Chapter 69: Dogs and Hands
Violence ruled the docks.
Gunfire snapped, blades rang, skills detonated. Screams bled into the salt wind. The Dead Hands' hub, once a stronghold...was drowning in war.
Two gangs clashed, blood soaking the planks and concrete. Men and women dropped on both sides, but one group pressed harder, carving ground with every charge.
"You shit-eatin' bastards! Quit fuckin' runnin'!"
The voice boomed from a man wrapped head to toe in polished plate, shining like he spent more time buffing than bleeding. A greatsword crackled with lightning in his grip, carving arcs through bodies that got too close.
"If we knew you were this weak, we'd have gutted you long ago! Dead Hands? More like Dead Men!"
The Wire Dogs were here. Their symbol of a cyborg hound on every attacker. A turf grab.
In response to the man's words, an aura slammed into the dockside, yellow light burning through smoke. Out of the haze stepped a woman built like a fortress, skin pale, hair long and blonde, muscles upon muscles straining her tracksuit. Each arm bore half a shield strapped along the forearm. Thick iron slabs turned into blunt weapons.
Every swing cracked air. Every punch pulped bone. The shields weren't for blocking. They were bludgeons.
"Olson! You cowardly cunt!"
She laughed even as blood sprayed her face.
"You're fuckin' dead once the boss gets back!"
Olson barked a laugh from inside his armor, voice carrying over the carnage. The fight itself seemed to pause, both sides hanging on their leaders' words.
"Where is he then? Heard a little rumor he crawled into a rift to hide. Couldn't stand the smell of you freaks anymore. Probably slit his own—"
A rifle cracked. Instantly, two Wire Dogs heads burst apart with wet thunder, most of their chests detonating into spray. The shot kept its fury and snapped Olson's skull back, sparks flaring.
From a tower of crates, a bald man lay prone, scar stitched across his face. Wearing a black tracksuit, a long-barreled rifle smoked in his hands, his voice low but carrying.
"Watch vhat you say about our boss."
The Wire Dogs roared, rage boiling as they turned toward him—
"Gregor!"
Olson's laugh cut them off. His head tilted back, not even a scorch mark blackening his helm. No wound. No blood. Around his neck, a necklace of bone crumbled into ash.
Gregor spat, lips curling.
"Smart play, even for you. But you know you can't kill us both."
His rifle blinked out in system light. He dropped from the crates, boots slamming the dock, twin pistols forming in his hands as his aura simmered gray.
Olson only laughed, lightning sparking across his armor.
"Who said I have to? I just need to kill everyone else. Two left don't make a gang. And after tonight? No one will be dumb enough to wear your colors again."
His power flared, electricity crackling across the wet wood.
Wire Dogs shouted behind him, voices sharp with bloodlust:
"Get 'em, boss!"
"Elemental Knight Olson! Strongest C-rank in Shatterbay!"
"Kill 'em all! Dead Hands are finished!"
Their cheer rolled loud, wild. The Dead Hands stood hollow-eyed, each one knowing it was true. They were fucked.
One of their men stepped forward, voice quaking.
"Big Min, just… let 'em take it. Boss is gone any—"
A gunshot tore his skull apart.
The body collapsed. Silence choked the dock. Gregor's aura erupted—thick, cold, sorrow drawn in steel-gray waves.
"Dead Hands don't retreat. Dead Hands don't die."
Faces drained white. No surrender. No mercy. They all knew it now...this was the end.
Olson grinned, savoring it.
"See, Min? This is why you should've come to me years ago. I'd never waste men like that."
The Wire Dogs shuffled at his words, cheers thinning, throats clearing, none daring to meet his eye.
"You can lick my fuckin' ass if you love it so much!"
Big Min slammed her shields together, the crack ringing across the harbor. Her aura spiked, burning bright yellow, her grin wide and unshaken.
Beside her, Gregor lowered his lids, calm as stone. A glowing bullseye bloomed across his scarred forehead.
"You'll wipe us out..."
He straightened, voice smooth, accent thick.
"But I'll see you bleed more than you can afford, leader of dogs."
Min laughed, voice booming.
"Let's fuckin' go!"
Her aura exploded, eyes flaring bright blue. She charged without hesitation, shields drawn back like twin hammers. Gregor moved with her, silent but sure.
Olson braced, lightning screaming over his armor. Peak C-rank against two fresh breakers.
The docks cracked open into war again.
