Delivering a hammer fist, I ended him immediately. What a disgusting sight it was, his body crumpling under the weight of my strike, a grotesque testament to the brutality of the moment. The office around me was in shambles, a scene straight out of a nightmare. Blood pooled on the floor like spilled ink, bodies sprawled out in twisted, unnatural poses. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. The once pristine office space was now a macabre tableau of destruction, with shattered glass, splintered wood, and overturned furniture adding to the criminality. That's not even counting the destroyed computers and chairs, their once functional forms now reduced to twisted scraps of metal and plastic. The hum of electronics had been replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional creak of damaged structures and the drip of blood from the ceiling. If they hadn't attacked me, I wouldn't have been forced to unleash such carnage upon them. Except for this one. I saw him, a cold-blooded killer, callously snuffing out the life of an old man who had been bravely defending his daughter. Trailing him back to base was elementary.
The fire alarm blared its urgent warning, piercing through the eerie silence that had settled over the devastated office. Its shrill cry reverberated off the walls. From the upper floors, I heard muffled movements, the faint sounds of panic and confusion echoing down the stairwells. It was time to bring an end to this particular 'section' of the Alliance, to dismantle their operations and put an end to their reign of terror. As I emerged into the corridor, I was met with a group of men descending from the stairs. Each of them was dressed in impeccably tailored suits, the unmistakable horn symbol of the Alliance emblazoned on their lapels. Despite their professional appearance, there was an air of tension and apprehension about them, their faces drawn and their movements hesitant. These were no hardened soldiers or ruthless enforcers; they were mere workers. They were terrorists nonetheless.
"There he is! Take him down, gentlemen!" The command echoed down the corridor, cutting through the indecisiveness. It was the voice of authority, the one who held sway over these men, driving them forward with blind loyalty. A few of them surged forward, spurred on by the urgency of the moment and the weight of their leader's words. But there were those among them who hesitated, their eyes betraying a flicker of doubt as they glanced at one another, whispers of caution passing between them. They had heard the rumors, tales of my persona. Two of them lunged at me from the right, brandishing knives with a desperate intent to strike. Their movements were quick and aggressive, fueled by a primal instinct for survival. Of course, I was quicker. With a fluid grace, I sidestepped their attacks, the blades whistling harmlessly through the air.
Meanwhile, the remaining three attackers closed in, wielding batons with a menacing determination. But their efforts were in vain, as I effortlessly danced between their strikes, each movement calculated and precise. With a series of rapid counterattacks, I unleashed a flurry of blows, each one landing with bone-jarring force. A kick sent one sprawling to the ground, while a back kick caught another off guard, sending him crashing into the wall. A front kick followed by an uppercut left a third reeling, his senses scrambled by the impact. And then, with two brutal hooks, I laid the two previous knife wielders low. The dust settled, and I rose to my full height, standing with a menacing presence that seemed to fill the corridor.
The one in the back bellowed at the hesitant ones, his voice thick with frustration and anger. "What are you doing?! Fight him!" His words were a desperate plea, a command laced with fear. But before they could muster a response, another member of their group emerged from the shadows, a knife glinting menacingly in his hand. With a swift, merciless motion, he plunged the blade into the back of the one who had issued the order. The victim let out a strangled cry as the sharp steel tore through flesh and muscle. The impact was devastating, the force of the blow severing vital connections and leaving the fallen man sprawled out on the stairs, a trail of crimson staining the steps beneath him.
As he lay there, his body wracked with pain and shock, I turned my gaze to the one responsible for the betrayal. His face was a mask of fear, his eyes wide with terror. With a trembling hand, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded for mercy. "We give up. Take us in." he implored, his words tinged with desperation. But his plea fell on deaf ears, as I met his gaze with a cold, steely glare. With a dismissive click of my tongue, I scoffed at the notion that such treachery could be forgiven so easily. "You think I'm going to let you live?" I asked, my voice scornful. The dozen or so survivors, their resolve weakened by the sudden turn of events, began to slowly retreat, their movements underhanded. "Yeah, I will." I conceded, a note of begrudging acceptance in my tone. "The police will come to arrest you shortly. Be ready to answer questions, though." They all breathed a sigh of relief.
