[Author Notes]: I am alive and well. For those asking. Just been busy with the circumstances of life. Don't expect another chapter anytime soon. However, just know the ones to come is going to be epic.
A hail of bullets rains down upon me with lethal coordination and deadly precision. The sheer volume of firepower is overwhelming, more than my defenses can handle. Bullet after bullet breaches my protective measures, tearing into my flesh. My lower abdomen is riddled with holes dangerously close to vital organs like my liver and kidney. My hands, once my greatest tools for deflecting blows, are now mangled and bloody, fingers twitching uselessly after failing to divert several projectiles.
Despite the agony surging through my body, my focus remains unbroken. Each breath is shallow, every movement calculated. I refuse to let a single grunt of pain or hint of panic escape my lips. My eyes remain locked onto my adversaries, analyzing their formation with cold precision. I know this relentless rate of fire cannot last forever; magazines will empty, barrels will overheat, and in that moment, they will be vulnerable. I can already see the signs: some of them shifting slightly, preparing to reload, while others stand ready to cover their allies.
The instant I hear the telltale clicking of empty chambers, I seize the opportunity. A potion appears in my arm, and with a swift motion, I down it, feeling its rejuvenating energy coursing through my veins. Without a second's hesitation, I charge forward like a beast unleashed, ignoring the bullets that graze and puncture my skin. Their impact is dulled by my determination, my focus singular—reach their front lines and break their formation.
I close the distance with ferocious speed, my body moves faster than they can adjust. My blade flashes in a brutal arc, severing the head of the closest gunman. Blood erupts like a fountain from his neck, and as the head drops to hip level, I pivot on my heel and kick it with all my might. The severed head rockets through the air like a grotesque cannonball, colliding with the gunmen at the center of the leftward formation. The impact is devastating—a macabre explosion of bones, flesh, and blood that showers the nearby enemies with gore. Shrapnel from the skull fragments and the ruptured brain tissue pepper their faces, leaving them horrified and momentarily stunned.
Seizing their shock, I press the advantage, launching myself into their ranks like a force of nature. The enemy recoils, their morale shattered by the brutality of my assault. The center group and rightward formation was quick to recover, their guns barking to life once more, spewing a new hail of bullets in a desperate attempt to pin me down. I weave through their line of fire, each movement fluid and precise, avoiding the most lethal shots while letting minor one glance off my armor.
As I dart sideways to evade the barrage, I hurl a flurry of shuriken's with pinpoint accuracy toward the disoriented leftward formation. The blades whistle through the air, embedding into exposed limbs, cutting throats, and piercing eyes. Though none of these projectiles deliver a killing blow outright, they leave my foes crippled, clutching at their wounds in agony. Rendering the leftward formation helpless, I shifted target going for the rightward formation.
With a sudden burst of speed, I dash toward them, positioning myself so that the leftward group is directly in their line of fire. The maneuver forces the rightward gunmen to hesitate, unsure of whether to shoot and risk hitting their own men. Leaving only the center group the ability to continue firing, but with such little forces remaining there mostly misses.
Knowing that their guns are useless amidst the chaos. Desperation flickers in their eyes as they switch from ranged to melee combat, their hands reaching for their knives in a last-ditch effort. Their movement prompts the center group to halt their shooting as well, opting to draw their blades and close in for a direct confrontation.
The tension in the air thickens, each of them now aware that the tide has turned. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I step forward, my sword gleaming with the promise of more bloodshed. The battle has shifted into my domain—the domain of close-quarters combat, where their numbers mean little, with the advantages in my disposal.
With a roar that echoed through the battlefield, I launched myself at the first member of the rightward group. My blade flashed in a series of deadly arcs, each strike a blur of lethal precision. I bypassed the man's knife with a swift sidestep, my blade carving a gruesome gash across his face. He screamed as the wound opened, severing the joint that connected his jaw to his skull. The sight was grotesque, the lower half of his face hanging loosely, his scream garbled and raw—a sight that would send chills down the spine of any normal person. But to me, the architect of this carnage, it was nothing more than another step in my dance of death.
Unfazed by the chaos I was unleashing, I pressed forward, cleaving through anyone who dared to come within reach of my blade. Three of his comrades rushed to his aid, desperately trying to block my assault. They succeeded in deflecting my sword's slashes, their blades ringing out as they parried the blows, but they were not prepared for the axe that I swung with brutal force. It cleaved into the head of their ally on the right, splitting it like firewood, a wet crunch filling the air as blood and brain matter splattered across their horrified faces.
