Yipsiv was like a blur, darting around the factory's towering machines, his boots slapping against the metal floors as Nathaniel's shots rang out, each one missing by mere inches. The air around them seemed to hum with the tension of a hunter and his prey, the factory's lights casting sharp shadows that flickered with every movement.
Nathaniel's eyes tracked Yipsiv's every motion, his pistol aimed with precision, ready for the next shot. He squeezed the trigger again, the bullet speeding through the air, but Yipsiv had already launched himself into a roll, dodging just in time. With a swift twist, Yipsiv planted his foot, propelling himself forward in a rapid dash.
Nathaniel's next shot barely grazed the edge of Yipsiv's coat as he zoomed past, the force of the bullet ricocheting off the metal walls with a deafening clang. Yipsiv's eyes flickered with a grin, eyes gleaming like a hunter locking in on its target.
With a sudden burst of speed, Yipsiv launched himself into the air, using the momentum to deliver a brutal, midair kick straight to Nathaniel's chest. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, sending Nathaniel stumbling backward. He staggered but didn't fall, firing another quick shot as he retreated.
Yipsiv barely had time to react. With lightning reflexes, he raised his gauntlet just in time to deflect the bullet, the impact ringing against the hardened material. The shot sent a jolt of force through his arm, but he didn't falter. He landed with a crouch, his legs skidding across the floor to maintain balance before standing tall again.
"Close shot, ain't gonna lie, partner," Yipsiv grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he straightened up, eyeing Nathaniel with renewed focus. "But missin' is embarrassin'."
Nathaniel, though winded, straightened himself, a smirk curling on his lips. "And I ain't plannin' on lettin' ya make a fool outta me, either."
The factory buzzed around them, the sounds of machines whirring as the two locked eyes, waiting for the next move.
Nathaniel's eyes never wavered from Yipsiv. The factory was alive with the hiss of steam and the clanging of machinery, but it was as if everything had fallen away. There was only Yipsiv now—his former partner, now his target.
He could feel his heart pounding, but his face remained an unreadable mask. He knew this was it. No more games, no more tricks. The only thing left was the inevitable conclusion.
"I really don't want to do this," Nathaniel muttered under his breath, the words almost drowned by the sound of his pistols clicking into place. "But you left me no choice."
Without hesitation, Nathaniel raised his pistols. They gleamed in the dim factory light, deadly and precise. With a single, fluid motion, he spun the weapons on his fingers, catching them smoothly as he reloaded. The rhythm was flawless—an extension of his skill, the practiced actions that had become second nature.
Yipsiv's eyes narrowed as Nathaniel took his stance. He wasn't going to make it easy. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, like the silence before a storm. He tightened his grip on his cutlass and shotgun, prepared to dodge the first shots that would inevitably come. The two of them had been partners once, but now… now they were enemies, standing on the precipice of their final confrontation.
Nathaniel's hand tightened on his pistols, and then—
Bang. Bang.
Two shots rang out, slicing through the stillness, cutting the air between them. Yipsiv's eyes tracked the bullets as they came toward him. With a swift, fluid motion, he leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the first, and the second barely grazing the edge of his coat as it passed by. His cutlass was out now, the blade gleaming as he swung it in a wide arc, deflecting a third bullet that came too close to his chest.
Nathaniel's eyes flickered with approval, but there was no time for words. Yipsiv was already on the move again, his footfalls light and precise, his body shifting through the factory like a shadow. His shotgun was up, but Nathaniel was already moving, a blur of motion as he dashed to the side, evading Yipsiv's next shot.
The air was alive with the sound of gunfire. The bullets whizzed by, some of them ricocheting off the metal walls of the factory, others narrowly missing their marks. Nathaniel darted around the factory like a predator, his eyes always fixed on Yipsiv, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Yipsiv's cutlass flashed as he swiped it through the air, a deadly arc meant to drive Nathaniel back. But Nathaniel was quicker, always a step ahead, dodging the strike with an effortless roll before getting back to his feet in a flash. The two of them were locked in an intricate dance—one that was about precision, timing, and speed.
Nathaniel didn't let up. He fired another round of shots, the rhythm like a pulse, fast and relentless. Yipsiv deflected one shot with the flat of his blade, his eyes scanning the area for an escape route. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. He was fast, but Nathaniel was faster, always in the right place at the right time.
The factory was becoming a maze of metal and smoke, the floor littered with debris from the impact of their attacks. Sparks flew from broken machinery, and the air grew thick with the acrid scent of burnt oil and gunpowder.
