At first glance, the fight looked entirely one-sided. Philip Crude was stronger, faster, tougher, and far more physically imposing. He didn't have formal training, but his overwhelming physical abilities made such details irrelevant. However, this wasn't Silas's first time facing him, and experience—along with desperation—had its own weight.
As the demi-human wolfman lunged, claws slicing through the air, Silas backstepped just in time, the sharp edges missing him by a hair's breadth. In the same fluid motion, Silas pivoted and lashed out with a spinning kick aimed at Philip's side. His boot connected with a dull thud, but the attack did little more than earn a low chuckle from Philip.
"You still think those little kicks are gonna do anything to me?" Philip sneered, his grin savage as he swiped at Silas's extended leg.
Silas barely managed to pull it back in time, his mind flashing to their last encounter. He had no intention of letting Philip get hold of him like that again. Without missing a beat, Silas chambered his leg and launched a sharp kick to Philip's chest, the force pushing the wolfman back a step.
"Well, these kicks are all I've got, aren't they?" Silas replied, retreating quickly and resetting his stance.
Philip growled in irritation, his sharp green eyes glinting with frustration. While it was undeniable that this version of Philip was far more dangerous, Silas couldn't help but feel like the old Philip, the one he and Malvin first encountered, was the better fighter. Back then, Philip didn't rely entirely on brute strength—he fought with a sense of strategy. Now, that refinement was gone, buried under raw aggression and arrogance.
"Quit jumping around!" Philip roared, rushing Silas again, his claws coming in a relentless barrage. Silas moved on instinct, weaving and sidestepping each slash, but the sheer speed and ferocity of the attacks pushed him to his limits. Sweat dripped down his brow as he narrowly avoided another claw aimed at his chest. He kept moving, kept dodging—until one claw finally caught him.
"Ugh!" Silas grunted as the blow grazed his shoulder, pain exploding through his body. He spun with the momentum, trying to lessen the impact, but the force still sent him stumbling. His knees nearly buckled as he clutched at his shoulder, grimacing.
*Of course it had to be that shoulder,* Silas thought bitterly, his hand instinctively pressing against the same shoulder that had been injured when he saved Malvin. The dull ache from that day now roared to life, burning like fire beneath his skin.
Philip loomed over him, his grin widening as he saw the officer faltering. "I'm not letting some weak fox pull the same shit that snake bastard did," he snarled, his claws flexing.
Silas had no idea what Philip was ranting about, and right now, he didn't care. He grit his teeth, forcing himself upright despite the searing pain, his focus narrowing on the immediate threat in front of him.
Meanwhile, Joshua watched from the sidelines, arms crossed and an amused smirk tugging at his lips. He couldn't help but admire Silas's style. It wasn't practical—relying solely on kicks was downright reckless, no matter how precise or well-timed they were. But there was something captivating about the sheer audacity of it, a certain flair that Joshua found oddly entertaining.
He hadn't had the chance to appreciate it last time, too focused on dealing with Reinhard. Now, with the fight unfolding in front of him, he mused aloud, "A shame, really." His voice was soft, almost wistful. "If I hadn't wasted my time making that failure a chi user, I might've taken him in instead," he added, his tone dripping with regretful amusement.
Joshua's musings were interrupted as the fight grew more brutal. Philip drove Silas back against a rusted metallic support beam, his claws flashing dangerously. He swiped at Silas's face, but the officer ducked, the claws scraping against the beam with a screech that echoed through the abandoned building. From the crouched position, Silas planted a hand on the ground and launched a powerful back kick aimed at Philip's torso. The wolfman barely flinched, absorbing the blow without so much as a grunt before retaliating with a vicious swipe. Silas rolled out of the way, barely avoiding being shredded.
"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Philip sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as he advanced.
Silas vaulted over a conveyor belt, landing on the other side as he shot back, "For as long as I need to and can!" His voice was strained but determined. Grabbing the splinters and broken bits of wood scattered across the conveyor, he hurled them at Philip's face. The wolfman growled, raising an arm to shield his eyes as the debris struck.
Seeing the opening, Silas darted forward. With a burst of momentum, he leapt onto the conveyor belt's edge, then kicked off and launched himself at the wall. Using it as a springboard, he spun mid-air, twisting his body three times before landing a precise, triple-spin kick straight to Philip's face. The impact was solid, sending a faint spray of blood from the wolfman's nose.
Silas allowed himself a fleeting grin, the minor victory fueling his resolve. But it was short-lived. Philip snarled, his hand shooting up to grab Silas's leg mid-air. The officer had no way to dodge or maneuver, leaving him helpless as Philip swung him like a ragdoll and hurled him into the nearest wall.
The impact was brutal. Silas's back hit the crumbling concrete with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground. Silas dropped to one knee, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep himself upright. His breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts, and every muscle in his body screamed for mercy. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, dripping down his temple and mixing with the sweat on his face. He planted one trembling hand on the ground, trying to force himself up, but his body wouldn't respond.
"Looks like this is it," Silas muttered through gritted teeth, his voice a mix of exhaustion and grim acceptance. His gaze lifted to Philip Crude, who stood over him like a predator savoring the final moment before the kill.
Philip wiped a smear of blood from his nose with a smug grin. "You put up a good fight," he said, his voice casual, as though they were discussing the weather. He chuckled darkly, flexing the claws of his right hand. "But it's time to die."
Silas's lips curled into a weak, defiant grin. His teeth were stained red, and his vision blurred, but he forced himself to meet Philip's gaze. "Yeah," he murmured as the claw came down, his voice tinged with resignation. "It really is."