Time went by as the scraps continued in full force. Soon Jason got into the flow of things, and despite almost always being on his back foot, he managed to land a few good hits on Morozov, who lashed out to his heart’s content. Dirk kept giving pointers to the young Chrysos, but as rounds came and went, he did so less and less.

Unfortunately for Misha, in a battle of pure attrition, Jason was bound to win eventually, and as the Russian’s movements slowed an hour or so into his never-ending onslaught, the giant started powering down, partly because he wanted to fight him on roughly equal footing, and partly because Fleece seemed to have been satisfied. As Jason was now, with his regeneration factor restarted and recalibrated, he could easily shrug off peak-performing Morozov from the start of their battle like he was nothing. There was no “probably”. It was a cold certainty.

With Morozov tuckered out and Jason deflated into his original, above average human form, their bloody duel soon transformed into a slower-paced boxing match. Morozov seemed happy with this outcome, though, in spite of his previous rampage, as it’s been ages since anybody kept up with him in the ring for that long. Perhaps it was Dirk who last gave him this kind of fun, even though the veteran was a little better at fighting back than the youngster.

Still, Chrysos definitely had some potential. Maybe in 20 years or so, when Morozov succumbed to old age, Jason would have a chance with him. For now, though, Misha was happy to give pointers to the lad between their, now more gentlemanly, bouts.

While on the surface Jason didn’t take too kindly to those unwarranted tips, scoffing and rolling his eyes at the insane Ruskie, whom he still didn’t like, even after their manly heart-to-fist, he did make mental notes as they fought on, making slight adjustments and visibly improving in the span of mere hours.

- Watch my range. - Morozov said, shooting a straight to Jason’s face, which he promptly dodged. - You are larger, and your arms are longer. You have a huge advantage, as long as you don’t let me enter close range.

- Yeah, I’ve heard you the last five times. - the young giant grumbled.

- So apply it, blyat. - he grunted as he flowed into a roundhouse kick, blocked by a thick arm

- He’s right, y’know. - Dirk threw in his two cents, his body sucked deep into one of the old sofas. He watched the fight like some sort of TV show.

- Shut it. I’m getting the hang of it already. - Jason rolled his eyes, which proved his undoing as Morozov knocked him off his feet with a low swipe.

- Nice one. - Dirk snorted, amused at the swiftness with which Karma acted.

- Eyes on the enemy. - the Russian huffed, sweat dripping off his nose like water from a leaky tap. - You can’t just–

He couldn’t even finish his sentence when Jason brought him to his level, grabbing at his leg while the Ruskie tried to wipe his brow with one hand.

- Oof!

- Eyes on the enemy. - the giant hissed with a smirk, sand still clinging to his face from the fall.

- Alright, I think that’s enough horsing ar–

As if in response to Ares’ words yet unspoken, between a duet of low chuckles, the sound of boots tapping against the ground filled the concrete room, instantly catching the men’s attention.

- I see you’re still playing in the sand like a little child, Morozov. - an alien voice echoed through the room as a tall, lanky man in a burgundy suit came from the tunnel with one hand clutching a heavy-looking suitcase, some sort of sword hanging by his hip on the same side. - When will you finally grow up and join the rest of us in the real world? - he wore a pair of round, dark-tinted glasses and wore his long hair in a ponytail.

Right after him, three other men entered Dirk’s field of vision, wearing much the same outfits, but carrying handguns instead of suitcases. Their pace was leisurely, but they walked with clear purpose with their heads held high and backs straight.

- Ah, idi na hui, suka. - Morozov cursed under breath, picking himself off the sand, only now realizing just how worn out the bandages on his hands got. He looked at the Asian and put on the fakest smile Dirk has ever seen. - Tetsuo! What can I do for you? - He called out in full voice, a little hoarse from exertion.

He exited the arena feeling a bit sore, but not showing any weakness.

- You know exactly why we’re here. While you are gambling your life away, we are building a reputable business in this snow-covered hellscape. - he swiped the shoulder of his suit as if clearing it of something, despite it being in immaculate state. Not a speck of dust seemed to be able to cling to his suit. - And while we humored your silly requests for so long because you managed to pay our kindness back, your performance as of late has been less than satisfactory.

- Your point? - Morozov asked bluntly, wiping himself with a dirty towel

- Didn’t the last beatdown teach you anything? Give us what you owe, Russian scum. This is your last chance. - his hand hovered dangerously close to the hilt of his blade as he walked towards the Ruskie, his killing intent seeping through like blood through a bandage.

