∼ Wrought Temper ∼

Chapter - 056

Crashing to the ground before any of the goons had time to react, the man clutched his nose as blood spilled through his fingers. Looking from the man to Eric, the five men seemed like they weren't sure whether they were more surprised or incensed. But the head-honcho quickly settled any confusion as how to react. "Just, who do the fuck do you think you are!?" He bellowed.

The men looked to be genuinely pissed off more by Eric's sheer audacity to act against them than the fact that he had just put one of his men out of commission. But Eric ignored the thug, cracked his neck then looked at the rotund man behind the stall. "Sorry old man, but I think it'll be best you step back one or two. Should probably also consider moving to another part of the market."

To Eric's surprise, the fat pedlar just let out a ruckus belly laugh. "No worries, no worries - kiddo. You can consider me a sort of an observer, I always enjoy watching a good fight. No needin’ for you to be worrying about me. So just - go get'em, lad!" The man was neither frightened nor afraid about all of this, not even in the slightest. Rather, he seemed rather excited at the unfolding events.

Eric couldn't stop to ponder this oddity of a man more though, as a fist suddenly flew for his face. The thugs had become quite enraged from being ignored. But goon number two obviously didn't possess a class since Eric did not even have to try to dodge the lousy attack. Catching the man's wrist, he pulled him off balance and planted a knee to his stomach, making the man fall on all fours so he could hurl up his breakfast.

Two down in less than two attacks, the head thug finally recognized that Eric wasn't just some pushover. Still, he did not back down. "Do you even realize who you're attacking, runt? Do you have a death wish or something?" The man sneered, his muscular form stepping forward and matching Eric's considerable height. "The Stained Tooth is at our back, you understand? 'Cause you've just signed yourself a pitiful death."

Contrary to the goon's expectation, Eric did not cower at the infamous name known throughout all of Boreas. Instead, the young man only seemed to get angrier, his expression pissing off the head goon even further.

"You little-!" He lunged for Eric.

The distinction was immediate. This was no mere third-rate thug. He was a class-holder. Eric grunted as the man's fist landed on his hastily put up guard, the force behind the attack beyond what any normal human was capable of. A jab into a right hook, then a painful straight cross. Eric had to scramble for footing, the slightly broader man using his weight to outright overwhelm Eric.

Yet, that lasted only until Eric's defense shifted seamlessly into a rapid-fire series of jabs. Body tucked-in, his back hunched, his fist flew into the goon's unprotected abdomen. One, two, three. Each hit so fast that each thud sounded like a drumroll. Eric then ducked under a blind swipe from the staggered man. A fourth, center-point, Eric's hand flew up to glance off another desperate blow with his elbow, then a fifth. Each hit tenderized the same exact spot, making him stumble back with an airless groan. He had to use his men to catch the breath that had been stolen from his lungs.

Eric's eyes looked like he was just about ready to kill the man. So far gone in his temper. But so too did the thug. However, he seemed to catch himself as he stared down the kid, shrugging off his goons' support. By now a crowd had formed to watch. Though, most decided it was better to scatter, recognizing The Stained Tooth and wanting no part in this whatsoever. They had already signed off the temerarious kid to an unfortunate and certain fate without as much as giving him another look.

"A brawler - huh?" The man said, spitting on the ground and stepping back up. "Quite impressive for a brat who's still as hairless as a babe. Unfortunately, that talent will be going to waste. Because you're dead, kid. The second you crossed The Stained Tooth you gained your sentence." He smirked. "Pity."

Eric did not respond. He was too in it to even spare a word. There was only him, his fists, and the mounting anger that wanted a letting out.

Off to the side along with Aria, Nyx smirked and eyed the situation with an opportunistic gleam in his beady eyes. This situation seemed as good an excuse as any to singe some blathering human fools, and his hands flexed and uncurled with anticipation, the call of his magic on the edge of his mind and ready for slaughter.

He had been aching to use his new powers on a real foe. Since his evolution, he had only Eric to spar with after all, so he still did not know the full extent of his might. He had yet to find out, just how destructive his new magic was.

