A cold, clacking sound echoed filled the warehouse. It was heard with startling clarity despite being stifled by a wall.
Mark watched as the door flung open, and Dean - the boss, imposingly entered.
Authority seeped from his body. Seeing the great crowd gathered, he nodded with stern satisfaction. The weight on his shoulders seemed nonexistent as if his responsibility was innate rather than carried.
This was a man who had become a proper leader. Flawless to the majority, inspiring, dominant, better, yet still so close to the masses, a part of them rather than being above.
Previously, Mark thought of him as a normal, unassuming person, but he took this trait and used it as a tool. His demeanor lifted him, yet his physical qualities made it so that his grace would never become hideous and detested by his subjects. It was a perfect blend of arrogance and humbleness.
"You all did well to come here."
His monotone voice rang with a boom, echoing multiple times before fading. Everyone was taken aback by its sheer deepness. It made them all sharper, focused, and intent - like a pack of wolves on the hunt.
He walked into the crowd.
"We are all survivors. Every day we see those who despair, those who wallow, those who sprawl, moaning of their misery. We recognize their cries as a part of our lives, and bear them as we walk. But we withstand them and fight. We grit our teeth and earn our days with blood and sweat. We refuse to get dragged into the anals, we refuse to be suffocated, we refuse to lose."
The crowd was enraptured, smitten, and breath-taken. Every pause was domineering.
"We are the Hounds! Oppressed by those high-class scoundrels who refuse to give us jobs, we scrape and claw for our food and lives. We protect what we have with cruelty and violence. And those- those who dare stand in our way are ripped to shreds by our resolve. We are the greatest gang in this goddamned city!"
His voice somehow became louder, more powerful, more energetic than before. Breaking past the body and piercing the soul.
"And now! Some bugs dare come over into our territory, steal what we have fought for, and kill our comrades! They dare make light of our sacrifices, spit on our might. They dare wish for our demise, they try to push us into plight. They don't realize what it is that made us so. You, all of you. In your hearts, a fire burns. Its fervid heat keeps us alive. It turns our enemies to ashes. It lays the foundation for what we are now."
Stopping just near the middle, he extended his arms, as if welcoming a glorious grace from the heavens above.
"We, having fought for all we have, are going to let these insects ruin it all?"
He didn't let anyone answer.
"No! If they want a fight, they won't be getting one. They won't be getting a war either. No. All these wretches deserve is a slaughter. A one-sided slaughter that will send them running for their miserable lives. The day after tomorrow, we will rampage. We will unleash the hell within our souls. We will trample on their bodies and use their damned punctured coins to buy some drinks. We will never fall, and we will always stand strong."
For the final time, he paused.
Then, he opened his mouth, slowly raising a shaking fist. His last words came out somehow deeper, somehow heavier.
Somehow, they were stronger.
"We. Will. Win!"
The warehouse erupted.
Shouts, screams, shrieks- everything filled the exorbitant building to the brim. Vigor permeated the air in chants and cheers.
It was a glorious cacophony.
Worries dissipated in the cries, sorrow was stifled in the sound, eyes were glazed with fervent reverence.
As for Mark, he was trying to stay conscious.
His head was still numb from the fight, and all the loud talking and screaming and deafening noises were making the ringing in his head worse and worse. The pain was maddening, but he held on.
He had activated his ability throughout the speech, building up tension and waiting until the last moment to let it all explode. Of course, the boss had already done most of his job. All Mark did in the end was add slightly more energy.
Now, the Hounds were ready to go off and fight, disregarding their safety and chasing the valor that awaited them.
Being a manipulator himself, Mark nearly shed tears when witnessing such beautiful control of the masses.
Before he knew it, the boss was right next to him, smiling.
His hand was grasped and lifted into the air.
The noise in the room subsided and all the Hounds looked at the two in the center of the warehouse.
"This man. He fights people bigger than him without batting an eye. Not even death could faze him."
'Well, that's a total lie. It's more the opposite.'
Mark kept his mouth shut and made sure he had some sort of confident expression on his face.
"Before coming here, he had just fought against the wretched leader of the Spheks and the majority of the gang. All alone."
'Yeah... I fought them...'
He wasn't making any sort of doubtful face, right?
"And now, he has proven time and time again, whether it's the biggest people here or against the wretches who dare cross his path, he is undefeated, supreme."
The reason Billy chose to fight him had become clear. It was all a setup for this one moment.
Dean, the boss, was about to make him a figure of the Hounds. He was just being used as a part of a ploy.
Even before his second round with the attendant, when the boss had ordered him to get acquainted with everyone. It was all for this. He had been used.
"Our might, our ferocity, our tenacity. He embodies it all. He will be the banner that leads us into our decisive battle: Mark!"