{-On the other side of the globe-}

Heavy thunderous rain had plagued Kalakust for almost a week now. It was a strange phenomenon to happen during the summers of the Mid-East, almost even unheard of.

This caused some trouble for the folk who were more used to the bright sunny days lighting up the city. It’s tolerable if it happened for a day or two, but the pour lasted for days.Visibility was lowered, and the overall mood of the city had degraded in bleakness. It’s as if the city was in its mourning period.

Hosher snorted at the thought of the city mourning. That was not possible. The city could never mourn. It was incapable of such things. Lives were cast aside on almost a daily basis here on the streets. They were left to die, rotting, then getting disposed of, the moment the smell became too overbearing.

He would’ve openly scorned the drunken men that sang overdramatically over the city's weeping state if not for the fact that they were paying customers in his own pub. Silver does speak louder after all.

The days may be grim, and children may die on open ground, starving. But so what? As long as he could accumulate his keep, and have enough to leave this damned place for good, allowing himself to start anew, anything goes.

And that fateful day seemed to come ever so close to fruition.

The door opened, triggering the sound of the bell. Another customer had arrived.

Hosher licked his lips, stretching them slightly, and he uttered his customary greeting.

The one who came turned out to be a regular at the pub. A man of massive stature with a broad chest. He wore this thick dark coat around him, making his big body appear even larger than life. He had a short-cut of wet dark hair, and his grim eyes spoke of a no-nonsense attitude.

Usually, the pub was a place where a certain breed of people shared their stories. They talk of the bizarreness of life, unveiling countless experiences that caused one to even question the workings of common sense. Either that, or, they were masters of the craft called the art of bullshittery. Regardless, that was free entertainment for the pub, and Hosher could not thank those fools enough.

Which would then bring about the other breed of people who frequent this pub, the quiet folks. It was not strange for the silent types to hang around in this place too. They would just come, order their drinks, and guzzle up alcohol to their deaths in serenity. And this particular man fits this stereotype in many ways.

The difference that sets this person apart however, was this mystery man somehow couldn’t bring himself to become drunk. Which was a rare sight to behold. The man had the chance to gulp on the many brands that were available within Hosher’s collection, even his personal favorites. Yet still, every single time, by the end of his drinking session, the man would just stand, pay up, and leave as if he hadn’t drunk anything at all.

A weird man he was. But Hosher kind of liked the supposed unassuming man. As long as he kept trouble far away and paid big money for the liquor, then all was well.

“Your orders?” Hosher asked the man in a soft voice.

The man did a brief eye-sweep before confronting the pub owner. His voice was hoarse and with a thick western accent.“Hakhim, 1982.”

“On the way,” Hosher rolled his tongue as his hands headed for the bottle.

‘Going straight for the expensive one, eh?’

He raised the bottle for the eye to see. It's a bottle that had an amethyst shine to it and the owner focused his eyes to cross check one last time before confirming that it was indeed the one.

The brand was expensive. Hosher could get his hands on only a couple of them every few months at best, and perhaps even longer. This bottle was actually the last of his current stock.

If not for his current circumstance, he would’ve preferred to save this particular brand and enjoyed it himself in a land far away. Alas, fate had other plans.

“Here’s your drink,” Hosher sighed as he nudged the drink towards the man. The guest nodded, slight appreciation showed on his face, before he swiftly went lost in thought, whilst taking sips of the drink every now and then.

However, despite the relative quietness of the pub, Hosher couldn’t help but notice a heavy feeling in the surrounding air, something other than the rain, something...oppressive.

As if trying to answer his strange thoughts. The front door opened once again, the bell ringing in desperation―and two figures have now entered the establishment.

This time, their faces were foreign for sure.

Foreign; not in the sense that he’d never seen them―well, that too―but it was more akin to the reality that they didn’t seem to be people who were born and raised in Kalakust―heck, even the whole country for that matter.

‘They look like they came from those western countries instead,’ was what crossed Hosher’s mind. Unconsciously, he looked towards the man wearing the coat sipping his Hakhim 1982. ‘Just like him.’

The two strangers had quite the contrast in appearance.

The first one that entered had an air about him that speaks of highborn. The tuxedo was his garment of choice. It went well with the Mad Hatter that sat on top of his slick-backed, dark colored hair. A monocle sat firmly upon his cheekbones.

Such elegance wasn’t found in his partner however. He was a hunk of a man. Coarse, with not the slightest bit of care towards what he wore, nor his bodily well-being, as shown by the rough wrinkles on his face and his untamed beard. Most of what attire he had on him was fully covered by a ragged cape that flowed down to his worn-out boots.

The two men appeared as if they weren’t supposed to be in the same frame, like they were worlds apart. But here they were, in this godforsaken pub.

