As he gazed upon us, he was calm. Confusion etched across my face, pondering with the fact he responded to one of our attacks. How could he see us? My skill, "Perfect Invisibility" meticulously tested to see the kinks, was supposed to render anyone I designated consciously invisible. Yet here he stood, glaring at us with an unnerving intensity that shattered the very essence of my confidence. Though "Perfect Invisibility" possessed unparalleled prowess, it harbored its own set of limitations—limitations that, until this moment, I deemed inviolable. There existed nothing on Earth, or so I believed, capable of circumventing its veil of secrecy. Was it possible that he wielded a skill specifically tailored to counter mine?
But such musings proved futile in the heat of the moment. In a swift, decisive motion, I propelled myself forward like a raging tempest, my knife gleaming malevolently. Crafted with precision and imbued with the power to pierce through even the most formidable of gifted, this blade stood as the epitome of the alliance's might—a weapon unmatched by any in humanity's storied history. With every sinew tensed and every nerve ablaze with anticipation, I closed the distance between us, my mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As I extended my arms, I thought of nothing but this man's death for tainting my pride.
I ascended into the air with a fluid grace, just a fraction above his anticipated strike. With a calculated maneuver, I positioned myself directly above the trajectory of his blade, landing deftly upon its razor-sharp edge. The force of my impact caused the weapon to skitter across the floor, disappearing into one of the myriad small holes that marred the surface. In a seamless motion, I executed a forward flip, seizing a handful of his hair as I descended. Though the strands strained against my grip, his attempts at freedom were futile against my relentless hold. With an effortless adjustment, I maneuvered myself into an upright stance, hoisting him aloft.
A series of frantic whooshes punctuated the air as he struggled against my grasp, his futile attempts at escape reverberating through the tense silence that enveloped us. His desperate cry pierced the stillness, a plea for aid that fell upon deaf ears. "If I were to attack someone who held my friend," he bellowed, his voice laced with urgency, "I would attack him from—"
"Behind!" I reacted, swiftly pivoting to deliver a powerful back kick as someone rushed into combat area. With the weight of the other assassin still in my arm, my movement was compromised, but nothing that should beat me. My heel connected solidly, and the newcomer's body contorted around my foot before hurtling into one of the patient rooms. Furniture crashed, walls groaned, and glass shattered as the intruder careened through the room, ultimately bursting through the window in a cascade of broken shards.
As the dust settled and the chaos subsided, I turned my attention back to the assassin I held captive. In the world of assassins, logic dictated that a seasoned professional wouldn't resort to calling for help unless absolutely necessary. The fact that the other assailant, whose hand I had severed moments earlier, remained eerily silent despite everything confirmed my suspicions—he was the one possessing the invisibility skill.
I carefully lowered the captured assassin to the floor, his left leg bearing the brunt of his weight as I positioned him with meticulous precision. Gripping his hair firmly, I rotated his body like the hands of a clock, aligning him towards the nine o'clock position. With a swift, decisive stomp, my foot descended upon his knee, the sickening crunch of bone yielding to the force of my resolve.
"Release your skill!" I demanded. But he remained defiantly silent, his labored breaths echoing in the tense atmosphere that enveloped us. Before I could press further, a sudden blur streaked through the air—a knife hurtling towards the assassin's neck with deadly accuracy. It found its mark with chilling precision, embedding itself in his throat with a sickening thud. Blood erupted from the wound, staining the pristine white floor. Shock rippled through me at the ruthless efficiency of the attack. Was this the price of failure? To be dispatched without mercy or hesitation? But before I could dwell on the grim reality unfolding before me, a disembodied voice echoed from the hallway, its source elusive and enigmatic. "His skill doesn't release with death, fool," he taunted, shattering the silence with its ominous warning. "Oren Hashigana, surrender now."
I flung the lifeless body of the fallen assassin onto the floor, his form crumpling. As if preparing to flee, I mimicked the gesture of a runner, feigning a dash towards the shattered window. The telltale squeak of a footstep echoed loudly behind me, a clear signal of pursuit. Without looking back, I gleaned the crucial information—no one was left behind me. I was being chased. I clenched my fist, channeling my energy into a potent display of force. Whirling around, I unleashed a powerful right straight not aimed at any specific target but designed to unleash a ferocious gust of wind. The unleashed gust tore through the corridor with devastating force, shattering windows and demolishing walls in its wake. One figure stood unaffected—an ominous presence that defied the destructive power of my attack. The gust curved around them, its force ineffectual against their stats.
As the cloak of invisibility dissolved, revealing the enigmatic figure standing at the end of the hallway, a change occurred in the battle. Bathed in the warm embrace of sunlight, he cut a striking figure—a towering presence adorned in a weathered brown trench coat that billowed gently in the wind. His features were strong: locks of tousled blonde hair framed a chiseled jawline, while crimson eyes gleamed with an intensity that bespoke a hidden reservoir of power. A rugged beard adorned his jaw, adding to the air of rugged masculinity. I posed the question that lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge. "Who are you?"
