The rain is pouring down like the heavens themselves are weeping, as I lead our ragtag army through the desolate streets of Chinatown. Beside me, DORA lumbers along, his brow furrowed in concentration.
We’re on a collision course with destiny, or so it feels, as the maelstrom of our vendetta converges at the mercenaries’ hideout. The night air is charged, electric with anticipation and the promise of violence.
As we round a corner, a group of figures materializes out of the misty downpour. They’re dressed in Sunninketam, traditional Tiban attire, but their faces are obscured by gas masks, giving them an otherworldly, intimidating presence. One of them turns to face us, and through the rain, I can see the question in their stance.
“Didn’t you hear the alarm?” they ask, their voice muffled but carrying a tone of incredulity.
Another chimes in, their words sharp as a blade. “Scram. This is agency territory now.”
I can’t help but laugh, a deep, booming sound that echoes through the rain-soaked streets. “We were looking for you,” I respond.
DORA leans in close, his voice barely a whisper against the drumming rain. “Why aren’t we wearing gas masks too?”
I pull his arm down, giving him a good, solid slap across his face. “Shut up, you oaf,” I hiss, my patience wearing thin. We’re standing in the heart of danger, and he’s worried about protocol?
One of the agency members, perhaps curious or perhaps reckless, removes her gas mask. She inhales deeply, testing the air. “It’s breathable,” she notes, a hint of surprise in her voice.
But her moment of relief is short-lived as another member quickly interjects, urgency lacing his words. “Put it back on,” he orders, his tone brooking no argument. “Some of the gas might still be lingering. Don’t risk the aftereffects.”
I survey the scene, my eyes instinctively following a trail of blood diluted by the relentless downpour. It snakes its way across the pavement, a crimson river being slowly erased by nature’s hand, disappearing around the entrance of the building’s parking lot. The entrance is barred by a formidable, thick metal gate.
With a smirk playing on my lips, I turn to the agency members, my tone edged with a hint of mockery. “Your method is pretty cruel, isn’t it?”
The most hostile among them, with a brusque movement, pulls out a gun, levelling it in our direction. His eyes, though hidden behind the mask, scream a clear warning. “Scram,” he growls again, the threat unmistakable.
I wink playfully, raising my hands in a mock surrender, the thrill of confrontation pulsing through me. “Hey, hey, we’re on the same side here,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation with my usual blend of bravado and charm.
His response is a sneer, his words dripping with disdain. “You’re nothing but an annoyance to this island.”
As the tension knots tighter, the female member steps forward, her voice cutting through the standoff. “If you want in so badly, go ahead,” she says, a note of resignation in her tone.
I nod, a plan forming in my head. “DORA, you’re up. Blow the gate,” I command, my voice laced with excitement.
DORA, ever the obedient titan, strides towards the gate. With a series of hefty punches, he begins to work on the barrier, each hit resonating through the air.
But our moment of triumph is short-lived. Suddenly, a hail of bullets rains down from above, turning the night air into a deadly storm. DORA, caught in the open, becomes an easy target.
I watch, heart in my throat, as he tries to shield himself, the sound of gunfire drowning out everything else. In this moment, the reality of our situation crystallizes—we’re not just facing a gate; we’re facing a fortress, and every step forward is a dance with death.
The whistle slips out as I watch DORA topple over. The big guy’s making these funny, almost cartoonish noises. “So that’s what it is,” I comment dryly, my eyes fixated on the tiny hole above the gate from where the bullets had mercilessly poured down. “Very ingenious,” I add, a touch of genuine appreciation tinging my words.
I turn to a handful of our underlings, their faces a mix of fear and uncertainty in the dim light. “Hey, give DORA a hand, will ya?” I bark the order, pointing at the giant of a man struggling on the ground.
Three of them scurry over, tentative, shaking like leaves in a storm. They grab at DORA, but it’s clear they’re outmatched by his sheer mass. Frustrated, I gesture for three more to join in. “Come on, put your backs into it!” I shout, a hint of amusement lacing my tone.
The agency member, still brandishing his weapon, sneers at our efforts. “You get it now? Scram. Once we’re done cleaning up these terrorists, you’re next.” It’s clear he sees us as no better than the threat they’re currently facing.