They took wide steps, and they encircled the coated man.

Unsure on how to tread this situation, it took a while before Hosher decided to put focus on the gentleman, since he was the one that offered a smile. His partner on the other hand, came off as unapproachable, and the sense of danger and irritation permeated through his very presence. Weirdly enough, the hunk was much more keen in observing the man busy sipping his drink.

“Your orders?” Hosher asked.

The gentleman stared at the bottles placed neatly behind him before answering. “One Blood Moon, please,” he then took a glance at his partner. “No need to mind him.”

Hosher nodded and he prepared another glass.

Meanwhile, the air around the three men seemed to have risen up. Colder than ever before.

“Zack Moore?” demanded the intimidating man.

His inquiry was answered in silence. The man―Zack―didn’t even blink at the bellow, before taking another sip.

The gentleman meanwhile, sighed in exasperation as he received his due drink. Intent on not being in a hurry, he twirled its contents and he took his first stream of liquor.

“Remarkable taste.”

This situation made the hunk frown. His partner’s leisure didn’t quite help either. Frustrated, he slammed his hand onto the bar’s counter.

“Ignoring me are you? Let me fix that.”

Before Hosher could even react, the coarse man had already raised his hand, intentionally turned it into a fist, and it came down with momentum like a meteor crashing down towards the back of Zack’s head.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

But it all fell short from contact. As Zack in turn, raised his hand and blocked the incoming hit, surprising his aggressor.

Yet he wasn’t done. With his other hand, Zack swung his nearly emptied glass and spilled its contents towards the man’s face, causing him to stagger. The hunk rained curses immediately after. Accusations of dirty play.

Zack then continued his chain of attacks as he rose up from his seat and gave out a sweeping kick, breaking the bigger man’s stance. He ended his execution with a swift fist to the face.

The hunk grunted, and Zack, surprisingly, decided to speak. His voice was hoarse and devoid of any emotion.

“Did they send you?”

At the same time, Hosher the pub owner was alarmed. But his face showed calmness as his hand sneakily crawled towards a compartment just below the counter. His hand itching to feel the security pertained by his long trusted rifle.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Yet his course of action was halted, as the gentleman who had just been minding his own business said in a cold, merciless voice.

Not only that, Hosher suddenly realized that the gentleman had his walking stick touching the soft skin of his neck.

‘Wha―when did he!’

Though as much as he wanted to brush off the gentleman’s warning as some sort of joke, it sure didn’t feel that way.

As follow-up, something sinister invaded Hosher’s being. It was a bizarre phenomenon. But he could be sure that if he were to take that step beyond the line, then his head might very well roll off the ground.

Truly, despite the gentleman’s lazy gaze, Hosher really couldn’t judge the book by its cover.

He gulped hard. Then slowly, he pulled his hand back, albeit shakingly. When done, he nodded towards the gentleman who was taking another sip.

“Good, it's nice being obedient isn’t it? Makes it easier for the both of us,” the gentleman smiled and he retracted his oppressive aura without a moment’s notice. This caused Hosher’s shoulders to take a deep slump. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to be able to get back to his original position and he was now capable of breathing properly.

So now, the two focused their attention towards the ongoing fight between the hunk and the supposed Zack Moore.

The hunk raised his body. Despite the earlier trashing he had experienced just moments ago, it seemed that the effects had been minimal.

He twisted his neck, producing bone-cracking sounds. Meanwhile, he treated Zack’s inquiry like it was passing air.

“Don’t get cocky, the fun's just begun.”

“...!”

Zack got ready into position as the hunk sped towards his opponent. The aggressor swung his fist again, going in for a wide sweep, and this time as well, Zack intended to block the hit as he raised his guard to mitigate the incoming force.

However, that would prove to be a massive miscalculation, as the moment both men come into contact with each other, Zack felt the force that hit him to be that akin to that of a speeding train. His arms gave in to the pressure as his body flew in an arc, smashing into whatever stood in the way of his trajectory, before finally crashing on top of a table, only for the table to crumble under the weight of the force, splitting it in two.

By this time, most of the customers of the bar had already fled, as they feared to be caught in the crossfire. So only four figures remained to witness what the pub had ultimately become.

In the midst of the chaos, Zack coughed out blood. The rasps pained him like hammers pounding his chest with thick nails as he struggled to regain his composure. But he couldn’t. His eyes widened to the farthest extent they could. For he couldn’t believe what just happened.

He was sure that he performed the perfect block, his positioning, in fact, placed him in an advantageous position so that he could mitigate some of the force that intended to crush him.

Was it perhaps his positioning that was false all along? Did he erred at the decisive moment?

