The citys underworld was restless. News of Kiros injury and RBs hospitalization spread like wildfire. The rival gangs smelled weakness, believing Badburn was vulnerable. But they underestimated the fury that was about to be unleashed.

Jeydon called for an emergency meeting deep inside their hideout. The air was thick with tension, the walls seeming to close in with the weight of their enemies threats.

This ends now, Jeydon declared. We fight them on our terms, with honor and strength. No one touches our family.

RB, despite his weakened state, stood by Jeydons side. I might be down, but Im not out. We plan, we strike, and we finish this.

The plan was simple but daring hit the rival gangs supply routes, cut off their resources, and send a message loud enough to echo through the streets.

As night fell, Badburn moved like shadows swift, silent, deadly. Jeydon led the charge, his dragon tattoo glowing faintly in the moonlight, a symbol of his unyielding spirit.

The fight was brutal but calculated. Fists collided with wooden bats, boots stomped with unrelenting force. No firearms, no cheap shots just raw, unfiltered street fighting skill.

Jeydons presence was electrifying; his every move a blend of strength and precision. He fought like a man possessed, channeling his rage into every strike.

RBs signature Thunder Kick echoed through the alleyways, stunning enemies and breaking their ranks. His combo two quick punches, a crushing knee strike to the neck, followed by a backward elbow strike to the face was like a deadly dance no one could predict or counter.

Their enemies, caught off guard and outmatched, scrambled to retreat. The message was clear. Badburn was back, stronger and more united than ever.

As the dawn broke, Badburn regrouped, battered but victorious.

This is only the beginning, Jeydon warned, sweat dripping from his brow. They will come back. And next time, well be ready.

The brotherhood had struck first and the war for the streets had truly begun.

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