I roll my eyes, a gesture lost in the night. I’m not accustomed to this land-based warfare. The idea of laying siege to this concrete monstrosity grates on me.
“Great, stuck on land with a bunch of trigger-happy folks and a gate that’s more fortified than my brother’s tablet,” I mutter under my breath. The thought of a prolonged engagement, a waiting game played in the shadows of these towering structures, tests the limits of my patience.
I glance back at the struggling yakuza, now barely managing to drag DORA’s unconscious form to safety. “Alright, let’s try a better approach,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. The night’s young, and the rain’s only getting heavier. Whatever move we make next, it’s going to have to be a good one.
Sweat beads on my forehead as NANAYA and I descend further into the bowels of this concrete labyrinth. Every step echoes ominously in the tight, confined space of the staircase. We’re descending into the unknown, and with my hand throbbing in sync with my racing heart, I can’t help but feel a twinge of apprehension.
The first sight that greets us as we round the corner is a group of mercenaries, their faces set in grim determination. They’re ready for us, their eyes cold and unyielding. It’s clear: they’re not going to let us pass without a fight.
NANAYA doesn’t hesitate. He launches himself into the fray, his knife a blur as he moves with a lethal grace that’s almost poetic. I try to follow suit, but my injured hand is a constant reminder of my vulnerability. Each time I try to wield my knife, pain shoots up my arm, sharp and unyielding.
The fight is brutal and unrelenting. The staircase confines us, limiting our movements, turning the battle into a desperate struggle of close quarters. NANAYA compensates for my handicap, fighting with the ferocity of a cornered animal. His movements are a whirlwind, each strike precise and deadly.
But then, amidst the chaos, one of the mercenaries makes a decision that chills me to the bone. With a manic glint in his eye, he pulls the pin from a grenade, willing to sacrifice himself and his comrades to stop us. The realization hits me like a physical blow, and time seems to slow down.
Instinctively, I slip between the legs of the nearest mercenary, using my smaller stature to my advantage. NANAYA, in a display of agility and strength, vaults over the shoulder of another, his movements fluid and swift.
In a moment of desperate improvisation, we use the bodies of the mercenaries as shields, pressing ourselves against them as the grenade goes off. The explosion is deafening, a concussive force that sends a shockwave through the narrow staircase.
The mercenary’s body absorbs the brunt of the blast, shielding us from certain death. The heat and pressure are intense, a maelstrom of fire and shrapnel, but we’re miraculously unscathed.
As the smoke clears, my ears ring and my body shakes violently from the adrenaline.
The door to the parking lot creaks open, revealing a corridor that’s eerily empty and silent. The stillness hangs heavy in the air, like the calm before a storm. NANAYA and I exchange a wary glance before advancing slowly, our footsteps the only sound piercing the quiet.
We push against a heavy door, its resistance giving way to reveal the real parking lot—and the scene that unfolds before us is nothing short of extraordinary.
Boobies stands there, her posture defiant, with little Abhi by her side. And there’s ASCLE-PYON, unmistakable even in this chaos, all standing against a backdrop of mercenaries. The air is thick with unspoken threats and palpable tension.
But it’s the man with an eyepatch who captures my immediate attention. He’s like a character straight out of an anime—the epitome of an evil leader. The horror in his expression as he notices us is almost comical, but there’s nothing funny about the situation.
NANAYA tightens his grip on his knife, his body coiled and ready to spring into action. I wince as I clench my own weapon, the pain in my hand spiking.
The mercenaries, momentarily caught off guard by our appearance, quickly regain their composure. Guns are raised, fingers hovering over triggers, the air crackling with the imminent threat of violence.
“BOGINYA!” Boobies’s voice cuts through the tension, a mix of relief and urgency in her tone. Abhi’s eyes meet mine, wide and filled with tears.
Everything slows down for a moment, as if we’re all suspended in time, the next few seconds crucial in determining the outcome of this standoff.
“Looks like we crashed the party just in time,” I burst out laughing, a wry smirk on my lips despite the gravity of the situation.
I fix my gaze on the man with the eyepatch, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You the big boss around here?” I ask, my voice steady but laced with a barely contained fury.