Zack instantly threw that thought away. That wasn’t possible. His body weathered multiple experiences of such high tension combat. They were fights that could’ve ended his life then and there. Yet still, he lived. So he knew that it wasn’t he that erred.

Then why was the reality so far away from his predictions?

Zack’s pupils turned needles. He looked to the man responsible for all this.

Putting his identity aside, he wondered how such a man could blast off with such monstrous energy.

As he thought of this, Zack picked up an intrinsic detail he nearly missed from that earlier clash. He noticed that as the man rained down his fist, the tips of his knuckles gave out a faint ominous light.

“...Superpower,” he uttered as he rose up. Then after, another sudden realization. It was them.

“You got sharp eyes, Zack, that was payback for playing me dirty,” The hunk gave an impish smile, before spitting the ground. “But that’ll be it. I won’t need it to take you down.”

Zack creased his brows as he put forwards his hands to make his stance. His opponent however, huffed in excitement, and both men thrust themselves into the fray.

The coarse man threw another punch, but Zack ducked his head and didn’t halt his advance. And knowing well that a full on confrontation would be disadvantageous for him, Zack quickly extended both of his arms’s reach, far beyond his enemy’s head, before then twisting them back in, as they formed into a deadly clinch.

“!!!”

Zack took a swift breath as he then roared. His leg once again swept the coarse man’s point of axis, making him lose balance. He intended to throw the opposing side to the ground.

Though the results proved to be far more difficult to achieve than he had anticipated.

The enemy had instinctively caught onto his motive, and so, the struggle for domination caused the finishing to be incomplete. The two men were now busy entangled on the hard floor.

To be precise, their position was more like a human sandwich stacked upon each other, with Zack being on the lower end. He wasn’t at a disadvantage however, because he had the opponent’s neck strongly armed.

“Keugh…”

This was what he needed. The execution wasn’t smooth sailing by any means, but he held the upper ground nonetheless.

So without further ado, he quickly squeezed with what reserve of strength he had.

“Kogh! Arggh―”

Nevertheless it hadn’t been easy. The damned hunk flailed disruptively like a mad whale, refusing the iron grip. And Zack started to feel the internal damage he suffered moments prior acting up again. So he could only bite his lip and persevere in hopes to keep the pressure on his target.

Not only that, a hidden worry fostered within him as his eyes wandered towards the gentleman who was still intent on enjoying his drink. If this hunk had superpower, then the likelihood of the gentleman having superpower too was not beyond the realm of possibility. In short, the situation looked grim.

His concentration now focused on the hunk once again, Zack began to notice the man’s face turning blue.

‘Just a little more,’ he thought. ‘And once I’m done with him, I’ll bail ASAP.’

Unfortunately, his optimism failed him.

The coarse man, now realizing that his fate would be sealed if nothing were to be done, suddenly growled. His hands glowed with unparalleled brightness and he forcefully loosened up the pressure from his neck, much to Zack’s dismay.

The man took a deep breath, raised his neck slightly, before slamming the back of his head down into Zack's nose bridge.

Zack growled in turn. The motion caused him to lose his grip even further. Though he realized this better than anyone, so the struggle to take back control became even fiercer.

But it was too late. The man rolled his body to the side before delivering a solid, glowing punch―right into Zack's face, causing another groan to sound out.

The man didn't stop there. Apparently he decided to double down by raising both arms up into the air, only to then crash them into Zack's abdomen.

"Gakh!"

And with a final gasp. Zack laid motionless. His breath was weak and massive blood streams flooded out from his mouth.

The coarse man, on the other hand, rose up slowly.

Although victory was his, an ugly frown could not help but become prevalent on his face.

"...Spoiled cheese, I hate it when they do that," he murmured.

"Barbaric as always, Stryke, I thought you said you wouldn't use your power," the gentleman suddenly interjected.

"Not to underhanded scum like him," Stryke caressed his neck. "He deserved it, Malice."

The gentleman simply smiled and clicked his tongue. "Heh."

He then looked towards the startled Hosher who had been in a trance watching the fight.

“Apologies,” said the gentleman. He then slipped a few banknotes onto the counter. “My partner likes it rough. Though, it was a pleasure cooperating with you.”

“I presume you know what will happen if word got out?”

“...! Yes!”

“Good, I hate to shed unnecessary blood. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. We have eyes and ears everywhere, you get that?”

Hosher then nodded profusely.

After seeing the two men seemingly leave the pub with a half-dead man without a second thought, Hosher’s legs instantly went limp as he covered his face with his hands.

Supposed he wasn’t as meek as he had been, he would’ve shared the same fate as the man named Zack. Again, death loomed close. Much closer than he might’ve liked.

“...I’m alive.”

For now, he would rejoice in shivers and gnashing teeth.