They hid themselves within one of the houses at the start of what used to be driveway, carefully peeing out the windows for the approaching gang. Not long after, a group of gangsters appeared at the intersection.
They were dressed in much the same fashion as were the people with him, the only way to tell them apart were the many gang markings they have added to their outfits, or skin, themselves. A skull with a top hat and a monocle, with a cross and a cane in the background.
Some hid their faces but most didn't bother. The group was a mix of black, white and latino men, including a single black woman. Not the Black Disciples then. Michael released a breath, relief flooding him. It was hardly relevant now but it was good to know that after the day was over, the residents wouldn't incur a vendetta from a gang with ten thousand members.
Michael counter a total of twenty gang members, including the woman accompanying them. They carried a variety of weapon, several of them armed with short swords themselves. A couple held torches, their means of setting fires without needing to start them everywhere they went. The last two had sacks slung over their should, clinking with every step. Likely bottles holding whatever they used as accelerant.
Despite all their preparation, the situation didn't look good for Michael's militia. Their enemies were better armed and more numerous. The only thing they had on their side, and even that might not be true, was morale. He doubted the gangsters would stand and fight if things went wrong, but then against, who knew how his own group of townsfolk might react to a battle.
Closing his eyes, Michael entered his mind. What he was about to do bothered him greatly, but he was not willing to let his people die holding back an ace. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he called out to his prisoner, "I need your help."
An amused Oh was the only response he received, "Someone's going to die if you don't help."
Andrei smirked, "Someone's going to die regardless of whether I help. I can only ensure that somebody is not you."
"Are you really that much of a monster? You will let people that follow us die?" Michael said, shocked at how low his dark self has sunk.
"I am not a miracle worker Michael, taking on twenty men is beyond me. I can make sure we win, but I can't do that babysitting a dozen blue collar workers in the first fight of their life," defended himself Andrei.
Frustration was welling up in Michael, he had not prepared enough. He needed to recruit more people, make traps, build more barricades, prepare better weaponry. With spears maybe, yes spears...
"Michael, don't drift off, your men need you," said Andrei.
Michael shook off his doubts, they were useless, his path was set. Usually he would have taken the time to wonder about why Andrei was so supportive, but he was right, it was time to focus on the task at hand.
He returned to the reality just in time, the last of the gangster were disappearing from their view, entering the dead end, where they would be trapped from escaping as a group.
Michael silently gestured to Gabriel, signalling him to follow, who turned around and spread the word. Making his way out of the house and onto the street, Michael attempted to keep a low profile, letting the gang enter deeper into their trap.
When the gang has reached the end of the street and started unpacking their sacks of glass bottles, Michael and his militia revealed themselves. They spread across the street, a makeshift wall of bodies blocking off all exits.
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The gangsters were caught off guard, but they quickly recovered and readied their weapons. Michael raised his hand in a gesture of peace, hoping to avoid bloodshed.
"Listen, we don't want to fight," Michael shouted. "We just want to protect our town. If you leave now, we won't pursue you."
The gangsters laughed, their leader, a large latino man, stepped forward. "You think you can scare us with your pitchforks and shovels? We are Harrison Gents, and we don't take orders from anyone."
Michael didn't recognize the name, but he knew that they were not here to negotiate. The leader drew his sword and dropped his torch, stepping forward with outstretched hands. His mannerisms reminded Michael of Andrei. He was trying to intimidate them.
"Who wants to die first?" he shouted.
No one from Michael's militia stepped forward, but Michael smelled an opportunity. Were he to let Andrei out right now, they would seize an advantage, removing the gang's leader as well as undermining their morale before the real battle started.
Michael stepped out of the line towards the gang leader, much to his amusement. Gabriel hissed at him, trying to stop him from endangering their plan like this. He probably came to the same conclusion Michael did, only he was more worried about losing their leader, rather than hopeful about removing the enemy's. But he didn't know about Andrei, neither did the gangster before him.
The man was about a hand shorter than Michael, but much more bulkier, built like a bull. His body was covered in tattoos crawling all over his skin. He even had tattoos up his neck, reaching his face.
As Michael made his way closer to the gang leader, he closed his eyes, diving into his mind. Reaching the cabinet, he prepared to turn the key.
As soon as he heard the first sign of gangster's goading voice, he turned the key in the lock.
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Andrei inhaled deeply, the crisp autumn air filling his lungs. He could smell the smoke and ash, signs of violence about to come. He was free again. The feeling was unlike anything he could describe, a deepest ecstasy, a forbidden pleasure.
His dark eyes adjusted to the blinding midday light, warming his skin with a familiar heat, not unlike a warm embrace. He felt alive again, ready to take on whatever fate had in store for him this time.
He shifted his neck and felt the tightening muscles immediately relax. How great it was to have control over his body once again. He tried to remember what it used to feel like before something from the obelisk had changed him, but instead he could only feel this newfound source of power that seemed to course through his veins, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. An invisible force, ready to be used against any adversaries that may stand in his way.
Focusing on the enemy in front of him, he observed the man showing off like a peacock, entertaining his followers.
He unslung the baseball bat from a hook at his belt, letting it drop to the ground with a clunk. He would need no weapon for this. The man gave him an unimpressed look, obviously thinking Andrei was going to certain death.
Andrei approached the gang leader, his strides long and confident, eyes locked onto the man's every movement. The man's grin faltered as he realized that this was not a mere militia member he was facing, but someone much more dangerous. The gangster raised his sword, ready to strike at any moment. Andrei smiled, a cold, calculating grin that sent shivers down the spines of those around him.
