recognized the source of that voice.

A girl emerged from among the people like a vision. Tall and slender, her hair fell like a silk waterfall to her waist. The horns that adorned her forehead shone faintly under the evening light.

"Berkam!" exclaimed Narek, running towards her with his heart racing.

They melted into an embrace that spoke of years of separation and a long-awaited reunion. Berkam lifted him effortlessly, spinning with joy, their laughter mixing in the air like music.

"I've missed you more than the stars in a cloudy sky," Berkam whispered, her eyes brimming with tenderness.

"And I've missed you more than the desert misses the rain," Narek responded, losing himself in her gaze.

They gazed at each other in silence, words unnecessary between two souls that recognized each other. Their faces slowly drew closer, sealing their reunion with a kiss that was both sweet and violent.

Thamuz observed how the passionate kiss between his friend and his beloved became increasingly intense. Their tongues intertwined and a thread of saliva glistened on their lips. The air seemed to charge with electricity as the couple lost themselves in their embrace.

Uncomfortable, Thamuz looked away, though he couldn't help but cast furtive glances from time to time. After two minutes that seemed like an eternity, the couple finally separated, panting slightly.

"It's really been a miracle to see you here," Berkam said with a breathless voice, gently lowering Narek to the ground.

"I don't frequent these places much, but I'm here for a friend who just arrived in the city," Narek explained, extending his hand towards where Thamuz was.

Thamuz approached and raised his palm in greeting. Berkam observed with astonishment Thamuz's imposing appearance and grabbed his hand energetically, shaking it effusively.

"Pleased to meet you, my name is Berkam," she said, with overflowing enthusiasm in her voice. "I'm really excited to meet you."

"Oh, wow, you really are quite extroverted," Thamuz responded, with a tone of nervousness in his voice.

"It's just that I don't know many people who are as tall as I am. Besides, look at you, you seem like a warrior straight out of a legend," she explained, releasing his hand and arranging her copper mane.

"Thanks?" said Thamuz, squinting his eyes, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.

Berkam turned to Narek and held his hand. Due to her great height, Narek had to raise his arm a bit to reach her. The difference in height between them was notable, but somehow they seemed to fit perfectly.

Narek and Berkam began to walk while Thamuz followed a few steps behind, with his hands in his pockets and observing how the couple conversed animatedly.

"So, what have you been up to all this time?" Narek asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.

"My father taught me to sow various crops, plow the land, fell trees from the roots, and fight against beasts that try to destroy our herd," Berkam responded, showing a big smile that revealed her pride in her abilities. "I've learned to be as strong as the earth itself."

Thamuz was half-listening to their conversations and felt happy to see Narek so enthusiastic about someone. However, just as they were about to exit the alley, a sound caught his attention: the unmistakable echo of footsteps behind him.

He turned completely to investigate the source of the noise. What he saw left him paralyzed: a tall man covered by a ragged blanket rose menacingly in the gloom of the alley. One of his horns was broken, while the other remained intact, creating an asymmetrical and disturbing image. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a large metal bar, rusted and stained with a dark liquid that Thamuz preferred not to identify.

Cautiously, Thamuz took his hands out of his pockets and stopped dead in his tracks. He positioned his body slightly sideways, in a defensive posture, and raised his hands to waist height, ready to act if necessary.

The mysterious man fixed his gaze on Thamuz, revealing a mark on his face that looked like a ritual scar: a straight line crossed horizontally by three more lines. His eyes, of an unnatural amber color, shone with madness.

Thamuz's heart was pounding as sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes didn't stray from the mysterious man, analyzing every subtle movement, every breath. The tension was palpable, as if the air itself had become dense and heavy.

"Thamuz! Are you coming?" Narek's voice resonated from the end of the alley, breaking the tense silence.

Thamuz turned his head for an instant, seeing Narek wave his hand to get his attention. When he looked back at the stranger, his blood froze: the man had disappeared without a trace, as if he had melted into the shadows.

With his pulse racing, Thamuz began to slowly back away, his senses on high alert. He turned his body, putting his hands in his pockets in an attempt to appear normal, but his eyes kept scanning the place where the man had been.

Upon leaving the alley, he reunited with Narek and Berkam, joining their walk. However, the uneasiness had settled in his mind, refusing to leave him.

"Hey, Narek, what part of the city are we in exactly?" Thamuz asked, his gaze cautiously scanning the surroundings.

"We're in the west, in the commercial zone," Narek replied, turning his head slightly to look at his friend with curiosity.

"Is this... gang territory?" Thamuz's question was laden with concern.

"No, well, it's not territory of the big gangs. Why do you ask?" Narek stopped, and Berkam imitated him, both focusing their attention on Thamuz.

"It's just that... I think I saw a man in the alley," Thamuz began, casting furtive glances behind him. "He was tall, covered by a ragged blanket, and carrying a large metal bar in his hands. But the strangest thing was a mark on his face: a straight line crossed by three horizontal lines."

Narek's face visibly paled. He turned his head towards Berkam, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and concern.

"Have the Steel Fangs extended their territory?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know. I separated from their leader a long time ago," she replied, noticing Narek's growing nervousness. "But if they're here, things could get very ugly, very fast."

"We need to move," Narek said urgently. "If the Fangs are really here, it's not safe to stay in one place."

The tension in the air became almost palpable when the sound of metal dragging across the ground broke the silence. Thamuz, Narek, and Berkam turned simultaneously, their faces paling at the scene unfolding before them.

From the surrounding alleys emerged gang members, their threatening silhouettes cut against the gloom. Each wielded a metal bar, the distinctive symbol etched on their faces faintly glowing under the dim light of the street lamps.

The trio tried to flee forward, but their escape was thwarted by the appearance of more gang members, these with an even fiercer and more athletic appearance. They were surrounded.

With an agile movement, Thamuz stepped forward, protectively placing himself in front of Narek and Berkam. His body adopted a low combat stance, arms extended, ready to defend his friends against any threat.

"Come on, get closer and I'll hurt you," Thamuz challenged, his voice charged with adrenaline.

However, the gang members remained motionless, their gazes fixed and impassive, as if they were stone sentinels. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the soft tinkling of the metal bars.

Suddenly, a murmur rose from the rear of the group. The gang members began to move aside, opening a corridor between them. A figure emerged from the shadows, advancing with determined steps towards the front.

It was a young man of medium height, slightly taller than Narek. His short hair framed a face marked by the hardships of life on the streets. The most striking thing was his horns: mutilated and deformed, as if they had been chewed by some monstrous beast. A deep scar furrowed his face from forehead to left eye, giving him an even more intimidating air. He wore a torn red blanket, without a hood, distinguishing him as the undisputed leader of the gang.

His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on Narek. A twisted smile drew on his lips before he spoke:

"Well, well, what do we have here," his voice was soft, but laden with latent danger. "I told you a while ago that I didn't want to see you again in my territories, Narek. And now you show up with my beloved."