Chapter 48: Michael's Greatest Fight

1. The Brothers Read the Red File

The four Kurushimi brothers—Martin, Krishna, Temna, and Takashi—sat around a worn, oak table in the dimly lit room, their attention fixed on the mysterious red file before them. The cover was marked with two hunting knives crossed in an "X" formation, each blade sharp and gleaming in the shadows. The symbol was both simple and menacing, a perfect representation of the enigma inside.

"This is about Michael," Temna murmured, his fingers hovering over the file as if the contents could somehow burn him. His voice was low, reverent. "The one who died... 60 years ago?"

Krishna leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "About damn time we learn the full story. Michael’s name pops up everywhere in SAAHO’s files, but no one talks about what happened. A guy like that... he’s got to have some legend behind him."

Takashi, who had been leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow. "Does it really matter? What matters is what he did and how the hell he survived all of that." He flicked open the file with a sharp snap, as though eager to uncover the truth hidden within.

The brothers gathered around, reading through the pages, their eyes widening as they pieced together Michael’s past. His life, riddled with violence and mystery, left an indelible mark on the world, one that even death couldn’t erase. A man of contradictions, Michael had been part of SAAHO—an anti-hero organization—and yet, he was more myth than man. But one particular chapter of his story stood out—a fight so brutal, so impossible, it defined Michael in the eyes of those who knew him.

2. Michael's Greatest Fight

It had been years since Michael had stepped into the world of SAAHO, but one mission in particular stood above the rest. Michael’s greatest fight—the one that earned him the undying respect of those who’d heard of it—took place in a Tori no Ichizoku camp deep within the mountains. This wasn't just any camp, though. It was a heavily fortified stronghold, brimming with over 150 red-robed soldiers, each one armed with machine guns and equipped for annihilation.

The Tori no Ichizoku had a reputation for being merciless, a dangerous clan of assassins and warlords whose members each had kill counts surpassing 300. To make their base as secure as possible, they’d set up an intricate series of traps, surveillance, and deadly contingencies. This camp was their sanctuary, meant to hide them from the world as they waited for the right moment to strike.

Michael had no intention of respecting their sanctuary.

Armed with nothing more than two 21-inch hunting knives and two Glock 17s, Michael descended on the camp like a force of nature. His arrival was silent, unnoticed, as though he had always belonged there. He moved through the camp like a shadow—efficient, brutal, unstoppable. The soldiers of the Tori no Ichizoku had no chance. Each swing of Michael’s hunting knives cleaved through flesh with surgical precision, while his glocks delivered quick, clean shots from the shadows. His movements were so swift, it was as if the bullets followed him, finding their mark before the enemy had a chance to react.

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The camp’s sentries, stationed high in towers, fired down upon him with machine guns, but Michael was already on the move. He weaved and dodged with a fluid grace, his body a blur as he cut through the chaos. Every soldier who attempted to outflank him found themselves too slow, too predictable. Michael was everywhere, his knives flashing in the moonlight as bodies dropped one by one, the carnage escalating with each passing second.

The Tori no Ichizoku soldiers fought with deadly precision, but Michael had them outmatched in every way. They couldn't anticipate his next move, and they couldn’t keep up with his speed and ruthless efficiency. By the time he reached the heart of the camp, where the leaders and elite soldiers resided, the Tori no Ichizoku had already been reduced to a sea of blood and bodies.

There, in the center of the camp, stood the leader of the Tori no Ichizoku—a towering figure draped in an elaborate red cloak, surrounded by his remaining soldiers, each one clutching their weapons with the cold eyes of men who had seen death many times before. The leader sneered as Michael approached, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"You... you're alone?" the leader hissed, his gaze flickering between Michael and the destruction around them. "How... how are you still standing? After all of this?"

Michael, bloodied but unbroken, met the leader’s gaze with cold, unblinking eyes. He gave a ghost of a smile before speaking in a voice that sent a shiver through the leader's spine. "I’m just getting started."

The final battle was quick, brutal, and decisive. The leader raised his weapon—a massive, ornate sword—but before he could even swing, Michael was upon him. The hunting knives cut through flesh and bone with inhuman precision. In mere seconds, the leader's body was slumped at Michael’s feet, his once-feared weapon reduced to a useless piece of metal.

With the leader slain, Michael stood amidst the carnage. His breathing was heavy, but his body was unscathed—his mission was complete. The camp had been reduced to ruins, its soldiers nothing more than corpses strewn across the ground. It was a testament to Michael’s unrivaled will and unmatched skill, and it solidified his reputation as one of the most feared and respected figures in the world of SAAHO.

As the brothers read through the file, they couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and fear. Michael had been a force of nature, a hero of sorts—twisted, brutal, and unstoppable. His reputation had lived on long after his death, a legend that seemed to grow with time. They had expected to find stories of violence, but this… this was something else. Michael wasn’t just a man. He was a legend who had defied the odds and faced death head-on, only to emerge victorious each time.

"Impressive," Takashi muttered, a mix of respect and disbelief in his voice. "This guy… he really was something else."

Krishna smirked, his eyes glinting. "He wasn’t just something else. He was everything we stand for—savage, relentless, unforgiving. Michael didn’t need to be a hero to be legendary."

Temna closed the file slowly, his thoughts swirling with the revelations. "If Michael could take down an entire camp like that... why did he die? What was it that even he couldn’t overcome?"

Martin, ever the quiet one, stood in the back, eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Because there’s always a bigger fight. And maybe... maybe the real fight for him isn't over yet."

The brothers were left in silence, their minds racing with questions they knew would never have answers. One thing, however, was certain: Michael had been no ordinary man, and his story was far from finished. They had only scratched the surface of the legend that had transcended time and death.

And now, it was their turn to decide if they were ready to walk down the same blood-soaked path.