Fighting the grade 4 bullies

"Uh… I don't see your group around here," Spike replied with a sneer, his eyes glancing around the empty training field as his friends chuckled, their laughter laced with malice. "And maybe I wasn't clear. I'm not asking—I'm telling you. If you don't give us our share, you're dead. We're all Grade 4s, and your group isn't here to back you up. You've got no choice," Spike continued, cracking his knuckles as the menace in his voice grew.

"So that's how it is?" Silas muttered, his voice low and tinged with the kind of quiet, simmering anger that only made the threat behind his words more potent.

Rising to his feet, he kept his back turned to them for a moment, an image of calm before a storm. He reached into his arsenal and summoned his Ghost Face mask, sliding it on in a smooth, almost ritualistic motion. As the dark visor settled over his face, hiding his features, he finally turned, his gaze—a piercing, unyielding glare—fixed on Spike and his group.