- Who the fuck are–

Dirk couldn’t even finish as he was getting up from the couch, when Tetsuo swung his briefcase like a mace, aimed at the veteran’s face. The makeshift weapon, however, stopped short, even if Dirk was about to dodge it, stopped by the Russian.

- Hey! This is between you and me! - Misha hissed through grit teeth, tightening his grip on the intruder’s hand, only to shove him away a second later.

In the same moment, his lackeys raised their guns, pointing them straight at the unruly Ruskie’s head.

- You just don’t know when to back down, do you? - the Asian growled, stretching his wrist and adjusting his tie. - What’s this bum to you anyway? - he measured Dirk up, venom dripping from his every word. - Doesn’t matter. We can’t have any witnesses to a murder. - he sent his men a gesture that only they knew, and cracked a smug smile at Misha.

Dirk only took another quick glance around, ensuring that the positioning of the other men aligned, and asked a simple question in a language that only one more person in the room understood.

- Rules of engagement?

- None. - the Russian responded.

Within the next few seconds, many things simultaneously occurred.

The surrounding mobsters got ready to shoot, their leader unsheathed his sword with a wicked grin, and Jason vaulted the corrugated steel fence. But all of it seemed to play out in slow motion.

Compared to what Dirk had to deal with before coming here, the current situation seemed trivial. When compared to his scuffle with Diesel earlier that day, everyone moved sluggishly and way too predictably.

The only exception being Morozov, who seemed to be looking at the old Empire veteran with great expectations.

“I guess he hasn’t seen me in action in a while.” - the disheveled man moved on autopilot. - “So be it.”

Four targets.

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Four directions.

Four seconds.

First was the man who snuck up behind him. After everything that happened today, Dirk was feeling light both in body and spirit, moving with steps that almost defied logic. No wonder the goons were so slow to react.

Even an animal can be caught off guard if it senses no malice from another predator.

The professional killer turned around and with two quick movements first broke the gangster’s trigger finger, following up with a devastating strike to the windpipe.

As his gun began to fall, knocked loose from the goon’s hand, Dirk simply grabbed it midair and shot his two remaining friends in their wrists and knees, four shots in total.

Seeing as that slowed him slightly, Tetsuo didn’t waste even a second and was already unleashing a helm-splitting strike in Dirk’s direction. Jason did not stay idle in the face of this transgression and shot forwards with all his might, traversing the distance between them in milliseconds, ready to tackle the assailant.

The God of War smiled. It was heartwarming to see Jason grow, from a terrified orphan that rejected the world around him, into someone the old dog could entrust his life to.

Still, he wasn’t that senile as to need a nanny.

As the blade glistened in the light, with the wannabe samurai screaming on the top of his lungs, Dirk let go of the gun, opting to throw both hands towards the incoming sword.

With a loud clap, the katana stopped midair, being grasped between the veteran's two hands.

“How in the–”

Tetsuo could only think those few words in reaction to the sheer improbability of that maneuver working, right before a human freight-train tackled him to the ground, breaking a few bones on mere impact. Once on the floor, the regenerator turned the Japanese man around.

- Pulling a gun on my friends? Bad idea. - just moments ago Jason was startled, even confused, but now he was simply angry. With that exclamation off his chest, Jason started rearranging the gangster’s face.

Once the immediate threat disappeared, so did Dirk's combat focus. He exhaled loudly, letting his strained body relax, and cracked a smile at Misha.

- Enough of a spectacle for you? - he asked as he stretched lightly. He would definitely need to get back into proper shape.

- Watching you work is almost as stimulating as gambling, tovarish. - the Ruskie cackled. - As if your skill never deteriorated, unlike your liver.

- Yeah, I had a little warm up earlier today. - the veteran sauntered over to the first man he disarmed and kicked his teeth in. - But that’s a story for another day.

- If you say so. - Morozov did the same to another wounded opponent, knocking him out cold. - I guess an explanation is in order?

- You think? - Jason joined in, loosening up his wrists.

Both of the giant’s fists were caked in blood. Tetsuo behind him no longer moved.

Misha walked over to the nearest folding chair and set it up among the carnage with the backrest facing the two men, so that he could rest his arms.

- Those wimps came here to collect a certain “debt” that I apparently have with them. - he shrugged with a frown. - Some fucking debt it is. I paid you back fivefold ages ago. - he grumbled in a low voice, glancing at one of the intruders.