I dispatched them all with a series of precise strikes, each blow landing with pinpoint accuracy. They fell unconscious but thankfully mostly unharmed aside from a few bruises and scrapes. As they lay there, groaning and spitting out saliva and blood, I turned my attention to the sound of approaching footsteps. I glanced back to see Ethan entering the building, his presence a welcome sight. With a practiced ease, he navigated his way through the debris-strewn corridor, careful to avoid staining his pristine shoes with the blood that pooled on the floor. His gaze swept over the scene of destruction before settling on me, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's going to be a chore to count all these bodies. Another win for The Crusader of the East, I guess." he remarked, his tone humorous. I nodded in acknowledgment, a sense of satisfaction coursing through me at the successful conclusion of our mission. "These ones surrendered." I informed him, gesturing towards the subdued figures scattered on the ground. "Take them to the station; we're going to interrogate them." Ethan wasted no time in issuing his orders, snapping his fingers that brooked no argument. The sound of approaching footsteps heralded the arrival of the SWAT teams. They moved through the destroyed walls, securing each of the surviving members of the Alliance and whisking them away to face the consequences of their actions.
Ethan and I stepped out of the building. We fell into step beside each other. "You don't look like a hero, though. You're covered in blood." Ethan remarked, his voice cutting through the stillness with a note of gentle admonishment. He was right, of course. I glanced down at my blood-stained attire, the crimson evidence of the raid. With a resigned sigh, I reached up and flapped my cloak, the fabric billowing outwards and clearing away the worst of the stains. "The blood of the wicked is just proof of good." I replied, my tone tinged with a hint of solemnity. "They didn't have any repentance in them. The ones who surrendered have a smidge."
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Ethan cast a somber glance back at the building we had just emerged from, his expression thoughtful. "This is gonna take a fortune to rebuild. If the town even wants to rebuild this place. So many bad memories." he mused. As we watched, the police moved out and about around us. I turned to Ethan, curiosity tugging at my thoughts. "How many is that now?" I asked, my gaze flicking to the notebook he held in his hand. Ethan flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned the meticulously kept records. "If we go by those killed only, a thousand six hundred and sixty-one. If we count those who surrendered and those killed, a thousand nine hundred and ten," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and grim satisfaction. Those were great numbers.
Ethan's car rolled into the town square, he reached for his phone and began making calls. Within minutes, word spread throughout the town via social media, text messages, and word of mouth: a gathering was called for in the town square following the raid. I stood alongside Ethan on the podium, the folds of my cloak billowing around me. Their stares were confused, uncertain, until Ethan stepped forward to address them. "This town is now basically free of the Alliance." Ethan announced, his voice carrying across the square with a note of triumph. "The local section has been brought down by this man right here." He gestured towards me, and a ripple of recognition swept through the crowd as they realized the significance of my presence. One person asked, "Who is he?" Ethan decided to answer, "Private information. He's strong, that's all you need to know." His words were met with a smattering of applause, gratitude shining in the eyes of those gathered before us. But as the clapping died down, Ethan launched into a detailed explanation of the steps that would be taken to restructure and rebuild in the wake of the Alliance's defeat. I listened with only half an ear. I was one to take them down, not to rebuild.
I descended from the podium, the sea of faces in the crowd parted before me, their murmurs and whispers following in my wake. I had a task at hand – to interrogate those who had surrendered during the raid. But before I could make my way through the throng, a sudden obstacle halted my progress. Out of nowhere, a blonde, beautiful young woman stepped forward, her arm shooting out in a swift and unexpected motion, catching me off guard with a clothesline. I stumbled slightly, caught off balance by the unexpected collision, but managed to regain my footing just in time. I don't want to hurt them on accident. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with disbelief and a hint of awe. "You... took them down?" she asked, her voice grim. She looks like she's been grieving. I nodded in response. Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached up and raised my hood slightly, peering underneath to catch a glimpse of the face hidden beneath the fabric. Her surprise was palpable as she realized how young I was, her features softening. "You're... so young. How are you doing this?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. I offered her a small smile, my own uncertainty mirrored in her words. "I sometimes don't know either," I admitted, the truth of my words hanging in the air between us. With that, I lowered my hood once more, concealing my identity from prying eyes. Without another word, I moved past her and through the crowd.