He looks at me, his one good eye calculating, and instead of answering, he counters with his own question. “All the men we stationed … are they dead?”
The rage within me, a seething, boiling tempest, reaches its peak. “You really thought you could take my Boobies and I’d just let it slide?” My voice rises, each word a sharpened dagger.
I step forward, the space between us charged with my wrath. “You know what? I enjoyed every damn moment of taking down your goons. The way they begged, the fear in their eyes—it was a thrill.” I can feel the eyes of everyone in the parking lot on me, but all I see is him, the architect of this nightmare.
“And you know what else?” I continue, my voice rising. “I’m going to relish tearing apart every last one of you for even daring to risk my family’s life.” My hand clenches tighter around my weapon, my injured hand throbbing in unison with my pounding heart.
“My Boobies… And even her son! My son! You put them all in danger. And for that, you’re going to pay.” My words are a promise, a vow of retribution.
The man with the eyepatch regards me with a mix of surprise and something akin to respect.
I stand there, breathing heavily. And I won’t rest until every last threat to my family is eradicated.
My feet barely touch the ground as I launch myself at the monstrous cyborg, adrenaline coursing through my veins. He’s an imposing figure, more akin to a moving fortress than a man, with his shotgun a lethal extension of his wrath.
I grip my iaito tightly, its massive blade a comforting weight in my hands. This is what I live for, the thrill of the fight. I can see it in his eyes too, the unspoken challenge, the mutual understanding of two warriors on the brink of a monumental clash.
His shotgun roars to life, a deafening cacophony that echoes off the walls of the hall. I’m already moving, sidestepping the blast, feeling the heat of the pellets as they whiz by. I close the distance between us, my blade slicing through the air, aimed at his broad chest.
But he’s quick, despite his size. He pivots, swinging the shotgun with a brute force that sends a tremor through my arms as I parry with my iaito. The impact jars me, but I don’t falter. Instead, I channel the momentum, spinning around for another strike.
His shots and my slashes forming a perilous rhythm. Each blast from his shotgun is met with a swift counter from my blade, sparks flying as metal clashes against metal. I can feel the strength behind his every move, a relentless force that matches my own.
I press on, pushing him back with a series of rapid, precise strikes. But he is a mountain, unyielding and steadfast. He absorbs my blows, countering with swings of his shotgun that I narrowly dodge. I can’t help but admire his resilience, even as I seek to dismantle it.
The fight escalates, our movements a blur of aggression and skill. I leap, bringing my iaito down in a powerful arc, aiming to cleave him in two. But he sidesteps at the last second, the blade biting into the concrete instead.
I don’t miss a beat, using my blade as a pivot to launch a kick at his head. He staggers, momentarily off balance, and I seize the opportunity. I wrench my iaito free, swinging it with all my might, aiming for a decisive blow.
But he recovers, catching the blade with his shotgun, a feat of strength that sends a shockwave of surprise through me. Our weapons are locked.
We’re so close now, I can see the rage burning in his eyes, the pain of his loss fuelling his every move. It’s a mirror to my own determination, my own unyielding spirit. This is more than just a battle of bodies; it’s a clash of souls.
With a roar, he shoves me back, breaking our deadlock. I stumble but quickly regain my footing. We circle each other, two predators assessing the other, waiting for the slightest opening.
As I face off against him, his towering figure looming over me like some prehistoric beast, I can’t help but think of him as a colossal, terrifying relic of a bygone era. His massive frame, a patchwork of flesh and metal, seems almost invulnerable, and the shotgun in his hands roars like the ancient cries of a beast long extinct.
“You’re tough, OK! Maybe like a T-Rex!” I blow my nostril to snort the blood out. “But you know what? I can become much stronger than that. If you’re the king of the earth, I will be the meteorite that crushed you and your whole realm apart.” Taking a new fighting stance, my iaito above my head, I smirk. “I’m coming, will you swim or die?”
He responds with a guttural roar, charging towards me. His movements are surprisingly swift for his size, the shotgun blasting away in rapid succession. I dodge and weave, the size of my blade both a boon and a bane in this tight space.
