Dante has an entire newfound for respect for Kaito after his speech.
"Alright so these people who jumped you, where are they, who are they?" Kaito asks Dante.
"Their called the Mozam gang. They have a hangout in the lower quarter of the city, but Kaito these people are still dangerous." Dante explains.
Kaito smiles. "Ah i'm not worried about them." Kaito begins stretching exited. "I'm gonna teach these guys a lesson!" Kaito says loudly.
Dante leads Kaito to a rooftop that overlooks where the Mozam hideout is and they scope it out. Dante is feeling a bit excited about this, sure he's scared of the fight but this is the most adventure he's done ever.
He sits next to Kaito who's looking down at the Mozam hideout. "So Kaito what's the plan here, are we gonna like get disguises and sneak in, or are we gonna do a pretend delivery and sneak in?" Dante asks Kaito.
Kaito scoffs almost like Dante's kidding around. "There's no plan, I can fight, and you've practiced the sword your entire life." Kaito passes Dante his beario sword.
Dante holds the heavy blade forgetting he had told Kaito about that. Truthfully he did study the sword, but only in books he's never actually held one.
"Well Kaito actually." Before he can explain Kaito dives from the rooftop.
"WOOHOO!!!" Kaito shouts happily as he freefalls. Dante looks over the balcony he takes deep breaths getting ready to follow Kaito.
He eventually gathers himself and he steps on the balcony before promptly taking the stairs.
Inside the hideout the guys were laughing, their voices echoing against the damp walls.
"The way that Dante guy whines is hilarious!" one of them snickered.
"Oh, and this jewel, look at it sparkle! We could sell this for-" another chimed in, only to pause.
From above came the faint rumble of cracking wood. A second later, the ceiling caved in.
Kaito smashed down like a meteor, his boot driving into a thug's face with a crunch. The man crumpled instantly. Dust and splinters rained down as the others scrambled back in shock.
"Who the hell are you?!" someone shouted.
Kaito stood tall in the middle of them, eyes narrowed, scanning the room. Roughly twenty men. Too many to waste time, but not enough to make him hesitate.
They didn't wait. A chorus of shouts rose and they rushed him all at once.
Kaito slipped aside from the first wild swing and cracked an uppercut into the thug's jaw. Before the man's body even hit the ground, Kaito caught his shirt and hurled him into another attacker, bowling them both over.
Another fist caught him across the face. His head snapped to the side, but Kaito's eyes burned hotter. He seized the man's wrist and yanked him forward, slamming a gut punch so deep the thug gasped and folded like paper.
Two more came from either side. Kaito ducked, arms snapping out to drag them into each other, skulls clashing with a dull thud.
He drew a breath, his flames should've flared then, instinct begging him to burn them all down. But nothing came. His hand sparked weakly, then fizzled out.
"Crap," he hissed.
The hesitation cost him. A boot slammed into his ribs, sending him staggering back. Kaito growled, shoving the pain down, and lashed out with twin hooks that knocked the kicker out cold, teeth spraying across the floor.
Leaping back, he took a quick glance around. "How many's that?" he muttered, brushing blood from his lip. By his count, five.
A grin spread across his face. "I like my odds."
Three of them were grouped together, circling cautiously. Kaito flexed his hands, whispering to himself like a fighter psyching up before a match. "Run in. Drop them fast."
He bolted forward. The first took an uppercut, body snapping back. The second received a roundhouse kick, body hurled sideways into a pillar. The third barely raised his guard before Kaito tackled him, hammering two sharp punches into his face until his eyes rolled back.
Nine down. The ground was littered with groaning bodies.
But the rest weren't standing idle. One of the bigger thugs swung a chair like an axe, the wood splintering across Kaito's arm as he blocked. Kaito grimaced and drove a knee into the man's stomach before planting a palm strike under his chin that lifted him off his feet.
A pipe clanged against his back. Kaito spun, rage flaring, and rammed his elbow into the attacker's nose, dropping him. Another thug dove low, trying to tackle him at the waist. Kaito spread his stance, braced, then heaved the man up and slammed him headfirst into the floorboards.
Still they came. A bottle smashed against the wall where his head had been a second before. Kaito grabbed the thrower by the collar and headbutted him so hard he went limp.
Now his breathing was heavier. His muscles burned from the sheer pace. But his eyes only sharpened.
"Next," he growled.
By the time Dante burst through the door, he froze at the sight before him. Half the room lay unconscious or moaning, nearly a dozen bodies sprawled across the floor.
One of the boys who'd been watching Kaito fight suddenly noticed Dante lingering near the entrance. His lip curled into a cruel grin.
"Well, well… look who we got here. Did you think dragging in some strong guy was gonna save your sorry hide?" he jeered.
Before Dante could react, the thug charged him and smashed a fist across his face. The blow dropped Dante to the ground, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.
Panicking, Dante clawed at the dirt, scooped a handful, and flung it up. The thug snarled, blinking grit from his eyes, but Dante used the moment to lunge, tackling him down.
His fist rose, trembling, and he threw a punch. It landed, but weakly, like a child's swing. The thug laughed, shoving Dante off with ease.
Dante hit the wall hard, his shoulder cracking against the wood. Before he could move, the boy was on him again. Fists rained down, smashing into his face, his jaw, his ribs. Dante's head snapped back with each hit until the world blurred at the edges.
The thug lifted him by the collar, then slammed him into the floorboards with a thud that rattled his bones. He crouched over him, snarling, spittle flying.
"How about this time, I give you a beating you won't forget!"
Fists crashed down again and again. Dante's arms barely rose in defense, his body refusing to keep up. Pain blazed through him, sharp and merciless.
And then, his thoughts turned inward.
Always weak. Always at the bottom.
Every insult, every failure, every time he'd been pushed aside came rushing back. He saw flashes of his childhood, people towering over him, mocking him, leaving him behind. The sting of always being lesser. Always being nothing.
Something in his chest twisted, hotter than fear, deeper than pain.
"I'm… so sick of this!" Dante roared, his voice breaking through the haze of fists. Blood ran from his nose and lip, but his eyes burned with something fierce.
"At the bottom for so long… weak for so long… I'm tired of it!" he shouted, each word tearing from his throat like it had been locked away for years.