The morning mist clung to the village like a silver veil, softening the edges of wooden huts and the surrounding forest. The younger twin's fists flew in a blur, striking the worn wooden post again and again. Each blow shook the ground beneath him, reverberating up through his arms and shoulders. Sweat ran in rivulets, his muscles trembling, yet he pressed on, eyes blazing. Pain was inconsequential; only strength mattered.
From the shadows, the older twin observed silently, moving like a statue carved from midnight. His calm, precise gaze dissected every movement, every twitch of the younger's muscles. Raw strength was admirable, but recklessness had a cost. He said nothing, merely watching. The younger twin had to learn his own limits—and break them.
"You'll tire yourself before the sun reaches its peak if you keep this up," the older twin said softly, stepping out into the clearing.
The younger grinned, wild and unrestrained. "Then I'll just hit harder! Limits aren't meant to hold us!" His gauntlets connected with the post, wood splintering beneath his blows. Dust, sweat, and splinters mingled in the air, glittering like sparks in the early light.
A shriek pierced the morning air—sharp, animalistic, unnatural. Birds scattered from the treetops, wings beating wildly. Another cry followed, low and guttural, shaking the soil beneath their feet. Something massive was moving through the forest, something alive and furious.
"Trouble," the younger muttered, already sprinting toward the source. Muscles coiled and released like steel springs, his feet pounding the earth. The older twin followed silently, moving with the grace of a shadow among the trees.
By the forest's edge, the cause revealed itself. Several creatures—tall, boar-like, and covered in coarse, matted hair—were charging toward the village. Tusks jutted from snarling faces, clawed hands raised to rip and tear. Their breath came in hot, guttural bellows, eyes glinting with malice. Villagers stumbled backward in terror, tripping over roots and rocks as the creatures advanced.
The younger twin's chest burned—not with fear, but with uncontainable fury. He raised his fists. The nearest creature swung its massive, clawed arm at him. He ducked under the blow, rolling forward and delivering a crushing uppercut to its jaw. The boar-orc roared, staggering, but regained balance almost immediately, its eyes locking onto him with renewed hunger.
"Brother!" he shouted. The older twin had already vanished into the trees, a phantom among shadows, striking precise, deadly attacks at the creatures' weak points. Their shrieks filled the air with pain and confusion as his twin carved through them silently. The younger grinned, meeting chaos with chaos, energy with energy.
At the village edge, the girl appeared, wooden greatsword in hand, moving like a storm. Each swing sent splinters flying, each strike knocking a creature away from fleeing villagers. She glanced at the younger twin. "Be careful! Don't overdo it!"
"Too late!" he yelled, charging into a pack of creatures. His gauntlets struck like hammers, bone-crushing force reverberating through the air. One blow sent a boar-orc flying into a tree, splintering wood and staggering under the impact. Another spun into a group, fists smashing together with a thunderous roar, knocking several down. The ground quaked beneath him, the air filled with shouts, screams, and the grinding sound of claws against earth.
A massive boar-orc lunged from the side, tusks gleaming, teeth snapping. He met it head-on, grasping it by the shoulders and hurling it into a nearby boulder. Dust and blood clouded the clearing, but still he fought on. Smaller boar-orcs hesitated at the sight of his ferocity, uncertainty flickering in their glowing eyes.
The girl's wide eyes followed him. "He's… incredible," she muttered, awe mixing with disbelief. Even her swings, precise and strong, seemed small in comparison to the younger twin's chaotic assault.
Hours passed, though the younger twin felt as if only moments had slipped by. His gauntlets struck relentlessly, fists connecting with bone and flesh, crushing boar-orcs under sheer power. Sweat mixed with blood and grime, dripping down his body, yet he did not falter. Pain and exhaustion existed only as distant whispers beneath his burning drive.
Another massive creature charged, roaring, tusks poised to gore. He sidestepped, grabbed it by its upper arm, and swung it into the trunk of a tree. The impact splintered bark, rattled the forest, and sent the creature sprawling. Smaller boar-orcs scattered, snarling, some retreating into the trees. Every step, every movement, every punch amplified his presence—he was no longer just a boy with fists; he was a storm incarnate.
The older twin moved like water through the chaos, precise and lethal. Every strike found weak points, every slash ended a threat silently. The younger watched him for a fleeting moment, grinning. "We work well together, don't we?" he shouted.
The older twin's eyes softened ever so slightly. "You were reckless," he replied.
"And it worked!" the younger said, laughing through blood and sweat. "Strength isn't always silent!" He spun, uppercutting another boar-orc into the clearing.
By midday, the forest was littered with defeated creatures. Their snarls were gone, tusks cracked or broken, matted hair soaked with blood. Villagers emerged cautiously, wide-eyed, trembling but alive. Relief washed over the clearing in quiet waves.
The younger twin sank to his knees, chest heaving, fists trembling from exertion. The girl rushed to him, concern etched across her face. "Are you hurt?" she asked. He shook his head, blood streaked across his cheek, but he managed a grin.
"Never better," he said. "That was just… fun."
The older twin emerged from the shadows, scanning the aftermath. "You were reckless," he repeated.
"And yet it worked," the younger twin countered, wiping blood from his brow. "Sometimes strength has to roar."
The girl's gaze softened, a mix of relief and admiration shining through. "You saved everyone… you're… something else."
He smiled faintly, pride swelling in his chest, but beneath it, a spark of something sharper burned. This was only the first real fight. These boar-orcs had been strong, but small, scattered raiders—not the end, not even close. There would be more. Danger lurked in the shadows, and the forest had not yet revealed all its threats.
That evening, the village repaired broken huts, rebuilt fences, and tended to wounded villagers. Fires crackled in hearths, casting warm, trembling light across the scene. Yet the younger twin did not rest. He lifted his gauntlets, striking wooden posts, boulders, and trees in endless repetition, each blow a rehearsal for the battles to come.
Every strike was a promise. Every bead of sweat, a vow. Every scar, a pledge to the girl and the village: no threat, no matter how fierce, would stand unchallenged while he lived.
As the moon climbed high into the night sky, silver light spilling over the clearing, he rested beside the girl, gauntlets on his knees, body still trembling from the fight. Her presence calmed him in a way no sleep could. He drew in a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs.
"This is only the beginning," he whispered, voice steady with resolve. "I don't know what else is out there… but I'll be ready. Not as a shadow, not as a whisper, but as a storm. A storm no one can stop. I will become the oni who will one day be the Lord of Fists."
She watched him quietly, unaware that every bite of her cooking, every ounce of effort and pain he endured, had forged the first sparks of a legend. The younger twin sat beneath the stars, fists clenched, heart full, ready for anything that would come next.
The forest was quiet now, but the faint rustle of distant movement reminded him that the world was not yet safe. And he would be there, gauntlets ready, fists raised, and fury burning, whenever it struck.