I slash and parry, the iaito cutting through the air with a whoosh. But DARIUS is relentless. Each time I think I’ve landed a decisive blow, he shrugs it off, coming back at me with even more fury.
He doesn’t speak; his only replies are thunderous shots from his shotgun. I can feel the concussive force of each blast, my ears ringing, my heart pounding. But I don’t falter. I can’t. There’s too much at stake.
I manage to close the distance, my blade finding its mark across his torso. He grabs me, his grip like iron, and hurls me across the room. I crash against the wall, pain lancing through my body.
For a moment, I struggle to catch my breath, the world spinning around me.
“I’M COMING!” I yell, pushing myself up. “You’re going to have to do better than that to stop a meteorite!”
We clash again, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the hall. I dodge another blast from his shotgun, my iaito slicing a deep gash across his arm. He roars in pain and anger, a sound that would have frozen a lesser opponent in fear.
But I’m not just any opponent. I’m GON, and I don’t back down.
The battle rages on, a whirlwind of steel and fury. With each strike, with each dodge, I push myself harder. I’ve never fought like this before, never faced an opponent so formidable. But I can feel it—I’m wearing him down.
“You’re slowing down, Littlefoot!” I shout, even as I pant with exhaustion. “Your era is coming to an end.”
He lunges at me, but this time, I’m ready. I sidestep, my blade sweeping up in a deadly arc, aiming for his neck. Time seems to slow as the blade connects, slicing through flesh and metal.
DARIUS staggers back, a look of shock on his face. Then he falls, crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar that echoes through the hall.
I stand there, panting, my iaito dripping with blood. I’ve done it. I’ve beaten him.
The moment of victory is short-lived. As I stand over DARIUS’s fallen body, catching my breath, a surreal glow begins to illuminate his veins, casting an eerie light in the dim entrance hall. It’s like watching a nightmare come to life. His body twitches, then starts to rise, an automaton driven by some unknown force.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes widening in disbelief. He’s dead, I’m sure of it, but something is animating him, keeping his body moving despite the fatal wound I inflicted.
I brace myself as he stands, his movements jerky and unnatural. It’s clear now; he’s going to fall any minute, but the time it takes for this mysterious effect to wear off might be long enough for him to kill me.
We engage once more, but this time it’s different. He’s lost the fluidity of his movements, replaced by a mechanical, relentless assault. Each swing of his arms is like a battering ram, devoid of strategy but devastating in its brute force.
“You’ve fallen from grace.” I whisper. “From a mighty dinosaur, you’re no more than a monster. Allow me to put an end to your misery.”
I dodge and weave, trying to find an opening, but it’s like fighting a machine. My iaito slices through him, I cut his neck, leaving him headless, yet he keeps moving.
As the fight drags on, I start to feel the strain. He’s inexhaustible, a relentless force that knows no pain, no fatigue. I’m pushed to my limits, my body screaming in protest with every move.
Then, in a horrifying twist, he grips me. His hands, cold and unyielding, clamp down on my body with an inhuman strength. I struggle, but it’s like being caught in a vice. I can hear the sickening sound of my own bones starting to give way under the pressure.
Panic sets in, a primal fear that this might be the end. I’m trapped, his grip tightening, the life being squeezed out of me. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, a deafening blast resonates through the hall.
A chunk of the wall explodes inward, debris flying across the room. Through the dust and rubble, a figure emerges—URCHIN, her yukata drenched from the rain, her fists still smoking from the force of her punch. She lands with a confident wink, her presence alone enough to make me want to die.
“Well well well, looks like my strategy was flawless!” She sings.
“Can punching a wall until it breaks really be called a strategy?” Some underlings’ voice echoes from outside.
I don’t have the strength to say anything, but this bitch grabs the monster’s body like it is made of feathers and throws it into an ippon seoi nage, saving me from his grasp.
Choking and coughing, I grasp for breath, my whole body hurting. “Oh, you’re there?” URCHIN finally acknowledges me. “I’m sorry child, little girl, little baby girl that can’t do anything by yourself, you are so weak and insignificant that I did not see you even with my glasses on.” She mimes glasses on her nose even though she has never worn such things.
Too hurt to fight back, I simply lay on the floor and try to ignore her existence.