The man at the center, realizing the hopelessness of blocking my savage onslaught, turned to his comrade on the left, leaving him to face me alone while he braced for my next move. Little did he know, I never intended to strike him in a predictable way. My plan was far more vicious—I intended to carve them both apart in one swift motion.
In an instant, I dismissed my sword into my inventory and repositioned myself for maximum leverage. With both hands gripping the handle of my axe, I channeled every ounce of my strength, my momentum, and my mastery of technique into a single cleaving strike. The force behind it was equivalent to that of two peak humans, honed to a perfect arc of destruction. The blade sliced through both men with such flawless precision that they stood there, slack-jawed and stunned, their brains not yet registering that they had been split in half.
But I wasn't done. Even as their bodies wavered and began to fall, I seized their limp forms, smashing them together with a bone-crunching impact that exploded their heads like watermelons under a hammer. The spray of blood and gore painted my armor a deep crimson, and under the cold gaze of the full moon, I must have looked like a demon, a harbinger of death come to claim their souls.
The sight was too much for the remaining gunmen. Their morale tumbling down like a house of cards, and the professional composure they once held crumbled to dust. Fear twisted their faces, turning them from seasoned warriors into terrified animals. The will to fight drained from their eyes, and in a mad scramble, they broke ranks, fleeing in all directions like sheep scattered by a wolf.
With the remnants of their force running in a blind panic, I pursued those who dared come closest, cutting them down without mercy, my movements swift and ruthless. My blade cleaved through them effortlessly, each strike precise and unrelenting, adding to the growing mound of bodies beneath my feet. The blood of my enemies soaked the ground, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of death.
Standing alone on a mountain of corpses, I took a moment to survey my handiwork. The job was done—no, it was more than done—it was a slaughter. Just as I was about to turn and make my way forward, the stillness of the night was shattered. Four figures lunged at me from the woods, their silhouettes barely visible against the darkness.
Their eyes gleamed with lethal intent, and in that brief instant, I knew that these new adversaries were no ordinary soldiers. The way they moved, their silent approach, and their synchronized attack—all of it spoke of a higher level of skill, precision, and discipline. This was no random ambush; these were the scouting ninjas.
I jump back, dodging their attack and creating some distance. They rush after me, but their formation crumbles as they close in. That split-second gap is all I need. With a burst of speed, I blitz toward the closest ninja and swing my blade with ruthless precision, decapitating him in one swift motion. The force of my strike doesn't just sever the head; it sends it rocketing upward in a gruesome display, the surrounding flesh exploding from the impact.
Before the head even begins to fall, I'm already in front of the next ninja, my sword thrusting straight through his chest. The blade pierces his heart effortlessly, his body collapsing before he even realizes he's dead.
The remaining two ninjas seize this opportunity, their blades slicing through the air toward me. I react instantly, grabbing the freshly slain ninja's corpse and using it as a shield, smacking both attackers with its weight. The force sends one of them stumbling backward, the impact heavy enough to make him cough up blood as he crashes into a tree, denting the trunk. The second ninja recovers quickly, but he's met with a brutal punch to the face, followed by a vicious elbow strike that caves his face in, dropping him to the ground.
As the fourth body hits the ground, lifeless, my sense of danger screams at its peak. I didn't even think—my body moved on its own, confronting something that knocked the sword out of my hand. The person didn't relent, sending a barrage of deadly slashes. I managed to avoid some, but the rest left marks on my armor.
"Impressive," the man said. "No wonder they sent me."
He continued his assault with deadly precision, aiming for my vital points. I dodged and blocked his strikes with my axe, but I knew it wouldn't last. The swiftness of his attacks would eventually overwhelm me.
I leveraged my movement to create some distance between us. However, he was just as fast, leaving me little room to escape. Still, it was enough to finally turn the tables. When he slashed at my chest, I confronted him squarely with my axe. Tilting it to the side, I allowed his sword to graze my shoulder plate. He might have landed the first hit, but I was ready to strike back, and hard. I bashed my entire body into his, sending him tumbling backward. This gave me an opening to land a solid headshot.
Despite the blow, he didn't falter, retaliating with an overhead slash that forced me to retreat. Then, he lunged forward, aiming for my heart. I diverted his strike upward, only to realize too late that I had fallen into his trap. He brought his sword down in a brutal overhead strike. I raised the shaft of my axe to defend—a grave mistake. His blade sliced clean through, leaving me unarmed.
