Kang Ryu didn't fight like a man.
He fought like something that had been shown how to move, then told to enjoy it.
Jung Min ducked the first punch. It split the air beside him, cracked the rooftop tile beneath. Debris flew like shrapnel.
Enhanced strength. Demon-backed.
Gotta stay mobile. Shoot soft. Kill slow.
He rolled left, fired twice—shoulder and knee. Ryu flinched but kept moving.
"Nice shots," Ryu grinned. "You aiming for pain or pity?"
"Both."
They circled. The rain returned in sheets. Wind howled across the rooftop like a bad omen. Somewhere in the background, Azari was shouting—but Jung Min couldn't afford to look.
One glance could mean a broken neck.
Ryu rushed again, too fast, fist wide—Jung Min dropped, slid on the wet concrete, and fired upward into his gut.
The bullet hit.
Ryu grunted. But instead of bleeding, black mist hissed from the wound like steam.
"Your bullets burn," he said, voice sharper now. "Good. I hate easy fights."
Jung Min narrowed his eyes.
"You're possessed. But not fully. You still think you're in control."
Ryu licked blood from his lips.
"I am in control. We're partners."
"You're a meat puppet with a louder mouth."
"Maybe. But at least I get paid."
Jung Min adjusted his stance. Flicked open his revolver. Slid in a carved bullet.
Not just silver.
Not just blessed.
One word engraved along its base: "Silence."
Ryu charged again.
Jung Min fired.
The bullet curved in midair—twisting like it knew where sin lived.
It struck Ryu dead center in the chest.
His voice caught. His body froze.
And for five glorious seconds, the entire city went quiet.
No wind. No rain. No buzz of neon or hum of rooftops.
Just Jung Min, breathing.
Then the silence shattered.
Ryu screamed.
The demon inside clawed forward—briefly—skin splitting, eyes flashing red, before he forced it back down.
"Okay," Ryu growled. "No more games."
He cracked his knuckles.
Then his back.
Then his neck.
Jung Min braced for the next hit—
But Ryu didn't swing.
He snapped his fingers.
Behind Jung Min, something exploded.
Azari screamed.
He turned, heart already sinking.
A second mercenary—smaller, faster, female—stood beside her. Blade to her neck. Mask covering half her face.
"You fight well," she said coldly. "But you forgot to count the pieces on the board."
Jung Min didn't move.
He just stared, finger still resting on the trigger.
"You touch her," he said, "and I stop shooting to wound."
"Try it."
Ryu laughed. "This job just got fun."
The relic began to glow again.
Azari's eyes rolled back.
"Shit," the woman hissed.
"Let her go," Jung Min barked.
"She's not moving—"
The relic floated.
And screamed.
The rooftop burst with light.
Not holy. Not hellish. Just raw.
The mercs stumbled back. Azari hit the ground, convulsing.
Jung Min rushed forward, grabbed her, shielded her with his coat.
The relic hovered above, spinning violently. Symbols around its core twisted—one word forming in every language at once:
"RUN."
When Jung Min looked up, the mercenaries were gone.
He checked Azari. Still breathing. Eyes open.
"Did I… do that?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said, lifting her.
"And we're not dead?"
"Yet."
He carried her down the fire escape.
His mind already working numbers.
Two mercs.
One relic.
Zero safe places left.
Body count math.
And it never worked in their favor.