Yipsiv dashed to the side, keeping his distance, hoping for a break in the barrage of bullets. But Nathaniel was relentless. He slid under a steel beam, coming up on the other side with his guns trained on Yipsiv. The world seemed to freeze for a moment—the two of them locked in a silent standoff, their bodies coiled and ready for the next strike.
Yipsiv's heart was pounding, but his mind was clear. He had to think fast—he couldn't let Nathaniel take control of this fight.
Then it came—the opening he had been waiting for. Nathaniel's gun jammed momentarily, just enough time for Yipsiv to close the gap between them. He leapt forward, using his cutlass in a blur of motion, aiming for Nathaniel's side. But Nathaniel was ready.
With a flick of his wrist, Nathaniel drew his second pistol, aiming it at Yipsiv's chest as he pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet struck Yipsiv's gauntlet, the force knocking him back just as he was about to land the blow. He staggered, the metal of his gauntlet vibrating from the impact. But he quickly recovered, his eyes burning with fury as he swung his shotgun up, aiming at Nathaniel with deadly intent.
But Nathaniel was already gone. He had vanished into the smoke, his footsteps echoing as he moved silently across the factory. Yipsiv's instincts screamed at him to turn, to move, to react, but it was too late.
Nathaniel reappeared from behind a pillar, his pistols raised, his gaze sharp. Yipsiv barely had time to bring his shotgun up before Nathaniel fired once again.
BANG.
The bullet crashed into the side of Yipsiv's gauntlet, causing him to stagger again. But Nathaniel wasn't done. The moment Yipsiv tried to regain his footing, Nathaniel dove forward, a blur of motion, using the momentum to force himself into a roll. His body came to a stop in the perfect position, just behind Yipsiv, who was still reeling from the blast.
In a split second, Nathaniel brought his violin case into play. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked it open, revealing a custom-built firearm nestled inside. The barrel glowed briefly with a dangerous energy, the temperature in the air shifting as he leveled it at Yipsiv's back.
The world seemed to slow down. Yipsiv turned, his eyes widening in realization, but it was too late.
Nathaniel fired.
The explosion was deafening. The world seemed to shudder with the force of it. Yipsiv was blasted off his feet, his body hurled backward like a ragdoll. The shockwave from the blast shook the factory to its core, rattling the walls and sending dust and debris flying into the air. Yipsiv's body was tossed through the air, his back slamming into the cold concrete floor, the wind knocked out of him.
For a moment, everything was still. The smoke from the blast lingered in the air, the sound of Yipsiv's body hitting the floor echoing through the factory. Nathaniel stood motionless, his pistols still in hand, his eyes scanning the wreckage.
Yipsiv lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his body bruised and battered from the explosion. His cutlass lay discarded on the floor, his shotgun barely clutched in his hand.
Nathaniel stepped forward, his boots echoing in the silence, and lowered his pistols. He stared at his fallen former partner, his face impassive.
"Sorry, Yipsiv," he said, his voice distant. "But you were never going to make it out of this victorious."
Yipsiv's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, but he couldn't move. His entire body ached, his mind foggy from the blast. He tried to lift his head, but the pain was unbearable.
"Do it," Yipsiv gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Finish it."
Despite Yipsiv's desperate plea, Nathaniel stood unwavering, his expression unreadable.
"I'm afraid this battle isn't finished the way you expect..." Nathaniel said calmly, lowering his pistols back into their holsters, his fingers moving with practiced ease. With a soft click, the violin case snapped back into place, the weapon now secured on his back.
"I don't kill," he continued, his voice firm. "Not as a part of the Phoenix Crew." He gazed down at Yipsiv, still lying in the wreckage, battered and broken.
Yipsiv let out a rasping laugh, coughing harshly from the explosion's impact. His voice was thick with mockery, though there was a hint of pain in his words.
"Hah... what a fool you are," Yipsiv croaked, his grin barely visible through the blood on his lips. "Showin' mercy to someone who tried to end ya. You've gone soft. Can't even finish the job when it's right in front of ya."
Yipsiv, having come to terms with his loss, let out a raspy laugh, the sound echoing through the empty factory. His voice was a low, mocking drawl, tinged with bitterness.
Yipsiv let out a rough, gravelly laugh, the sound grating like a rusty hinge. "You'll regret this, Nate. Mark my words," he drawled, a wicked grin creeping across his battered face. "Now, go on and grab that damn key, and get yer damn friend. That monkey's been locked up longer than a rattlesnake in a jar. He's prolly gone mad by now." He jerked his chin toward the iron-barred cage where Tarot was still stuck, eyes cold and unyielding.