The attack didn't end; there were still forces left. One of them slashed at my left chest plate, leaving only a scratch—the residual energy was too weak to cause significant damage. However, the man capitalized on the position, thrusting his sword into my chest and leaving another dent in the armor.
I couldn't just stand still and let him kill me. In a desperate move, I grabbed his sword, allowing it to tear into my flesh. With my free hand, I struck him with my entire body weight, landing another blow to his head. This time, I made sure to disorient him.
The result wasn't as effective as I'd hoped, but he was clearly not fine. I seized the moment of weakness, delivering blow after blow to his body. He tried to block, but his focus wavered, leaving him vulnerable. My strike landed on his liver, and he grunted in pain. Still, he summoned the strength to launch another attack.
I didn't let it happen. Using a remaining piece of wood, I shoved it into his abdomen, puncturing straight through.
He screamed in pain and determination, swinging his sword with all his might at my neck. I ducked just in time, countering with a punch to the wood lodged in his abdomen, forcing it deeper and widening the wound.
I expected aguish cries, but he held it firm, leaving only a grunted. 'This man mental is tough.' I thought, as I uppercut him, sending him flying to a tree.
Once that was done, I grabbed my sword, ready to finish him off. To my surprise, the man was already in a stance, prepared for another round.
"I must admit, I underestimated you," he said in a hoarse voice. "But don't think this victory is the end. I will come back, and next time, I will kill you."
I scoffed, dismissing his threat as empty and without substance. Without much thought, I lunged forward for the kill, aiming a slash at his neck. He blocked and attempted a desperate, suicidal counterattack, one meant to take us both down. He allowed my sword to pierce deep into his chest, and with his final breath, he grabbed hold of my sword and thrust a blade hidden at his hips.
I would have been a dead man if I hadn't anticipated it. After all, a warrior ready to die would never go down without trying to take his foe with him. There was no hesitation—I released my grip on the sword and tilted my body just enough for the blade to puncture my shoulder instead of my chest, avoiding a mortal wound.
He attempted another stab, but I was already moving. My arm looped around his head, and with a swift, brutal motion, I snapped his neck. His expression to the very end had no fear. Either he is a warrior that experienced death many times or as he said, death is not the ending to his story. Whatever is the case, I am ready to kill once more, when the moment arises.
==========
It has been two days since Kirigi was dispatched to eliminate the plague gnawing at the foundation of my organization. We underestimated his capabilities, as well as the resilience of the Iron Fist and his allies. The situation in New York has grown precarious, spiraling beyond mere disruption. These so-called "heroes" are no longer a nuisance—they are a genuine threat to the order we have established.
Thus, today's meeting with Wilson Fisk is of paramount importance. While the man may be ordinary by some measures, his influence runs deeper in this city than even that of The Hand. His extensive roots within New York's infrastructure could prove invaluable in locating and eradicating the pests infesting this city.
Addressing the room, I spoke in my usual calm and measured tone, ensuring my words carried the weight of authority. "The enemies we face are numerous. We can no longer afford to let them roam unchecked. I am calling upon all members of The Hand and our esteemed guest, Mr. Fisk, to deliberate on this matter. Together, we will ensure that our dominance remains unchallenged."
I observed the reactions of each individual present, carefully gauging their expressions to assess their opinions. When my eyes fell upon Fisk, it was apparent that he was not yet fully invested in the alliance. His demeanor suggested skepticism, but this was of little concern. His cooperation would come, whether willingly or by necessity.
Fisk, in his characteristically deliberate manner, responded. "Indeed, this ragtag group is becoming increasingly troublesome. Eliminating them is essential, but I will not involve myself without due cause. So, Madame Gao, what is your plan?"
His question was expected, yet revealing such details prematurely would be unwise. Maintaining my composed exterior, I replied, "The trap has already been set. However, I will share the specifics only once you demonstrate sufficient commitment to the cause."
My words left little room for maneuvering. The alliance remains hollow until both sides show their willingness to act decisively. Internally, I wondered whether Fisk would take the gamble or retreat, choosing to play the opportunist instead.
His expression hardened as he weighed the proposition. "Your offer is risky," he admitted, "but I shall agree to your terms—provided mine are met. If you accept, I will commit to your plan."
His response was not entirely aligned with my expectations, but it was sufficient for my purposes. A faint smile crept across my lips. "State your terms, Mr. Fisk, and let us ensure a harmonious partnership."
The room settled into silence as I awaited his terms. The game had begun, and the pieces were now in motion.