"Azren Lumonging huh… nice name." Dezork said with a small grin before turning around, his boots scraping lightly against the uneven ground.
"Alright, I've got my stuff over there. Let's go—"
But his words were cut off by a loud scream from a woman somewhere down the street. The voice was sharp, desperate, and echoed across the narrow dirty road.
Both Azren and Dezork snapped their heads toward the sound.
Not far from them, five men stood in a circle around an old lady. They wore dark, worn out clothes. Some held rusty knives, others gripped sharp stones. The old lady clutched a small brown leather bag to her chest, her hands trembling as she tried to shield it with her thin arms.
Everyone around the scene, people sitting by the walls, children peeking from corners looked terrified but didn't move. They just watched with wide eyes, too scared to step forward.
"Please help me! These people are trying to rob me!!!" the old lady cried out.
"Shut up and hand us the bag, old hag!" one of the men shouted back, raising his knife threateningly.
Azren froze, shocked by the scene in front of him. His breath caught for a moment, but before he could take even one step, Dezork walked forward with a sharp tone in his voice.
"Sorry, Azren. You'll have to wait a little."
Azren stared at his back as Dezork approached the group.
"Hey, old bitch, didn't you hear what we sai—"
The man's words ended with a crack as Dezork's fist slammed into his cheek. The hit was so clean and sudden that the man flew to the side, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.
The others stared at Dezork, shocked. One guy with a knife stepped forward, trying to act brave.
"Do you have a death wis—"
He never finished.
Dezork's foot sank into his stomach, folding him over instantly. The man vomited on the spot, collapsing to his knees.
Seeing that, the remaining men panicked. One of them rushed toward the old lady, yanked the bag from her hands and bolted away. The others split into different directions, running as fast as they could.
They didn't even try to fight anymore. Only escape.
Dezork didn't waste a breath. The moment the men scattered in different directions, he darted after the one holding the old lady's bag, his boots kicking up small clouds of dark soil. The narrow street split into several crooked paths between metal plated houses, and each robber took a different one, hoping to disappear into the maze. Dezork didn't slow down his eyes sharpened, his steps steady, and his breath calm.
The first guy with the bag ran toward a tight passage between two houses, barely wide enough for a child to fit through. Dezork jumped, planting one foot on the left wall, then the right, sliding and pushing himself through with quick movements. The metal plates scraped his clothes, but he squeezed through faster than the thief expected.
The man looked back just in time to see Dezork sliding out of the narrow gap like a shadow.
"W–what the—!?"
Dezork grabbed a loose tin sheet lying on the ground, spun it in his hand, and tossed it with a flick. The edge hit the man's ankle, making him tumble forward. Before he could recover, Dezork caught him by the back of his collar, slammed him against the wall with the blunt side of the metal sheet, and pressed his knee into the man's back.
The man let out a small cry and dropped the bag.
But Dezork didn't pick it up, he only glanced at it.
"One down," he muttered.
He tied the guy's hands and legs with a loose rope lying nearby and left him there before turning his head toward the roof of a low house. Another robber was running across the top, using wooden planks to jump from one roof to another.
Dezork clicked his tongue.
"…Running up there, huh."
He bent his knees and leaped, grabbing onto a low pipe. Using it to swing upward, he pulled himself onto the first roof. The robber ahead looked back in terror.
"How the fuck!"
He threw a broken brick at him. Dezork ducked, rolled across the aluminum roof, and kept sprinting. His footsteps made dull thuds, echoing through the neighborhood.
The robber tried to jump to the next roof, but the wooden plank broke under his weight. He dangled from the edge, screaming in panic. Dezork didn't hesitate, he grabbed the man's wrist just as he slipped. Instead of pulling him up, he yanked him forward and delivered a punch to the man's gut midair.
They both dropped onto a stack of plastic and paper on the ground, the robber wheezing in pain while Dezork remained perfectly steady.
"That's two…"
He punched the man in his guts again making him unconscious and shoved him aside and moved again. Three thieves were left running deeper in the area. One sprinted into an alley filled with garbage piles, broken baskets, and old bowls. Dezork followed, weaving through the clutter. The man threw whatever he could grab, a broken bowl, a stick, even a old underwear. Dezork dodged each one, bobbing left and right. When a sharp piece of glass was thrown, he caught it carefully by the blunt side and flicked it back.
It grazed the man's hand, making him scream and drop his weapon. Dezork caught up instantly, grabbed him by the back of the head, and pushed him face first into a heap of dry leaves.
"Stay there."
The man fainted.
The last one didn't run straight but kept turning corners, trying to lose him in the twisting paths. Dezork followed quietly this time, his footsteps soft.
When the man finally stopped behind a barrel, panting hard, Dezork stepped behind him.
"Boo."
The man squealed and tried to stab Dezork with a sharp stone, but Dezork grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the stone fell, then lightly tapped the man's forehead with his knuckles.
The man dropped like a sack.
"Four."
The last one, the one who had looked the most scared because he was already punched by Dezork in his cheeks, ran all the way to a bridge made of old planks stretching over a ditch of dark muddy water. His breath was uneven, and his steps shaky. Dezork followed silently until he reached the bridge, then stomped once.
The wooden planks rattled.
The thief panicked and turned around, swinging a knife wildly.
"Stay back! I said stay ba—!"
He lunged forward, desperation making his movements fast and messy. The knife scraped Dezork's arm, cutting through the cloth and breaking skin. Blood dripped down his elbow.
Dezork looked at the cut, then at the robber.
"…That hurt."
The man tried again, but Dezork grabbed his wrist mid air and slammed his fist into the man's jaw. The thief stumbled, but Dezork didn't stop. With a strong kick to the chest, he sent the man crashing back onto the bridge.
The wooden planks cracked under him.
Before the thief could fall through, Dezork grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up, only to swing him around and knock him out with a single punch to the temple.
He exhaled, wiping the blood from his arm.
"All done…"
By the time Dezork made his way back, the sky had turned completely dark. Small campfires were scattered around the area, lighting up the metal walls and the people gathered nearby. The night brought a slight chill, and the wind carried the smell of smoke.
Azren sat on a rock beside the old lady. She held her hands together, still shaken, but she looked calmer than before. Azren was talking softly to her, trying to comfort her, but he looked like he could pass out at any moment.
"Don't worry ma'am he will find your bag."
Then Dezork slowly approached, both of them looked up at him.
His clothes were dirtier, a small blood trail moved down his arm, and dust covered his boots. But he walked calmly, as if nothing serious had happened.
He reached the old lady and extended his hand.
Her bag rested in his grip.
"…Here. I believe this belongs to you," Dezork said.
The old lady's eyes widened, filling with relief as she took the bag tightly.
"Thank you… thank you so much…young man!"
Azren looked up at him as Dezork said.
"…Sorry for making you wait, Azren."