Silence. That was all I could hear around me. The street where I stood felt abandoned, as if all the people and carts that had been passing by had vanished without a trace. The air hung heavy, thick with dust and the faint smell of rust. The occasional creak of a swinging sign or the distant bark of a stray dog only served to deepen the emptiness.

No doubt this had happened before. Streets cleared, doors shut, windows darkened. It wasn’t fear of me that drove them away, but fear of what followed, no one wanted to be part of it. Now it was just me and those five men standing in front of me. If my measurements were correct, they were about fifteen meters away.

The leader shifted his weight, his boots grinding against the gravel. I noticed the way one of them rolled his shoulders, loosening up, like a predator preparing to strike. Another tapped a blade against his leg, the dull rhythm echoing faintly.

I looked around, my right hand already inside my bag, gripping the Gamma pistol tightly. Before doing anything rash, my eyes scanned the surroundings. Crumbling walls, broken crates, and scattered debris—nothing I could use as proper cover.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Sweat pricked my skin, but something in my subconscious whispered that I needed to stay calm. Calm meant control. Control meant survival.

Anyone would be at a disadvantage in a one-against-five fight. And physically, I was far from being in my best shape. My stomach was empty, my limbs felt heavier than they should, and my breath was already shorter than it had any right to be. Yet, there was no turning back.

“There is no need for this…” I said, trying to remain determined.

“You’re right. Just give us what’s in your bags, and no one gets hurt. Simple as that,” said the man standing at the front of the group. He was intimidating—the tallest of them all. The other four were closer to my size, and physically, they didn’t look much better off than I did.

They kept moving closer, clearly with no intention of backing off. But neither did I. I was determined to return home with all my belongings.

“You really wanna dance, boy?” the tall man said with a grin, taunting me. “Fine, then it’s time to dance…”

Without another word, he motioned with his hand, signaling the others to move in.

The moment his hand finished the motion, four men broke into a sprint toward me. I pulled the Gamma pistol from my bag, letting the rings and the bag drop to the ground. My right hand locked onto the weapon, aiming quickly at the approaching attackers.

Just as I expected, none of them anticipated me having a weapon. Two of the four froze in their tracks, but the others kept coming. I had never fired a Gamma weapon before, but this wasn’t the time to hesitate.

I pulled the trigger.

I felt it immediately—like something being ripped out of me. The muscles in my hand were being torn, and for a brief, horrifying second, it felt as if my legs might give out completely. The Gamma energy drained from my veins, racing down my arm and pooling into my palm like molten lead.

The weapon came alive. A low hum vibrated through the handle, rising into a sharp, crackling whine that filled the air. It was unbearable, like electricity clawing to escape, desperate and violent. My hand shook, every nerve screaming in protest.

Then, it fired.

The force of the blast sent a searing heat across my face, and pain exploded in my fingers—sharp, stabbing, like dozens of needles tearing through my flesh. The weapon recoiled hard, and my grip faltered. It slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.

The shot struck the farthest of the two charging men. His scream ripped through the silence, raw and animalistic. The yellow blast hit his leg, burning through flesh and muscle in an instant. The smell of scorched meat filled the air as a jagged hole appeared in his thigh. The heat of the shot sealed the wound almost immediately, preventing it from gushing blood, but leaving charred, blackened edges that smoked faintly.

He collapsed, clutching his ruined leg and howling. The others hesitated, their eyes flickering between me and their fallen comrade. But the pain in my hand was overwhelming. My vision blurred, and my breath came out in ragged gasps.

I staggered back, my arm numb, but I couldn’t stop now.

“Look at him! He can barely stand! This is our chance!” shouted the tallest man, the coward hiding safely behind his friends.

His words echoed down the street, but even as he barked orders, his voice betrayed him. There was no confidence, only desperation. He needed this to end quickly—maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as he pretended to be.

My right hand hung limp at my side, throbbing and useless after firing the Gamma pistol. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter. I still had my left, and I wasn’t about to let them finish me off without a fight.

I locked eyes with the nearest man—the one who had frozen moments earlier, still paralyzed after watching me blast his companion’s leg apart. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling as if he couldn’t decide whether to fight or run.

I didn’t give him the chance to choose.

I lunged forward, closing the distance before he could react. My fist slammed into his nose with a sharp crunch. His head snapped back, and blood burst from his nostrils, splattering across his lips as he stumbled.

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I didn’t give him time to recover. I drove my shoulder into his chest, forcing him backward until his legs gave out and he hit the ground hard. A muffled groan escaped him as he clutched his face, rolling onto his side, but he didn’t get back up.

two down.

I staggered back, my chest heaving and sweat pouring down my face. My left hand flexed instinctively, uninjured but already trembling from exhaustion but I was not done yet.

I was ready to finish him off with a kick to the torso, but another attacker lunged in before I could follow through. My balance shifted, and I barely managed to plant my foot in time to avoid toppling over. They were five in total, alright? And I’d only taken down two. This was never going to be easy.

The second man didn’t give me time to recover. He closed the distance in a flash, his fist slamming into my stomach like a sledgehammer. The force doubled me over, a sharp gasp escaping my lips as the air fled my lungs. Pain shot through my core, but I refused to fall. My knees bent, trembling, but I straightened up. I had to.

