There were at least twenty people packed into the crumbling building, most of them positioned on the second floor, leaning over the shattered remains of the ceiling to peer down. The rest were scattered on the ground floor, weapons in hand—some crude and improvised, others clearly meant for killing. Their faces twisted with cruel anticipation, grins stretched wide like spectators in an arena waiting for blood to spill.
Malvin's sharp gaze settled on the source of the voice that had bellowed earlier. It was none other than Philip Crude, his imposing frame standing tall and proud near the center of the room. The demi-human wolfman's arms were outstretched as though he were welcoming a crowd to his stage. His wolfish grin gleamed under the dim, flickering lights strung around the place, he had the expression of someone who believed he had already won. Beside him stood a stocky, nervous dwarf, shifting uncomfortably and glancing at Malvin with barely concealed fear. It was clear the dwarf's unease stemmed directly from Malvin's presence.
"Probably weren't expecting this many, were you?" said the man who had led Malvin here, his voice dripping with a mix of mockery and excitement.
Malvin glanced at him over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. The man had traded his earlier pretense of nervousness for a sinister smirk—a grin so exaggerated it felt ripped straight from a poorly written villain in a book. He casually walked past Malvin and took his place beside Philip, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off his deceit.
"Looks like my acting wasn't all that convincing. He saw through me pretty quickly," the man admitted with a nonchalant shrug. "Still followed, though."
Philip chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. "Did you think this creep was leading you to a couple of low-level thugs?" His grin widened as he gestured around the room. "Nah, this here's an execution."
At his words, the gathered crowd erupted into cheers and jeers, their voices merging into a chaotic cacophony.
"Time to die, Guard!" someone shouted.
"You're gonna regret stepping in here!" another sneered.
The air was electric with bloodlust, and the noise swelled into an unintelligible roar.
Malvin's narrowed eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail—the numbers, their positions, their weapons. He didn't flinch one bit. His calm and focused composure stood in stark contrast to the frenzied mob surrounding him.
"Don't even think about running," casually said the man who had lured him here. Malvin turned slightly to see four thugs blocking the exit, each gripping lead pipes like they were waiting for an excuse to strike.
"You'll pay for that interruption back in the alley, shithead!" barked Philip, his eyes fixed on Malvin with barely contained rage. But through all the noise and taunts, Malvin didn't react. He just kept watching, his expression cold and calculating, his lack of fear aggravating Philip further.
"Trying to act tough, huh?" Philip muttered, his claws flexing at his sides. "Let's see how tough you are when they tear you apart." He raised his voice to a shout. "Get him, boys!"
The command sent a ripple of movement through the room. Six people on the ground floor surged forward, their weapons raised high, while more thugs from the second floor leapt down with heavy thuds.
But before any of them could reach him, six sharp cracks rang out in rapid succession.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The six charging thugs collapsed where they stood. Four of them crumpled lifelessly to the ground, blood pooling around their still bodies. The remaining two screamed in agony, clutching at their wounds and writhing helplessly on the floor.
The room froze. Every eye turned to Malvin, who lowered his smoking gun and looked down briefly at the bodies at his feet. His expression was as cold and focused as ever, his movements deliberate and precise.
"D-did he just...?" stammered one of the remaining thugs, his voice barely audible over the ringing silence.
"He did," another muttered, his voice trembling.
Even Philip seemed caught off guard, his wolfish grin faltering as he stared at Malvin. The sight of their supposed victim gunning down six men in the blink of an eye without a shred of hesitation had rattled all of them.
Malvin's icy gaze shifted upward, fixing on the rest of the gang. Without a word, he raised his gun again, the barrel pointing steadily at the crowd.
Panic broke out like a wave.
"Wha-what do we do?" one thug stammered.
"Don't just stand there! Charge him!" Philip roared, his voice snapping them out of their stupor. "He'll run out of ammo before you all drop!"
The thugs exchanged uneasy glances before nodding to each other, their fear evident in their movements. This time, they charged with less confidence, their earlier bravado replaced by hesitation.
Malvin fired his gun another six times in rapid succession, each shot finding its mark. The first volley targeted those wielding long weapons—planks, pipes, and anything else that could extend their reach. These weapons were hard to deal with, and Malvin's precision made short work of them, their bearers collapsing in heaps before they could close the distance.
Without missing a beat, he fired another four shots, this time aimed at the few thugs armed with sharp weapons. There weren't many to begin with, but now their numbers dwindled to just two. Knives and blades posed less of a threat individually, but in a group, they could turn the tide if left unchecked.
With only eight thugs left standing, one managed to navigate the clutter of bodies on the floor and lunged at Malvin with a jagged pipe. The swing came down hard, but Malvin sidestepped effortlessly, the pipe smashing into the ground with a metallic clang.
Click.
Malvin glanced at his pistol, his tongue clicking in mild irritation as the chamber ran dry.
"H-he's out of ammo!" yelled the thug, his voice rising with desperate hope.
The remaining thugs surged forward with renewed confidence, emboldened by what they saw as an opportunity.
Malvin raised an eyebrow, his voice calm and cold. "You think that helps you at all?"
Before the thug with the jagged pipe could react, Malvin's fist shot out like a bullet, slamming into his cheek with devastating force. The crack of bone snapping echoed through the room as the thug's body was sent hurtling back, collapsing lifelessly onto the floor. Malvin hadn't held back; the sheer power of his punch had broken the man's neck on impact.
The sudden, brutal display froze the other thugs in their tracks. Their momentum shattered, they stared at Malvin, wide-eyed and trembling.
Malvin didn't waste the moment. He surged forward, his boot driving into the chest of the nearest thug. The sound of ribs fracturing followed as the man's body crumpled, sending him flying backward into the group behind him. The pile of bodies caused a brief scramble as the remaining thugs tried to regain their footing.
Two of them regained their nerve and charged, one swinging a lead pipe in a wide diagonal arc toward Malvin's head, while another darted behind him, thrusting a knife toward his back simultaneously.
Malvin blocked the pipe with his left forearm, the impact barely causing him to flinch. At the same moment, the knife snapped uselessly against the back of his uniform, the blade splintering like brittle glass.
"Don't think we just wear these uniform's for decoration," Malvin said.
He shoved the pipe-wielding thug back with a flick of his forearm and spun on his heel, his backfist smashing into the face of the knife-wielding attacker. The thug's neck twisted unnaturally as he dropped dead on the spot. Without hesitation, Malvin followed through with a straight punch to the lead pipe thug's face. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, reducing the man's features to a bloody pulp as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
The last four thugs stood frozen in horror, their weapons trembling in their hands.
Malvin's gaze snapped to them, unyielding and cold.
One thug screamed and rushed forward, his knife glinting in the dim lights. Malvin stepped to the side, flipping his empty pistol in his hand and bringing it down in a crushing arc onto the man's skull. The thug dropped instantly, his head caving in from the force of the blow.
Another thug, armed with a wooden beam, swung toward Malvin's ribs. Malvin stepped back, dodging the strike and countered with a savage pistol whip to the man's jaw. The impact sent the thug spinning, his jaw nearly torn from his skull as he collapsed in a heap.
The two remaining thugs glanced at each other, their resolve shattering entirely. Dropping their weapons, they turned tail and bolted past Malvin, desperate to escape with their lives.
Malvin didn't so much as glance at them as they fled. Instead, he holstered his pistol with a smooth motion and pulled out his baton, letting it extend with a sharp click.
He leveled it at Philip, the dwarf, and the man who had lured him here.
"All of you are under arrest," Malvin said, his voice low and commanding. "Stand down."