The gangster charged at Andrei, his sword raised high. Andrei waited until the last second, then dodged to the side, his body moving like a serpent. The gangster's sword missed its mark, striking the ground with a loud clang.
Andrei didn't waste any time. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the gang leader's jaw. The man stumbled back, clutching his face in pain. Andrei followed up with a quick jab to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The gangster doubled over in pain, but before he could recover, Andrei delivered a swift strike to his wrist, sending his sword clattering across the street.
The gang leader recovered quickly, assuming a boxing stance and throwing a jab at Andrei. It was obvious that he was far more familiar with fist fighting than with a sword. But Andrei was too fast for him. He dodged the first jab and countered with one of his own, clipping the gang filth's forehead. The gang leader stumbled, surprised at the force behind a simple graze.
Andrei didn't hesitate. He followed through with a barrage of punches, each one landing with a sickening thud, pummeling his enemy. He made sure to not break the man yet, he probably wouldn't have another chance to fight one on one today.
The gang leader tried to fight back, but it was clear he was outmatched. While his blows were strong, they were uncoordinated and slow, where Andrei's were precise and powerful. The gangster stumbled back, blood trickling down his face, his breathing labored. He knew he was beaten, but he refused to go down without a fight.
The gang leader fought back with wild desperation, but Andrei easily parried his blows, his movements fluid and precise. He could feel the energy coursing through his body, the rush of adrenaline fueling his every move. This was where he belonged, in the midst of a battle, fighting and reveling in the sensations bombarding his body.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the gang leader began to tire. His punches became slower and less coordinated, and Andrei saw his chance. He feinted left, then delivered a crushing blow to the man's ribs, sending him crashing to his knees.
With a burst of energy, the gang leader launched himself at Andrei, aiming for a tackle. But Andrei was ready for him. He sidestepped the attack, and with a swift motion, grabbed the gangster's arm and twisted it behind his back. The man screamed in pain, but Andrei showed no mercy. He applied more pressure, and with a loud snap, the gangster's arm broke.
The man fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Andrei stood over him, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He had won this fight, but he knew it was only the beginning. There were more enemies to face, more battles to fight. But for now, he would revel in this victory.
The gangsters watched in horror as their leader was beaten into submission. They hesitated, unsure of what to do. They had never seen anyone fight like Andrei before. He moved with an incredible speed and precision, striking with deadly accuracy.
Time for one final spectacle. He turned back to his defeated adversary, who was nursing his broken arm. The pain would not last long, he would make sure of that. Lifting his leg, he delivered a powerful stomp straight onto the gangster's neck. With a sickening crunch it gave way under Andrei's boot.
"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed his jailer turned temporary prisoner.
He had been locked away for too long, trapped in his own mind, unable to control his body. But now, he was free again.
The gangsters looked on in shock as their leader lay lifeless on the ground, his neck broken. Andrei turned to face them, his eyes blazing with a fierce determination.
"Who's next?" he growled, his voice echoing through the streets. The gangsters looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They had never faced anyone like him before. But they knew they couldn't back down. They were in too deep, and they couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness.
With a war cry, the gangsters charged at Andrei, their weapons raised high. Andrei stood his ground, his body tensed and ready for the onslaught. The gangsters attacked from all sides, their blows raining down on him like a hailstorm. Andrei retreated, dodging and weaving, his movements fluid and graceful but the the hail of blows was too much for him to mount any kind of counterattack.
Just a moment later, his own group of fighters clashed into the center of the battlefield. The mess of bodies restricted his movements, but now free from being relentlessly assaulted, he focused his attention on taking his enemies out one by one, shifting the numbers advantage to the militia's favor.
He took them down, his fists and feet striking with deadly accuracy. He moved with a ferocity that left the gangsters stunned and terrified. Their attacks either missed, seemingly never aimed at the right place, or were deflected, Andrei using his hands to redirect the force of their blows. They had never faced anyone like him before.
Before long, the last of the gangsters lay at his feet, his body broken and defeated. Andrei stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion, surrounded by the defeated gangsters. He could feel the bruises and cuts on his body, a testament to the intensity of the battle. He looked around, assessing the damage. There were casualties on both sides, but the gangsters had suffered more losses.
The street was littered with broken weapons and overturned tables, evidence of the brutal fight that had taken place. Bodies lay sprawled across the pavement, their blood mixing with the dirt and debris. The smell of death hung in the air, a sickening reminder of the brutality of war.
Andrei surveyed the scene with a detached eye, his mind numb to the horror of it all. He had fought many battles before, and each time, it became easier to ignore the screams of the wounded and the smell of blood.
He turned to his militia, who were watching him with a mixture of awe and fear. "We've won this battle," he said, his voice strong and confident. "But the war is far from over. We must remain vigilant and ready for whatever comes next."
His people stared at him, their faces showing a variety of emotions. Some were in awe at what he had done, others looked terrified of the casual brutality with which he carried himself.
Gabriel returned them to reality, shaking their shoulders and reminding them that there was still more that could be done for the town. He spared Andrei a single nod, eyes filled with respect.
Some decided to leave, wanting no more of this slaughter, already marked for the rest of their lives. Others stayed, mostly ones that looked at Andrei with awe in their expressions.
They knew that their fight was far from over. But they also knew that they had a leader they could trust, someone who would fight with them every step of the way. First in and last out.
Andrei looked out over the town, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. He knew that there would be more battles today. But he was ready for whatever fate had in store for him. He was alive again, and nothing could stop him now.