Yet, any hope of that was quickly dashed when Aria suddenly spoke, having picked up on Nyx's sudden rile. "Nyx, no." She clutched onto his arm. "If you use your magic here or anyone sees you are a demon, the people who have been chasing us will definitely find out. Not to mention the city guard will have us imprisoned and punished."

"But you said I cans kill bad humans!" Nyx protested in a hushed, though slightly too loud voice.

Aria hastily held her finger to her mouth, looking around to see if anyone had heard him. "Just... not now, Nyx. Besides, any use of magic in the city is strictly prohibited. An adept mage close by would be able to distinctly sense your demonic magic, and then we will be in big trouble. This city is more than big enough to have quite a few masters. It is just too risky."

Nyx could only huff irritatedly at that, crossing his arms as he averted his gaze back to the fight that had already re-ignited.

Eric was winded, but the goon looked much more beaten and battered, with a split lip and bleeding nose. The fight had taken a clear turning point. Even if the thug was a couple of levels above Eric, the youth clearly had more skill and talent to draw on. A right hook flew past the man's guard and knocked him right on the jaw, sending him down and to the side on his knee.

Spitting blood into the muddied and trodden ground, the man grit his bloody teeth. "Kid... you just had to push it," He said in a dangerous voice.

Eric closed in, looking to finally end the fight. But suddenly, the goon flashed up with his fist lashing out. Eric attempted to do no more than deftly dodge the attack within an inch of it, but felt a sudden warm burn across his cheek, making him dash back. Putting a hand to his face, he drew it back to see bright red blood. A thin line had been cut directly underneath his right eye, nearly blinding him.

In the hand of the thug, was a small black blade. It was exactly like the ones that some of the patrons wielded of the inn where they had stayed the night. The man had gotten to his feet and gave Eric a bloody smile, turning his head to nod to his men - calling from them to finally interfere and help their boss.

Eric's expression darkened, and the cooling anger that had slowly been relieved with each punch came roaring back. Yet, Eric just stood motionless, the blood on his hand forming a red droplet that trailed down into his palm.

"It's over," The man sneered, lunging forward to pose a feint for his head, then switch for his chest.

In a display of speed that was beyond anything the thug had expected, Eric locked the man's forearm under his arm. The man could not shake his hold, not even budge it, so firm he held the man. Eric's left fist blurred as it came rocketing towards the thug's head, landing one, then two in quick succession. His elbow pulling back and delivering a third, Eric pulled up, creating a loud snap that rung through the market, breaking the man's locked arm. A final haymaker sent the thug falling over, unconscious before he even hit the ground. But Eric did not yield, again, and again, and again, his fist beat in the man's face. Limb and defenseless on the ground, until blood spattered up his clothes and onto his face.

It was first then Eric realized he had gone too far. The man was still breathing, but he definitely would never look the same. Getting back to his full height, he met the gaze of the other men who had been ready to help their boss. But he saw nothing by fright on their burly faces. They scrambled away the moment Eric's bloody hands lifted to put up another guard.

When they had turned their backs, Eric stumbled, the adrenaline leaving his body and fatigue setting into shocked muscles. He did not even have the presence of mind to notice the many skill-up notifications at the edge of his mind. But Aria's sudden hands helped him get a grip and he gave her a weak smile. "My bad... got a little lost."

Aria's face was ridden with worry, but he also saw clear relief on her face. Not fear and trepidation as he would've expected as most girls he had met usually ran away screaming when he snapped like that. After all, he had just disfigured another man with just his bare fists - right in front of her. But Aria was different.

Suddenly remembering the odd merchant, of whom he had just created a whole lot of trouble because of his short temper, he looked to the stall. Yet, to Eric's surprise, neither the fat man nor his stall was anywhere to be seen. Gone with the wind, as if he had never even been.

"How... wha-?" Eric muttered.

"What is wrong?" Aria asked worriedly.

"The pedlar, where did he go? Where the abyss is his stall?"

Surprised herself, Aria looked for the rotund man, yet she could find no hint of him.

The only thing that remained where his stall once had been, was a crate.

Upon which, laid a plate of three piping hot meatball sticks.