Nathaniel didn't respond. His gaze lingered for a moment on the locked cage, then he turned away, focusing on the key ahead of him. He moved deliberately, his boots scraping softly against the metal floor as he walked toward the location.
Meanwhile, Yipsiv, despite his bruised and battered body, quietly reloaded his pistol with an almost casual precision. His eyes burned with determination, his hand steady as he gripped the weapon. With a swift motion, he leveled the barrel at Nathaniel's back, his finger hovering over the trigger.
In that moment, Nathaniel's senses flared. His eyes glowed red, a soft pulse of crimson light that spread like fire. He sensed the danger just before the gunshot, his body moving in response before Yipsiv even pulled the trigger.
Everything around him stilled, and in an instant, the world seemed to drain of color, turning a dull, lifeless grey. The hum of the factory machinery, the distant clank of chains—it all slowed, like a song played at half-speed. Time itself seemed to freeze, leaving everything suspended in the air, just for a fraction of a moment.
Nathaniel, untouched by the slow-motion grip of time, moved with eerie precision. His boots didn't scrape the floor—they glided, as if he were skating on air. The bullet Yipsiv fired hung suspended in mid-air, its trajectory frozen. The light from the ceiling flickered as it too seemed trapped in time, like a photograph captured in the middle of a heartbeat. Nathaniel's eyes flicked to the bullet, his focus sharp.
In one fluid motion, Nathaniel zipped across the room, his body blurring with speed. He circled around the bullet, its path frozen, but his own movements unhindered. He moved behind Yipsiv, the world still locked in its slow-motion prison. Nathaniel hovered for a moment behind Yipsiv's motionless form, watching the slow tremor in his opponent's muscles as he tried to move, to react. But Yipsiv was nothing more than a statue, his hand still gripping the gun, his expression frozen in a silent sneer.
Nathaniel towered over him now, his presence overwhelming. With a swift, calculated motion, Nathaniel raised his own pistol and aimed the muzzle above Yipsiv's forehead. The air between them was thick with tension, the stillness in the room deafening. Yipsiv, stuck in the midst of his own futile attempt to shoot, remained unaware of Nathaniel's move—trapped in time's unyielding grip.
The world flickered as time began to shift back into motion. The factory returned to life, the air rushing back into place as if nothing had changed. The machinery hummed loudly once more, and the distant clank of chains filled the silence. But Yipsiv was still standing there, his gun idle, his face frozen in terror as Nathaniel's pistol remained pressed against his forehead.
With a final, deliberate movement, Nathaniel released the hold on his power, and time resumed its normal flow. The bullet Yipsiv had fired clattered into a nearby contraption, making a soft, insignificant sound. But Yipsiv found himself at Nathaniel's mercy, his gun now a useless tool in his hand, the fight over before it had even truly begun.
Nathaniel's gaze was unwavering, his grip on the pistol steady. He hadn't shot. He didn't need to.
Nathaniel's face remained stoic as Yipsiv, now realizing the situation, went pale, his eyes wide in disbelief. "You learned it... The Forbidden Technique of Tempo? Well, I'll be damned... I reckon you win, old partner." His voice was hoarse, mixed with a tinge of resignation.
Without hesitation, Nathaniel swiftly kicked Yipsiv in the neck, sending the cowboy crashing into unconsciousness, finishing their long-standing duel with one final blow.
Nathaniel, breathing evenly, turned to the iron cage. He approached the locked door, reaching for the key, when suddenly—CRASH!
With a dramatic, high-pitched scream, Tarot exploded out of the cage, tearing through the metal like it was paper. His arms flailing, his feet tangled in the bars, he plummeted straight into Nathaniel, knocking him off balance. Both of them hit the ground with a loud thud.
For a brief, comedic moment, Tarot lay on top of Nathaniel, his face pressed into Nathaniel's stomach, breathing heavily like he'd just run a marathon. "Did ya miss me, aye?" Tarot grinned, his voice muffled by Nathaniel's chest.
Nathaniel groaned, his hand instinctively pressing against his forehead. "I swear, if I didn't know you were insane before, I sure do now..."
Tarot just grinned wider, rolling off and flopping onto the floor, his limbs sprawled out like he'd just finished a high-speed race. "Well, I did try to make an entrance," he said, giving Nathaniel a thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the chaos he'd just caused.
Nathaniel could only sigh in exasperation, rubbing the back of his head as he got back up. "I don't even want to know how long you've been stuck in there…"
To be continued...