Looting from rogues did provide free stuff, sure, but it also came with its downsides.
The most daunting downside was the frequent skirmishes that punished you for not being slick enough.
Therefore, Elyas wasn't just a rat; he was a rat who knew a little about how to throw hands in the crudest of styles.
He dashed in first, legs firm, face and body protected.
He no longer caught Collin's disdainful smirk; faces don't fight... most of the time, at least.
When he was an arm's length away, Collin shot him a jab.
Elyas easily twisted away and ducked, intending to retaliate with a swing at his ribs.
But his strike struck air as Collin spun away with grace, and brought his knee up to Elyas's stomach.
Easy.
Elyas dashed back and readjusted his stance.
They revolved around each other silently, each stalking the other. Collin didn't seem distressed at all, which tampered with Elyas's nerves.
One thing Elyas was afraid of was getting hit. If his knuckles shattered at Collin's face, then he didn't want to find out what his fist would do against him.
Then Collin dashed in, but there were no fists involved; instead, he spun about his heel and whipped his leg in a damning spin kick.
Elyas reeled back, evading it, and dashed in to meet him.
He was readjusting.
An opportunity!
But Collin adjusted too swiftly, right arm coming for a swing before Elyas could throw his.
He dodged, but then came the backhand, of which he very narrowly evaded.
Not good.
He noticed Collin was getting faster now, the smile on his face more barbaric.
Elyas threw his strike, but he was too slow.
No.
Not too slow.
Collin was too fast.
Why was he too fast?
Was it also a bloodydamn perk of being an Imitator?
In fact, Elyas suspected then that Collin's evasions were purposefully slim.
'No time for suspicions, you fool!'
Indeed, because then, Elyas found himself dodging more often and striking more rarely.
The air around him was swishing with damning intent at each evasion.
He remembered his fist and felt like a feeble thing.
Was he letting fear overcome him now? He never did that in a fight.
He lurched back from another excellent roundhouse kick and cemented one thought.
He would not win in an elegant dance, so-
Elyas awaited the next strike, narrowly evaded it, and dove in, growling like a blooddamn maniac, and catching Collin by surprise by tackling him to the floor.
Thud!
A chair shattered at Collin's back, but to Elyas's dismay, his foe's expression was only mild surprise.
Immediately, Elyas felt two legs wrap tightly around his body, stressing his fragile bones, but before Collin could elbow his face, Elyas locked his arms down.
A smirk.
But then something felt off.
'No, don't get distracted!'
Collin twisted his whole body, and they rolled on the ground a few times across the cafe, both men grunting and locking the other in what seemed to be a stalemate.
Eventually, they both hit the wall with a Thud, only for Elyas to be on the bottom with Collin straddling him.
No! No, no, no Goddamit!'
From below...
Oh hell, from below, Collin looked more provocative than ever. He grinned with glinting white teeth and licked his lips like a sadist.
Elyas tried to free his arms, but they felt immovable as if placed under tons of steel.
What the hell was this bastard made of?!
Then, Collin raised an arm, clenched his fist, widened his eyes in glee, and-
THWACK!
"GAH!"
Elyas's head rattled and everything in it wrung with hot, pulsating pain. Screaming white flushed his vision, and he suddenly lost all his senses.
Something warm and wet dribbled down his left temple and into his ear.
Time slowed, and his mind rushed.
Why was his face wet?
What was... Ah. Blood.
"Oh."
Collin leaned in, breath warm and even, and whispered concernedly in his ear:
"Oh, please don't leave me now, southerner. It was only a punch."
But Elyas wasn't there. Nothing was there but horrible pain.
Then, Collin chuckled and sat back up.
Elyas's vision was adjusting a little, and he once again tried to free his arms in panic.
'...no-'
THWACK!
The impact delivered a wave of pain that forced him to wail. There were no coherent thoughts anymore.
The sound of heavy breathing and the pounding of flesh was alone in the ominous silence of the cafe.
It was a horrible thing.
"It is improper," Collin began in his yet again provocative genial tone, "That a man sucker punches another because of mere feelings, my southern friend."
THWACK!
Elyas cried in agony once more.
Everything was hot. His head threatened to implode. His vision was betraying him.
"Do you hear me, southerner? Please tell me that you do, I hate repeating myself."
THWACK!
His arms went limp, ceding to the weight of Collin's knees. His face was drenched in blood, snot and tears, and his hair wasn't any better.
Collin looked even more rabid now despite his tone.
No hesitation.
No doubt. Just a pure, firm intent to maim Elyas.
Then, he finally said it.
"A wretched, disgusting pauper striking me like the conniving filth, he is. How dare you?"
He spat every single word.
Elyas heard him, but by then, he wasn't there anymore.
He didn't feel anything except the unbearable amounts of pain he was in.
"How dare you?" Collin repeated, incensed.
He raised his arm once more, but then-
"Off! Now! That's enough!" Clara yelled imperiously.
Collin's arm froze mid-air, and the corner of his mouth quivered indignantly.
He turned to her, faced spattered with Elyas's blood, and smiled.
"I thought we were aware of my right-"
"Must I repeat myself, Ashwood? That's enough."
Collin turned back to Elyas and glowered at him, his composure faltering, his breathing loud.
"It's within my-"
"Do you want to test those rules with me, Ashwood?" She stepped in, hand tending to the hidden claw in her belt.
"I'm happy enough to oblige," she hissed.
Collin relieved his tense body, softly caressed Elyas's horrible cheek, and whispered, "Don't cry. I was only teaching you manners, that's all."
He dismounted, straightened his blood-drenched clothes pointlessly, and offered a slight smile and bow to Clara, who stood with her hands crossed.
"Well, I apologise for all the mess I've made of this place. If that is all, I'll take my leave."
He turned to Cenric scornfully.
"As we are all aware, we have a big day tomorrow. I wish us all luck."
He gestured to the twins and took his leave.
Elyas was still lying on the floor, motionless but for his slightly heaving chest.
His hands were sprawled at his sides, and the whole area surrounding his head was a macabre scene.
His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, bloodshot, weary and unresponsive.
Cenric's whole body was trembling in horror as he stood above Elyas, with a phone in his hand. He dialled a number, said a few words, and dropped to the floor to Elyas's aid.
Clara, meanwhile, nicked her hand and summoned a strange-looking brush. Her whole demeanour was one of overwhelming concern after the bastards left.
She very softly stroked Elyas's temple, cried some words Elyas couldn't discern, and after a few strokes, he finally fell unconscious.