Jack woke up to the sounds of steel clashing and deep, guttural growls echoing around him. Panic gripped him as his mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings. His chest tightened, and a rush of confusion swirled with dread as the sounds pressed in from all sides. The overwhelming noise felt like an assault, each clash of metal and guttural roar sending shivers down his spine. Jack blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, fear crawling through him as he realized he was in the middle of a nightmare come to life. The metallic tang of blood hung heavily in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burning metal. Vibrations from the violent clashes rippled through the ground beneath him, adding to the overwhelming intensity of the scene. His vision was blurry, but as he blinked and tried to focus, he saw something he could barely believe. Two Oni Shoguns, their crimson-bladed weapons glowing dimly in the faint light, were locked in an intense fight with a single man.
The man looked like he was in his late 30s or early 40s. His neatly trimmed gray beard gave him an air of wisdom and calm strength, a stark contrast to the chaotic scene of clashing steel and flashing crimson blades around him. While the world erupted into violence, his composed demeanor stood as a defiant beacon of control, amplifying the uncanny presence that made him seem untouchable amidst the turmoil.
His sharp, hawk-like eyes darted around with precision, scanning every movement with a focus that spoke of years of experience. The faint lines on his face hinted at a hard life, yet his expression remained unshaken. He wore a butler’s uniform, so spotless and perfectly tailored that it seemed completely out of place in the middle of the chaos. Every move he made was deliberate and precise, almost as if the laws of nature bent to his will. He stood tall and confident, his presence radiating authority far beyond what his modest appearance suggested. It was clear that this man was someone who could not be underestimated.
Despite the Shoguns’ advanced armor and powerful weapons, the butler fought them with nothing but his bare hands. Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer improbability of it all. How could anyone, even someone as composed as this man, take on such overwhelming odds without hesitation? It was awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once, leaving Jack questioning whether the butler was even human. The contrast between the Shoguns’ formidable arsenal and the butler’s effortless dominance only amplified the extraordinary nature of his skill, making the scene feel surreal, like watching a legend come to life.
Each of his strikes landed with such explosive force that the walls seemed to shake from the impact, reverberating like the distant roar of a collapsing mountain. The Shoguns, caught off guard by the sheer power behind each blow, stumbled visibly. Their normally calculated movements faltered as they struggled to keep up, their eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and disbelief. The force of each impact rippled through their reinforced armor, leaving dents and cracks that betrayed their growing vulnerability.
The sound of his punches cracked through the air like thunder, sending debris flying with every hit. The ground beneath their feet quaked under the power of his attacks, the metal floor denting visibly where his blows landed. The Shoguns, who usually dominated any fight with their superior skills and technology, stumbled under the ferocity of his relentless assault. Every attempt they made to counterattack was effortlessly shut down.
One Shogun charged with a loud roar, their blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc. The butler sidestepped so quickly it seemed inhuman, letting the blade miss him by inches. Without hesitation, he countered with an uppercut so powerful that the Shogun was sent flying backward, their armor groaning under the force. The second Shogun tried to catch him off guard, rushing from behind with their weapon raised high. But the butler spun on his heel, lashing out with his hand like a striking snake. The loud crack of his palm slamming into the Shogun’s helmet echoed through the battlefield, sending the warrior stumbling away, disoriented.
Jack’s heart pounded as he watched the incredible fight unfold, torn between terror and awe. Memories of past battles and the faces of those he’d lost flashed through his mind, mingling with the raw intensity of the scene before him. He felt a deep yearning for survival, clashing with the helplessness of witnessing power so far beyond his comprehension.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The butler’s movements inspired both hope and dread, leaving Jack caught in a storm of conflicting emotions—desperate to escape but transfixed by the impossible precision of the fight. Each of the butler’s moves was so smooth and perfectly timed that it felt more like a choreographed dance than a battle. Jack felt a flicker of hope, inspired by the sheer skill and dominance of the man before him, yet the raw violence of the scene sent chills down his spine.
His mind raced, wavering between admiration for the butler’s precision and a gnawing fear of the unrelenting chaos that surrounded them. 'How is this even possible?' Jack thought, his mind struggling to grasp the sheer power and precision on display. It was as if the man was performing a deadly symphony, with every strike a note in the chaos.
Before the Shoguns could recover and regroup, the butler launched into action again with a burst of speed that seemed almost impossible. His hand shot forward, punching straight through the chest plate of one Shogun with a sickening crunch. Without a moment’s pause, he twisted and drove his other hand into the second Shogun’s torso, the sound of shattering armor filling the air. Both warriors staggered, their weapons slipping from their hands and clattering uselessly to the ground.
With one final groan of defeat, they fell face-first onto the cold, blood-streaked floor. The butler stood over them, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. His expression remained calm, almost detached, as if the violence had been nothing more than a necessary task. Yet, there was a flicker of something—weariness, perhaps—hidden deep in his sharp gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the toll such battles took even on him. Their lifeless bodies were a grim testament to the butler’s overwhelming strength and skill.
For a moment, the battlefield fell eerily silent, the echoes of the violent clash still lingering in the air like the distant roll of thunder. The acrid stench of burnt metal and blood hung heavily, a suffocating reminder of the carnage. In the quiet aftermath, the soft drip of fluid from shattered armor and the faint crackle of damaged equipment filled the void, amplifying the weight of what had just occurred.
Jack, still lying among the debris and bodies, felt his breath catch as the butler turned his piercing gaze toward him. For a brief moment, their eyes met. In that instant, Jack saw something beyond the man’s deadly strength—a calm certainty, as though the butler already knew exactly what would happen next. Jack’s fear mixed with a sense of awe.
Lucius stood in the elevator, his face calm but impossible to read as he watched the chaos in front of him. The butler turned his sharp eyes toward Jack, looking at him like he could see right through him. Jack froze, his chest tight, unable to breathe as the old man took slow, deliberate steps toward him. The butler moved like a predator closing in on its prey, and Jack felt powerless to stop him.
"Leave him," Lucius ordered from the elevator, his voice sharp and firm. "He belongs here, with the filth and the dead. Let him stay where he deserves."
The butler paused, his intense stare still locked on Jack. It felt like he was silently deciding whether Jack was worth the effort. Each moment stretched out, heavy and unbearable. Finally, the butler sighed quietly and straightened up. Without saying a word, he turned back toward the elevator. His movements were smooth and calm, as though nothing had happened.
Reaching into his pocket, the butler pulled out a clean white handkerchief. Slowly and carefully, he wiped the blood from his hands, each motion deliberate and unhurried. It felt less like a simple act of cleaning and more like a ritual—an attempt to erase the memory of the violence or perhaps to distance himself from it. The act carried a strange weight, as though he was severing ties with the brutal scene behind him, returning to the calculated composure that defined him. Every motion was precise, almost like a ritual, as if he wasn’t just cleaning his hands but erasing the memory of the violence as well. The act felt strangely symbolic, like he was cutting ties with the scene behind him.
The butler bowed his head slightly, placing one hand over his chest in a formal gesture of respect to Lucius. Every move he made showed his discipline and complete loyalty. "As you wish, young master," he said, his voice calm and steady, yet carrying an edge that hinted at his unshakable determination.
He turned to the elevator’s controls and pressed them with the same precise care. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, and the quiet hum of the elevator rising marked the end of the confrontation. The space fell silent again, with only the faint metallic smell of blood lingering in the air. The scene felt heavy, the quiet serving as a stark reminder of the destruction and violence that had just occurred.