Gregor fired without pause, pistols flashing as he carved holes through Wire Dogs pressing the line. His shots bought seconds, nothing more. Numbers were against them. Most Dogs were F and E-rank fodder, but twice as many, stacked heavy with combat shards. Every exchange bled the Dead Hands thinner.
Olson's laughter cut short when the dock shook under Big Min's charge. His smirk dropped, the Reaper's Hands weren't a title thrown around lightly. These two were trouble.
"Without Seo-jin you're finished, Min. Just accept—"
Steel met steel in a detonation of force. Olson's lightning blade crashed against her shield edge, the shockwave rattling windows across the pier. Strikes blurred into thunderclaps, faster than the human eye could track. Sparks and blood lit the night.
And through it, Min only laughed. Her teeth bared, hair whipping back from the wind their blows carved.
"Ha!"
She stomped, boards cracking beneath her, and her aura surged, forcing Olson back. Behind her, a shark with six eyes and teeth like jagged saws flared into being, its maw snapping shut as her fist drove forward.
Boom!
Her strike hit like a cannon, crashing into Olson's quickly summoned lightning shield. He skidded back, boots tearing trenches in the dock. His jaw rattled, eyes wide with rage, but the barrier held.
Gregor's bullets hammered the same spot over and over, spiderwebbing cracks through the shield.
Beneath his helm, Olson face twisting, his beady eyes glowing.
"Stupid bitch! Have it your way!"
Flames ignited inside his armor, aura shifting from storm to inferno.
Wire Dogs roared behind him, surging forward. Dead Hands were collapsing, cut to less than half their number. Blood slicked the docks, bodies falling faster than they could be dragged back.
"All of you burn!"
Olson dropped the shield—
Min snapped her forearms together, shield halves locking into one brutal wall of steel—
Gregor blurred, his body flickering as his shard pulled him into a haze of shadow—
Olson's greatsword expanded, swelling into a tower of fire that split the sky, then came down in one merciless arc.
Impact.
The pier erupted in a storm of fire and steam. Water geysered from the docks, boiling as it met the blade. Men screamed as they were charred black or hurled like dolls across the wreckage. Friend and foe both scattered in the blast.
The world shook, then stilled.
Planks rained down, some still burning as they slapped against the water. Beams groaned and toppled, crashing into the tide. The air stank of scorched wood and cooked flesh, iron heavy on every breath.
Crackling fire licked at the ruins, screams dwindled into choked sobs, until even that faded.
Only then did silence creep back in, smothering the battlefield.
Olson's breath rasped inside his helm, aura sputtering as he steadied his stance. Beneath the steel, a grin split his face.
"You see what happens?! I was going to spare you worthless fucks! Now you're dead, whether you…like…it—huh?"
The boast died in his throat.
In front of him, untouched by ash or blood, a rabbit sat on its haunches. Small. Ordinary. Its red eyes stared straight through his helm.
"Is this a joke? Whose fucking pet is this? You think—"
Stomp. Crunch.
His boot ground the body into paste.
"This? This is supposed to stop me?!"
Heat flared again, rage pounding against his ribs...until something colder began to slide in under it. He froze.
The rabbit wasn't alone.
"…what the fuck."
The docks ruptured.
From the cracks and shadows, a tide poured forth, hundreds of Elderwarren kits, fur matted, eyes glowing, claws scraping. The swarm converged on the Wire Dogs.
"Up! Everyone up! Rift—there's a rift!"
Olson's blade howled lightning, arcs tearing through bodies by the dozen. But the wave closed faster than he could cut. Screams from his men replaced their cheers, high-pitched, guttural, and short.
Big Min staggered to her feet, four Dead Hands dragging themselves upright beside her. For the first time today, she wasn't smiling.
Gregor flickered back into flesh, cradling one arm, pistol still barking fire with the other.
"Dead Hands! Pull the wounded back!"
His voice cut through the chaos like a rifle crack. He stepped up beside Min, eyes narrowed.
"This your doing?"
"Not me."
She shook her head, chugged a vial, and hissed as her burns closed. Then her grin returned, teeth bloodied. She tossed the empty glass aside.
"Ready?"
"Always."
She lifted her shields, laughter bubbling back as her muscles swelled for another charge. But she stopped short, eyes going wide—then wider still.
Her laughter broke free, wild, loud, echoing over the slaughter.
Because standing behind Olson, cleavers in hand, was not a kit.
It was him.