- The king of the ring has debts, huh? I thought you raked in a pretty penny with all this going on. - Dirk motioned in a wide arc, sweeping the arena with his eyes, then fell back onto the couch.

- You can probably guess how it is with those types. I borrowed money when I was in a tight spot, sure, but I’m not such a piece of shit as to not pay it back. What they did to me, though? Extortion. Daytime fucking robbery. - he started drumming his fingers on the backrest, anger bubbling just beneath his skin. - They always managed to find some fine print, some little discrepancy, some fucking excuse to fuck me over… - he shot up from his chair in frustration, knocking it over. - And just kept stacking “interest” on my head. I was stupid to humor them as long as I did. - he went over to Tetsuo and turned his mangled face with his foot, really rubbing the sole of his boot into the man’s bloodied cheek, getting a weak groan out of him, miraculously still alive. - I have my own problems to deal with, you twat.

- But why Yakuza? - Jason chimed in, confused about the whole ordeal, still wiping his hands clean of blood. - How did they even get into de-facto Empire land?

- I helped them hop the border years ago in exchange for the loan. See how that fucking turned out. - he spat at Tetsuo with much anger. - They were supposed to establish some sort of foothold here, lay groundwork for something bigger while raking in the money for their parent cell… I guess they got lazy with just how easy it was to get it from me.

- But still, why Yakuza of all people? - Jason pressed the issue, getting an annoyed look from Morozov.

- Oh, my bad, malchik! I completely forgot about all those Imperial banks so eager to throw fat stacks of money at a Russian ex-rebel. Can’t see how that would end badly, blyat. - he huffed, massaging his forehead with one hand. - I’m still baffled that they didn’t hunt me like a fucking deer in the woods after that whole fiasco. - he added, now sounding more tired than anything else.

- You should have moved. - Dirk commented dryly.

- I was already established here when they started fucking me in the ass. I couldn’t afford to move, but I also couldn’t afford to stay… - he sighed, looking absentmindedly into the ceiling, away from Dirk and Jason.

- Y–...Y-you’ll… pay… for this. - Tetsuo said in barely even a whisper, coughing up blood and his own teeth, only to receive swift retribution in the form of a rage-fueled kick.

- That too. They’re not as kind as to forget about me. - he let those words hang in the air for a few moments before clapping his hands together, and it was as if a switch flipped in his head and he returned to his jovial self, a wide grin plastered on his face. - But it’s not the first time you fall from heaven right in front of me, Dirkie-boy. That jig of yours? That little job that promises a mountain of cash? I want in.

- No! - the young Chrysos immediately barked back, but flinched as Dirk put his hand up to silence him.

- Are you sure about that? It’s bound to bring the attention of the Empire back to you.

- Oh, I’m already on one hit-list after our little performance here. - he pointed at the mangled gangster with his thumb. - What’s one more? - he giggled like a child who just did something naughty.

- Well… I can’t stop you, but you’ll have to get through Ouroboros’ last-minute recruitment on your own.

- Easy-peasy. The big-wigs always want more canon fodder, and us Russians have centuries of experience in that department. Now imagine fodder who can actually fight back when shit hits the fan. That's some bang for their buck! I bet my ass that’s gonna impress them.

- Wait, wait, wait! Hold on! - Jason cut in, grabbing Dirk by the shoulder and dragging him off to the side. - You can’t be serious. - he spoke in frantic whispers. - He’s insane! He can fight, I’ll admit that much, but he’s unpredictable! Dangerous, both to himself and those around him!

- He’s a friend. - Dirk answered resolutely, the look in his eyes somehow distant and absent.

- I don’t understand. - he blurted out without much thought.

- I’m not asking you to understand. - he locked eyes with Jason for a brief moment, his gaze completely peaceful. - Just trust me, okay? - he laid his hand on the giant’s shoulder and walked past him, not leaving any space for discussion.

- Fuck… - Jason bit his lip as he cursed.

- So what do we do about them? - Dirk nodded his head to one of the gangsters.

- It would leave a bad taste in my mouth to leave behind unfinished business, y’know? - Misha cracked a telling smirk

Dirk only exhaled, patting Jason on the shoulder.

- We’ll be waiting outside then. Avoid making a mess, Ouroboros could find an issue with recruiting a guy who comes for a job interview reeking of blood.

- I know, I know. - Morozov dismissively waved Dirk off. - Polite and presentable, how every gun for hire gotta be these days, blyat.