Chipilo's five accomplices — Basoto, Zoupouli, Natan, Jujulo, and Tofo — surrounded Isadora, their laughter echoing through the silence of the abandoned house. Their confidence was obvious, but Isadora, feeling betrayed and furious, turned her anger into a cold, battle-ready aura.
"Let's show this spoiled princess how it's done!" Basoto shouted, charging forward with a clumsy punch.
Isadora moved with lethal fluidity. She dodged the blow and countered with a fast, precise kick to Basoto's jaw, knocking him to the ground with a dull thud.
"Pathetic," she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "This is what you call fighting?"
Zoupouli and Natan rushed her together in a poorly coordinated pincer attack. Isadora slipped past their strikes, drove a punch into Zoupouli's stomach that made him double over in pain, and shoved Natan aside with force.
"Damn it! Stay still!" Natan growled.
"Stay still?" she mocked. "Is that all you've got? A bunch of amateurs!"
Jujulo and Tofo attempted a simultaneous strike, but Isadora ducked, causing Jujulo to stumble and crash into his partner.
"You can't even coordinate an attack! What a joke!"
Chipilo, watching his gang being humiliated, finally stepped in. Activating his power, flames engulfed his body. He grabbed a metal bar from the ground, which, under the heat of his hands, transformed into a blazing sword.
"Looks like I'll have to teach you not to mess with people above your level," he said mockingly, advancing with the flaming blade.
Isadora steadied herself, her expression focused. She danced between his fiery strikes, the heat licking at her face.
"Fire? Oh, please. You'll need more than that to burn me."
She waited for an opening. The moment Chipilo exposed himself for a split second, she lunged forward, striking his arm with a sharp karate blow that forced him to drop the flaming sword.
"How…?" he stammered, shocked and in pain.
"You thought a little fire trick would stop me? What a joke," she sneered, kicking the weapon away.
The accomplices hesitated, but Jujulo, enraged, stepped forward. "This isn't over! We'll get you!"
"If you've got the guts, try your luck," Isadora replied, her voice cold as death. "But know this—I'll take every single one of you down."
Chipilo, still on the ground, looked at his defeated gang and reluctantly signaled a retreat. They helped him up and backed away, throwing furious glances and empty threats.
"You'll regret this, you bitch!" Tofo snarled.
Isadora remained in her fighting stance, watching them disappear. Then she let out a dry, bitter laugh.
"Never underestimate Isadora Wexford," she said to the empty air. "You hear me? I'll destroy one of your hideouts if you bother me again."
She turned and walked away, her fury still burning—now forged into a steel determination to grow stronger.
Chapter 18: Chapo's Wrath
In a dark, filthy alley far from prying eyes, Chipilo vented his humiliation. He punched walls and kicked trash cans, his frustration echoing through the night.
"Damn it! How do you idiots lose to that bitch? Useless trash!"
His accomplices lay on the ground, injured and barely able to move, fear written all over their faces.
"Sorry, Chipilo," Basoto trembled. "We weren't ready. Isadora is too strong."
"You tried? You didn't try shit! I was counting on you to prove something, and now we're screwed!"
"Please, Chipilo, give us another chance. We can—"
A shadow fell over them. It was Chapo. His expression was a storm of restrained fury.
"What the hell is this?" he growled, his voice dangerously low. "I heard you got beaten by a rookie from the guild. What kind of stupidity is this?!"
Chipilo tried to compose himself, but his unease was obvious. "Chapo! I… I was just—"
"Just what, you idiot?" Chapo exploded. "You're a bunch of worthless trash who can't do anything right. I expected better from this pathetic mess!"
Without warning, Chapo moved. His speed was a blur. He struck Chipilo's accomplices with cold, efficient brutality. Each blow was heavy and precise. Within seconds, the gang was on the ground again, defeated and groaning in pain.
"You're a joke," Chapo spat at their fallen bodies. "If you don't know how to fight, stay out of my way. I don't tolerate weakness."
Then he turned to Chipilo. "You. Come with me. I'm going to test something that might improve your abilities. And if you try to run, I'll break you apart."
Panic overtook Chipilo. He ran.
But Chapo was faster.
With a swift restraining technique, he caught up and knocked Chipilo out with a single strike to the back of the neck.
"Get ready for intense training," Chapo said to his own men watching from the shadows. "When Chipilo wakes up, he'll face the consequences."
In Chapo's secret base, a hidden underground complex, Chipilo's accomplices were treated and tied up, while Chapo prepared a special device.
When Chipilo regained consciousness, he found himself in an unfamiliar room, with Chapo standing before him.
"What is this? Where am I?"
"You're here to learn a lesson," Chapo said coldly. He held a small pill. "This drug will amplify your abilities. It's a power-enhancing compound. Let's see if it helps."
"No! I won't—"
Chapo forced the pill into Chipilo's mouth.
The effect was immediate. A surge of power coursed through Chipilo's body, making him scream.
"Let's see if this turns you into something useful," Chapo said mockingly, "or just a stronger clown. If it doesn't work… you're finished."
Energized by the drug, Chipilo struggled to demonstrate his potential, but the pressure of Chapo's gaze was crushing.
"If you survive this," Chapo declared, "you'll have to become much stronger. And if you don't… I'll have to reconsider your usefulness."
The scene ended with Chipilo fighting to endure the overwhelming power of the drug—and the brutal training awaiting him through the morning—a trial by fire that would either break him… or forge him into something far more dangerous.