Then I saw it—the glint of steel in his free hand. A knife. He was already swinging, aiming for my ribs. My body reacted faster than my mind. I threw up my left hand, grabbing his wrist mid-swing.

For a second, I thought I’d stopped him—until the blade bit into my palm.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my hand as the edge sank deep, splitting flesh and muscle. Blood poured over my fingers, warm and slick, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. My grip tightened around his wrist, locking us together as he snarled and tried to push the knife deeper.

I bit down hard, tasting blood—my own—on my lip. My vision blurred with tears, but I held on. The pain was unbearable, burning and raw, and yet something inside me cracked.

I laughed.

It was low, guttural, and wrong—something primal that even I didn’t recognize. My shoulders shook, not from fear, but from something darker. Something I didn’t know I had in me.

“What’s wrong?” I growled through clenched teeth, blood dripping from my mouth. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The man’s eyes widened. He froze for half a second, and I saw it—doubt. Fear.

“W-what the hell?” he stammered, his voice cracking.

But I didn’t stop. I pushed back against the knife, forcing him off balance as the blood from my hand coated both of us. I could see the panic starting to take hold in his eyes, and for the first time, I felt it—control.

“I SAID, WHAT’S WRONG?!” My scream tore at my throat, raw with rage and desperation. I lunged forward, slamming my forehead into his.

The impact was sickening—a dull, wet crack that echoed down the empty street. Pain exploded behind my eyes, but I barely felt it compared to the satisfaction of watching him stumble back, clutching his face as blood poured from his forehead.

He reeled back, clutching his face. He staggered, his knees buckling, and for a second, I thought he might recover.

He didn’t.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself up, but his arms failed him. Blood dripped through his fingers, staining the dirt beneath him.

I stepped closer, towering over him as he writhed, his breathing ragged and shallow. His eyes darted up to meet mine—wide and pleading—but there was no fight left in them.

And yet, I didn’t move. My breath came in sharp gasps, my chest rising and falling as adrenaline still surged through my veins. The pain in my body flared, but I barely noticed it. My gaze locked onto him, daring him to get back up, daring him to try again.

He didn’t.

He stayed down and with this, only two remained and three were out of the fight.

I stared at the last two. My right hand hung useless at my side, trembling from the pain, fingers twitching involuntarily as if still clinging to the weapon I had dropped. My arm felt like dead weight, a reminder of the toll this fight had already taken. My left still had the knife buried in its palm, the jagged edge biting deeper with every slight movement. Blood oozed out, coating my fingers and dripping steadily onto the ground.

My forehead throbbed, a steady pulse of pain radiating from the wound. Warm, sticky blood ran freely down my face as well, blurring my vision and stinging my eyes. I blinked rapidly, but it was no use. The red haze only made the two remaining men barely visible.

Yet, one of them stepped forward.

The tall one.

His boots ground against the dirt as he moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His confidence wavered—his eyes flickered with uncertainty—but he hid it behind a sneer.

“You think this is over?” he growled, his voice low and sharp. “You’re done. Look at you—you can barely stand.”

He pointed at my shaking arm, his lip curling as if he already saw me lying at his feet.

“You’re bleeding out, and I won’t even need help to finish you off now.” He spread his arms, showing off his size, his stance wide and aggressive. “Come on, tough guy. Let’s see if you’ve got anything left.”

I didn’t answer. I just stared at him, breathing hard, my vision blurring at the edges.

He took another step.

“Nothing to say? No more screams? No more laughing?” His grin widened. “I’ll enjoy putting you down, boy.”

He rushed at me but before he could close the distance—

“Enough!” A voice rang out from the far end of the street, deep and commanding.

I turned my head instinctively, as did everyone else. Through the blood dripping into my eyes, I could make out a figure flanked by several others. My vision blurred, and I couldn’t tell how many there were, but their presence felt overwhelming. The man at the front stepped closer, dressed in a green and black uniform adorned with golden accents. A saber hung at his side, and the polished medals pinned to his chest gleamed in the dim light, reflecting authority and status.

“The streets of Alessandria are no place for this kind of chaos. If you’re so eager to kill each other, do it outside the town,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the scene with disdain.

“I… I just wanted to leave…” I managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. All of you are under arrest,” he snapped, his gaze locking onto me.

Then his eyes softened—just slightly, but enough for me to notice. “You,” he said, pointing directly at me. “You’re coming with me.”

No. After everything I’d just been through, after everything I’d done to survive—was I really about to end up in a cell? I tried to protest, to fight back against the injustice of it, but my body refused to cooperate.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed under my own weight. My vision dimmed, but the sounds around me lingered—boots scraping against gravel, orders being barked, the clink of shackles being locked into place. I felt rough hands grip my arms, lifting me just enough for my feet to drag along the ground.

I tried to focus, to keep my eyes open, but the blood and sweat made it impossible. My head lolled to the side, and for a moment, I thought I saw the officer’s eyes—calm, calculating, and far too interested in me.

Then the darkness swallowed me whole.