The cold, stale air of the warehouse hung heavily around them, the stench of blood and the echo of battle still lingering. It was a war zone—a testament to the brutality of the fight that had just unfolded. The flickering overhead lights cast dim, uneven shadows across the twisted metal beams, broken glass, and pools of crimson staining the concrete floor.

Michael stood, a bloodied and battered figure, somehow still upright in the center of the carnage. His right arm, once a weapon of precision, now hung useless at his side, shattered beyond recognition. His chest, barely held together by the fractured bones of seven broken ribs, screamed with each shallow breath. Poison had coursed through his veins no less than eleven times during the battle, each hit from Doku a calculated strike meant to break him. His body had been slashed thirteen times, each gash a reminder of the fight’s brutality. His foot was crushed, the bones shattered into pieces, and his liver had been pierced by a stab that should have ended him. His lung, punctured by a brutal blow, struggled to bring in air.

And yet, there he was, standing. His body, a twisted testament to the extremes of human endurance, still managed to keep him on his feet. Every inch of him screamed with agony, but his resolve was ironclad. He was still alive. Somehow. Miraculously.

Across the warehouse, Doku, the "Poisonous Lord," stood slumped against a rusted pillar, his breath labored and shallow. He, too, was a shattered version of himself. Blood dripped from the seventeen stab wounds that Michael had inflicted on him, the venom on Michael’s blade taking its toll. The impact of eleven shots from Michael’s pistol had left him shaking, disoriented, and struggling to stand. Yet, like Michael, Doku refused to fall. The fight had drained them both beyond recognition, but neither could claim victory just yet.

With a growl of frustration, Doku pushed himself off the pillar, his legs trembling under him as he staggered toward the exit. Each step was a fight against his own failing body, but still, he pressed on. Michael, barely able to move himself, couldn’t stop him.

"Next time," Doku rasped, his voice low, full of venom. "I’ll end this." His words were a promise—a dark warning as he disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Michael didn’t respond. His body was on the edge of collapse, and his mind was a swirling fog of pain and exhaustion. He couldn’t feel the full extent of his injuries anymore; the shock of survival had dulled his awareness. What remained in his mind was a single, overwhelming thought—his allies were coming. That was the only thing keeping him standing, the knowledge that they were close.

But as he staggered and collapsed against the nearest wall, the reality of his situation began to set in. His body screamed for rest, for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Every inch of him felt broken, each injury a reminder of how close he had come to death.

Before he could lose himself in the overwhelming darkness, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Sharp, hurried footsteps. They were here. His allies had arrived.

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Maya was the first to reach him. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she took in his condition. Her hand shook as she placed it gently on his shoulder, and she couldn’t help but whisper, her voice trembling with shock, "You... you’re still alive?"

Ray and Kaizen arrived moments later, their expressions a mix of confusion and awe as they took in the devastation around them. Ray’s eyes widened in astonishment, his voice full of disbelief. "You’re still standing? After all that?" His words were a mix of admiration and complete bewilderment.

Michael’s lips curled into a faint, bloodied smirk, though it barely reached his eyes. His voice was hoarse, cracked from the strain, but it still carried the weight of his unyielding spirit. "You can say I’m hard to kill," he rasped.

Kaizen knelt beside him, his face unreadable as he surveyed Michael’s injuries. Seven broken ribs, shattered bones, poisoned blood, and the near-fatal wounds—yet Michael was still on his feet. Kaizen’s eyes narrowed. "This isn’t over. Doku will be back, and next time, he might not leave you alive. We need to get you out of here."

Michael shook his head, though the movement brought a sharp pain that caused him to wince. "I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse." His voice was weak, but his resolve was unwavering. He wasn’t about to let Doku or anyone else see him fall now.

But deep inside, he knew better. The words were hollow. His body was on the brink of collapse, but his spirit—his will—refused to give in. It wasn’t just the physical toll, but the mental strain of knowing how close he had come to death. Yet, somehow, he was still alive. Still standing.

As Maya, Ray, and Kaizen began to tend to his wounds, Michael’s eyes closed for a brief moment. The world spun around him as darkness threatened to claim him. But amidst the chaos, one thought anchored him—he wasn’t alone. His allies had found him. They were here.

Maya’s voice cut through the haze of pain as she whispered softly, her touch gentle despite the roughness of their surroundings. "I’ll make sure you get the help you need. We’re not letting you die here."

Michael’s eyes opened just a crack, a flicker of determination still shining through the pain. "Don’t... don’t worry. I’m still standing."

The words were weak, but they carried weight. Despite everything, Michael had survived. And that was enough for now.

But the truth loomed large—this battle wasn’t over. Doku would return, and when he did, the stakes would be even higher. Maya, Ray, and Kaizen knew it as well. This was only the beginning of something far greater.

As they helped Michael, the warehouse grew eerily quiet. The sound of the outside world seemed to fade away as the reality of what had just transpired settled in. Michael, broken and battered, stood tall—defying the odds, and proving that no matter how many times fate tried to take him down, he would rise again.

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Doku’s Reveal

As Doku staggered toward the exit, barely able to hold himself up, he paused for a moment, his shoulders heaving with exhaustion. His movements were slow and labored, but there was a certain finality to them.

Before disappearing into the shadows, he turned slightly, his voice dripping with bitterness. "You think you’ve won, Michael?" he rasped, his tone dark and laced with venom. "You’ve killed me twice now. Twice. And I came back both times. But this? This is it. I’m on my last life."

Doku’s eyes burned with a mixture of anger and reluctant respect, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he was fighting the urge to say more. "I’ll be back. And when I do... I’ll end this for good."

Michael didn’t respond. His body was broken, his thoughts clouded by the fog of pain and exhaustion. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t over. The fight with Doku had pushed him to the brink, but he had survived. And next time, he would be ready.