Pitter patter. Pitter patter.
The rain fell steadily from the night sky, thick clouds rolling over the Tokyo skyline as thunder rumbled in the distance. The city lights barely reached the outskirts, where a forgotten warehouse stood with a gaping hole in its rooftop, exposed to the relentless downpour.
Pitter patter. Pitter patter.
Raindrops slipped through the broken ceiling, leaking into the vast darkness below. There, in the center of the warehouse floor, sat a man. Alone. Silent. His figure rested atop a grotesque hill of twisted limbs and lifeless bodies—blood mixing with rainwater and pooling across the concrete.
He exhaled deeply.
With a weary sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-wet cigarette and a beaten-up lighter.
Click. Click. Click.
He tried several times, but the flame refused to come. The lighter was damp, soaked from his own drenched clothes.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath.
Frustrated, he flung the useless lighter across the room. It clinked off the forehead of a man tied to a chair not far away, jolting him awake with a groan.
"Ugh…"
The bound man's blurry vision adjusted, and he found himself face-to-face with the very same monster who had stormed into the warehouse not long ago. He was still there, now sitting atop the corpses of his comrades, glaring at him with the look of someone who'd been pushed hard by life one too many times.
"Oi," the man said, voice low and dry. "You got a spare lighter?"
The tied man said nothing. He could only stare.
What he saw wasn't human—not anymore. The man sitting atop the corpses was soaked in blood, his white shirt torn to shreds, revealing a muscular torso covered in bruises, gashes, and a large sakura tattoo that bloomed from his chest and ran down the length of his arm. In his hand, he still held a pair of iron knuckles, stained red.
The tattoo... The brutality...
Recognition dawned.
His eyes widened.
A slow, uneasy smirk formed on his face. "I never expected you to come after us… Akaza."
That name sent a chill down the spine of anyone even remotely tied to the criminal underworld.
Akaza, an urban legend whispered in the shadows of Tokyo's underworld.
A ghost. A curse. A walking massacre.
No one truly understood who he was or what drove him. He didn't make speeches. He didn't play the hero. He didn't leave survivors. He simply arrived, killed everyone working for gangs, and then vanish into the night.
The bound man gathered his breath, trying to sound confident.
"You do realize this warehouse belongs to the Sumiyoshi-kai, don't you?" he said, flashing a cocky grin, hoping the mention of one of Tokyo's most powerful gangs would shake him.
Akaza blinked , unamused.
"Did the lighter hit your head too hard?" he asked flatly. "I asked if you had a lighter."
The smirk faltered. The man's pride turned to anger.
"FUCKER! WHO DO YOU THIN—"
BANG
A sharp crack tore through the air.
The man's head jerked back as a bullet tore through his skull. Blood splattered behind him as he slumped forward, lifeless.
Silence followed.
Akaza casually lowered the smoking pistol and looked down at the corpse with a sigh.
"Well," he muttered, sliding out the magazine and tossing the empty gun aside, "there goes the last bullet."
He stood up slowly, brushing rainwater from his eyes.
Then he spoke again, this time louder, his voice cutting through the warehouse like a blade.
"Are you rats done enjoying the show?"
As if on cue, the warehouse doors burst open. A flood of men stormed in. At least twenty, maybe more, armed with katanas, baseball bats, chains, and steel pipes. Their footsteps echoed across the blood-slick floor. And behind them walked a man clad in a black and white yukata. Calm, calculating, and clearly in command.
"You call us rats," the man said with a chuckle, "but you're the one who just stepped into a trap. Bit ironic, don't you think?"
He surveyed the carnage and bodies littering the floor and whistled.
"Honestly, I didn't think one man could take out fifty of my best. But here you are. Still standing. Barely."
Akaza glanced around at the newcomers and then back at the man in the yukata.
"Then let me ask you something," he said. "How exactly do you expect these people to protect you from me?"
He stepped forward.
Then, suddenly, his leg gave out. He stumbled, knees buckling slightly.
His eyes widened.
The man in the yukata laughed.
"You thought I came unprepared?" he said mockingly. "The poison is already working its way through your system. Judging by your state, it's reaching your organs now. So tell me, Akaza… do you really think you're walking out of here alive?"
Akaza said nothing.
Instead, he dropped to one knee beside a corpse and pulled out a combat knife. Then, without hesitation, he plunged it into his own thigh.
Blood spurted out violently.
The men around him flinched at the sight, but Akaza remained composed. The pain grounded him. The adrenaline surged, dulling the fatigue. His mind cleared.
"You're insane," the yukata man said, laughing nervously. "You do realize, even if you kill us, you'll bleed out. The poison will finish you off."
Akaza's reply was flat. Cold.
"I'm not planning on surviving."
A hush fell across the room.
Every man in the warehouse suddenly felt a chill crawl up their spine.
The leader saw the hesitation and snapped.
"Don't just stand there! Kill him!"
The group lunged forward all at once.
The first man brought his katana down toward Akaza's neck. But at the last second, Akaza twisted his body, avoiding the strike. He surged upward, driving his iron knuckle into the attacker's jaw with bone-shattering force.
CRACK
"AGHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
A howl of agony echoed through the warehouse.
The attacker fell, his jaw completely broken, writhing on the ground.
Before he could recover, Akaza stomped down hard.
The man's neck snapped like a twig.
The others charged, weapons swinging.
But Akaza moved like a demon.
He weaved between blades and bats, each motion calculated. When he struck, it was decisive. Brutal. Every punch found a throat, a temple, a vital organ. He didn't fight to win. He fought to kill.
Blood sprayed. Bones broke. Screams filled the warehouse.
Seconds turned into minute, and minute turned into twenty. Then thirty.
By the end, sixteen men lay dead or almost dead.
Akaza, however, was now a shattered man.
His arms had been severed. His legs broken. His face slashed. One eye gone.
And yet… he was still breathing.
Still smiling.
The man in the yukata approached, picking up a katana from one of his men.
He crouched in front of Akaza, panting lightly.
"I have to admit, even in this state, you're a complete monster," he said. "But this is it. You should've never messed with the Sumiyoshi-kai."
He grinned.
"No arms. No legs. An eye gone. Seconds away from death. So tell me, Akaza. Any last words?"
Akaza slowly lifted his head. His face bloodied, but that same grin had returned.
"Once I'm dead… take care of your little brother."
The man frowned.
"What the hell are you talking about? I don't have any siblings. You losing your mind already?"
Akaza chuckled.
"Oh, trust me. After how many times I was with your mother… she's definitely expecting."
The man's expression twisted in fury.
"YOU SON OF A—"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He stopped.
A rhythmic sound echoed in the man's ears.
The man leaned in slightly and saw it.
A small black device… clenched between Akaza's teeth.
Akaza's eyes gleamed.
"See you in hell, son."
Click.
"No! No, wai—"
The explosion consumed the warehouse in a blazing inferno.
The final remnants of the Sumiyoshi-kai were erased in one deafening moment, their bodies vaporized along with the man who hunted them all.
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Hope you liked the first chapter. Now...
Pulls out a gun.
HANDS UP AND PUT THE STONES IN THE BAG! HURRY!