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Without missing a beat, he retrieved a cigarette from his pocket with practiced ease, igniting it with a swift motion of his hand. As tendrils of smoke spiraled upward, he took a long drag, his gaze never wavering from mine. "You'll find out if you manage to best me, kid." he replied cryptically, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and thinly veiled threat. "They were right about you, though. You're a threat that needs to be eliminated."
He shifted his core and power to his right fist, charging a punch. With power of my own, I mirrored his movements, charging up a punch of my own. The moment of impact unleashed a tempestuous whirlwind, a swirling vortex of kinetic force that destroyed the corridor. But despite my best efforts, his power surged forth, eclipsing my own with ease. I swiftly assumed a defensive stance, adopting the Cross-Arm Guard to shield myself against the onslaught of his overwhelming force. The wind buffeted against me relentlessly, threatening to overwhelm my defenses and send me hurtling towards the edge of the floor. I held my ground, each step against the relentless onslaught a testament to my unwavering resolve. Despite the strain evident in every fiber of my being, I remained steadfast, refusing to yield even in the face of overwhelming odds.
His words, dripping with calculated praise, cut through the maelstrom of chaos surrounding us. "Sheeesh, kid. You have power on par with mine." he remarked, his voice a blend of admiration and subtle deception. But I knew better than to fall for his honeyed words. The truth lay bare before me—I was completely outmatched, my power not enough for him. I need to use Strength Booster.
With a flick of his wrist, he discarded his cigarette, the embers dancing briefly in the air before fading. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between us, his form a blur of motion as he charged yet another punch—this time, with intent far more sinister than mere testing. This was a blow meant to shatter bone and break spirit, a clash of knuckles that would determine the fate of our deadly duel.
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Soul: 339 (-20)
Skills:
Lvl. 1 Strength Booster - Increase your speed by 150% for three seconds. 20 soul to use, one minute cooldown. (Activated) The one minute cooldown has commenced.
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I too charged another punch, drawing upon what I needed for this clash. A shockwave of wind erupted from the epicenter of our clash, cascading outwards. The sheer magnitude of the explosion of force was enough to be witnessed from miles away. In that crucial moment, it was my power that proved stronger, my fist pushing through the resistance of his arm. With a sickening sight, his arm was rent asunder, blood and bone erupting in a gruesome spectacle of carnage. The trench coat was ruined. His body recoiled, collapsing onto the unforgiving floor. Yet, despite the devastation wrought upon him, he remained eerily composed, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon the ceiling above.
Descending gracefully to the ground, unscathed by the chaos that unfolded around me, I approached him with a measured caution. His voice, though strained and laced with pain, resonated with an underlying strength as he spat out blood to the side. "What's your name?" I inquired. His response was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand burdens. "I'm a Shadow, one of the strongest in the faction." he confessed, his identity shrouded in secrecy and ambiguity. "I have no name anymore, but when I was a civilian, it was Adam."
Standing over him, a towering figure of dominance, I loomed above his broken form, a silent testament to my victory. His arm, now mangled and bleeding profusely, bore witness to the devastation wrought upon him—a stark reminder of the consequences of our deadly confrontation. With a measured pressure, I applied my foot to his chest, pinning him to the ground. Every movement, every action, was calculated to assert my superiority over him, to remind him of the precariousness of his position.
But despite the pain and the imminent threat of death, he remained defiant, a gleam of madness dancing in his eyes as he met my method. When I posed the question regarding the whereabouts of the rest of the Shadows, his laughter rang out—a chilling echo of defiance that reverberated through the air. "You took out my whole squad!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with manic amusement. "There were two others, but they're not truly part of the Shadows. You survived the hit, congratulations. That's all you're getting out of me, finish this already."
In that moment of contemplation, I offered him a chance at redemption, "Would you like to repent, or will I be forced to kill you?" I inquired, my voice heavy with the weight of the decision that hung between us. With a contemptuous glance, he spat in my direction—a gesture of defiance that spoke volumes. I turned away from him, his fate sealed by the inexorable march of time and circumstance. Moving with purposeful strides, I approached another fallen Shadow, retrieving one of their knives. Without hesitation, I delivered the final blow, the blade finding its mark with deadly accuracy as it pierced through his heart. It was a mercy, a swift end to his suffering, and a necessary conclusion to our deadly encounter.
With the deed done, it was time to leave this place behind. With a fluid motion, I propelled myself through the broken window, launching into the cool embrace of the night. As I traversed the rooftops with a silent grace, each leap carrying me closer to my destination. I'm finally going to see Aroha again. I need to apologize to her for causing so much struggle. With the nearest police station right in the distance, I pressed forward, taking each step one by one.