I entered the station, the officer at the desk greeted me warmly, a sense of camaraderie evident. "Welcome, friend. One of the survivors is in Interrogation Room B." he informed me, his tone respectful. I nodded in acknowledgment and made my way through the lit corridors of the aging building. The station was old, its walls bearing the scars of years of use and neglect. It lacked the gleaming façade of newer facilities. I get it, though. Despite the best efforts of the officers who worked within its walls, it was clear that they were outnumbered and outgunned, their resources stretched thin.
I pushed open the door to Interrogation Room B, the hinges creaking as I entered. The survivor sat huddled in the corner, his expression one of apprehension. I approached him slowly, offering reassurance. "No need to be scared. If you tell me the truth, you might get a lesser sentence." I assured him, my voice calm but firm. He shuffled forward, his eyes darting nervously as he leaned in closer, ready to divulge whatever information he possessed. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty. I placed my palm on the table, a silent warning of the consequences of withholding information.
"When is the Representative appearing and where?" I demanded, my tone brooking no argument. He hesitated, glancing to the side as if searching for an answer. Without hesitation, I extended my arm to the side, flexing it menacingly. "I'll slap you as hard as I can if you don't answer." I warned. With a yelp of fear, he crumpled to the ground, his resolve breaking. In a moment of desperation, he blurted out the information I sought, his words tumbling out in a rush of panic. "Idiot, idiot, idiot! He's going to the HQ you just burned! He should be there in like what, a few minutes?" he stammered. I stood up, my frustration boiling over as I hurled the table at him in a fit of rage. He raised his arms in a feeble attempt at defense, but the impact still sent him sprawling to the ground, a whimper of pain escaping his lips. Leaving the room, I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan's number, my heart racing. He answered quickly. "He's headed to the HQ we just raided! Get the bystanders and police out of there now!" I exclaimed. There was no time to waste.
The civilians and police cleared out, retreating to the safety of the town, I stood alone in the deserted courtyard, my hood drawn up to conceal my identity as I awaited the arrival of the Representative. It wasn't long before the sound of engines roaring to life signaled the approach of their convoy. A sleek car pulled up to the front of the building, its occupants emerging with an air of arrogance and entitlement. The man in the lead, adorned in a fancy cape that billowed behind him, wasted no time in addressing me. "It's you... the Crusader, or should I say, Oren Hashigana!" he declared. I smirked beneath my hood at his recognition of my true identity. It seemed that only the higher-ups within the Alliance were privy to such information. "You know who I am. How's that going to help you survive?" I retorted, my tone laced with sarcasm. The man's arrogance was uncalled for, I had faced greater foes than him.
The other cars in the convoy came to a stop, more men emerged, their imposing figures casting long shadows across the courtyard. They were burly and powerful. These were no mere foot soldiers; they were Deputies, skilled opponents. The man in the cape raised his arms high, a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he addressed me once more. "Ten Deputies and one Representative! With my skill, we all have stats in the hundreds! Even you can't handle this!" he boasted.
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Soul: 350 (-100)
Skills:
Lvl. 2 Divine Might - Embody the spirit of judgment. You maintain free will, unlike the previous. For the next minute, your speed is amplified by 250%. 100 soul to use, one day cooldown. (Activated) The one day cooldown has commenced.
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My cloak shimmered with a brilliant white light, the air crackled with the familiar energy of white lightning, enveloping me in its electrifying embrace. With a swift motion, I teleported around each of them, my movements a blur to anyone there. In an instant, I snapped all of their necks with a lethal efficiency. A trail of dust billowed from beneath my shoes as I came to a stop, the courtyard falling silent in the aftermath of my swift and decisive action. Turning to face the fallen figures, I regarded them coolly, "What do you know about me?"