The Fall of the Rowdyruff Boys
Brick, Blazetino, Butch, and Boomer—the infamous Rowdyruff Boys—had been locked in a brutal showdown with their long-time rivals, the Powerpuff Girls. It wasn’t just another scuffle. This battle had been different—more intense, more desperate, more personal.
They had chased each other across the darkening rooftops of Smallville, fists clashing like thunder, energy blasts lighting up the sky like fireworks. Shattered glass rained down from broken windows, smoke coiled into the air, and sirens wailed faintly in the distance. The city watched in awe and fear as the two teams tore through the skyline, a whirlwind of chaos and color.
The boys fought hard—perhaps harder than they ever had before. Blazetino’s fire scorched the air with every strike, Butch’s fists landed like wrecking balls, Boomer moved with a speed that cracked the wind itself, and Brick led the charge, commanding each motion like a conductor of fury.
But the Powerpuff Girls were stronger. Not in raw force—but in unity. They moved like one: weaving in and out of attacks, covering each other’s blind spots, thinking as a single mind. And in the end, it was that unbreakable bond that tipped the scale.
One final blow—combined, focused, and devastating—sent the Rowdyruff Boys spiraling off the edge of the tallest rooftop in Smallville.
They fell fast. Brick remembered the howling wind, the brief weightlessness, and the crushing silence of impact as they hit the river with a deafening splash.
When Brick came to, everything was wrong.
His lungs screamed. Water was everywhere—cold, heavy, and choking. His arms thrashed against it, and for a terrifying moment, he didn’t know which way was up.
Then—light.
He broke through the surface, coughing violently, each breath burning like fire. His head spun. His vision swam. But even through the confusion, one thing cut through with razor clarity:
His brothers weren’t beside him.
“Blaze?!” he shouted, twisting in the water. “Boomer?! Butch?!”
A flash of color caught his eye—three unmoving bodies floating a few yards away.
“No… no no no—”
Fueled by sheer panic, Brick swam toward them, dragging one after the other to the muddy riverbank. His muscles burned, but he didn’t stop. He couldn't.
He laid them out side by side on the wet shore—Blazetino’s flame extinguished, Butch’s fists limp at his sides, Boomer’s mouth slightly parted as if frozen mid-breath. All of them still. Silent.
Brick dropped to his knees. “No… Please, no!”
He grabbed Boomer’s shoulders and shook him. “C’mon, man, wake up!”
Nothing.
He moved to Butch, then Blaze, pounding on their chests, pleading desperately. “You guys… this isn’t funny! Open your eyes! Say something! Please!”
His voice cracked. His breath came in ragged sobs. Water dripped from his soaked hair as he leaned over them, trembling.
The sky above began to change—day slipping into twilight. The golden sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the trees and river. The warmth of battle had faded, replaced by a biting wind that whispered through the trees like a ghost.
Brick sat still, staring at the lifeless faces of his brothers. Rage, sorrow, guilt—they twisted together inside him like a storm. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Not like this.
Then—snap.
A twig broke somewhere in the woods behind him.
Brick froze.
His head shot up, his heart hammering. “H-Hello?” he called, voice raw. “Is someone there?!”
The wind rustled the leaves. Silence followed. But Brick swore he felt something… a presence.
“Please…” he whispered, barely able to speak. “Somebody help me. Help them. I can’t lose them… not like this…”