Bloodsteel Gangster
Episode 3 – The Bloodbath District
The night air was still heavy with gunpowder. The stolen police cruiser growled down the cracked roads of the inner city, neon lights smearing across its windshield. Kuro sat in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking ash from a cigarette. His demonic red eyes glowed faintly in the mirror, calm and cold.
The police scanner in the cruiser crackled with static.
"Unit 47, report. Shots fired in Rust Block. Multiple casualties."
"Control, we've got thirty-plus down in the alleys. All Rust Block. Perpetrator unknown."
"Negative. We've got eyewitness IDs. They're calling him—'the Bloodsteel Gangster.'"
Kuro smirked faintly, smoke curling from his lips. Word spreads fast.
But names didn't matter. What mattered were levels. Money. Power. And right now, the entire city was a banquet.
The Hunting Grounds
The Bloodbath District wasn't on any government map. A cluster of broken skyscrapers, gutted warehouses, and neon-lit brothels, it was ruled by gangs too brutal even for the organized syndicates. This was where new blood either proved themselves or died faceless in the gutter.
And tonight, it would be where Kuro climbed.
He parked the cruiser on the edge of the district, stepping out onto the cracked pavement. His trench coat swayed as if alive, catching the neon light. Around him, eyes watched from the shadows—dealers, thieves, killers sizing up the stranger who walked with too much calm, too much purpose.
Kuro didn't look back at them. He lit another cigarette, exhaled, and walked straight into the district like it belonged to him.
⸻
First Blood
The first to test him were a group of runners—six men with machetes and sawed-off shotguns. They blocked the road, laughing, tattoos glowing across their skin.
"Nice car you got there," one said, licking his blade. "Bet it sells for a nice stack. Hand it over."
Kuro stopped, eyes half-lidded. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it into the gutter. His pistol slid out of his right arm, black and steaming.
The runners froze. "Wait—"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three went down instantly, heads split open like rotten fruit. The other three screamed, firing blindly. Bullets shredded Kuro's chest, punching holes through his coat. His body healed in seconds.
He walked through the storm of lead, raised his blade-arm, and cut the next man clean in half. Blood sprayed across the alley walls. Another tried to run—Kuro shot him in the spine, dropping him face-first into the concrete. The last one begged, sobbing.
Kuro tilted his head. "Cry later."
One shot to the skull. Silence.
LEVEL UP. Current Level: 77.
Balance: $76,000.
His body thickened again, veins burning with steel, chest broader, footsteps heavier. He rolled his neck and moved on.
Gang War
Word spread fast inside the Bloodbath District. Soon, it wasn't six men. It was sixty.
The Rust Block survivors had warned the others. "He's immortal. He doesn't bleed." The gangs laughed at first. But then the corpses started piling up.
And so, in the heart of the district, two major gangs—the Chain Dogs and the Blades—formed an uneasy alliance. They gathered an army in a collapsed parking structure, weapons drawn, waiting for Kuro.
They didn't have to wait long.
Kuro walked in calm as ever, his eyes glowing red beneath the flicker of broken neon. Hundreds of eyes locked on him. Dozens of rifles, blades, bats.
The leader of the Chain Dogs stepped forward, a massive man with cybernetic arms and a face tattooed like a skull.
"You're Kuro, huh? The Bloodsteel freak. Thought you'd be bigger."
Kuro raised his pistol slowly, letting it hum with heat. "Keep watching."
The man snarled. "Kill him."
The entire structure exploded in chaos.
Gunfire echoed like thunder. Bullets shredded concrete pillars, sparks lighting the air. Gangsters screamed, charging with bats and chains. Kuro didn't move fast—he didn't have to. Every shot he fired was perfect, a head bursting, a chest exploding. His blade ripped through throats, cut torsos open, spilled blood in rivers.
They swarmed him, but he didn't flinch. Blades cut his skin, bullets drilled into his body, and every wound sealed instantly. His coat absorbed the blood like it was feeding.
One gangster screamed and leapt from the second floor, swinging a chain. Kuro caught it midair, yanked the man down, and slammed him headfirst into the concrete until his skull caved in.
Another came from behind with a shotgun. Kuro spun, jammed his blade through the man's chest, and fired point-blank, the blast tearing them both apart—except only Kuro's body sealed instantly.
The slaughter lasted minutes. By the end, the parking structure was silent except for the drip of blood. Piles of bodies lay across the floor, stairs, and railings.
Kuro stood in the center, his body steaming, his eyes glowing brighter. He exhaled slowly, calm as always.
LEVEL UP. Current Level: 142.
Balance: $141,000.
His physique shifted again. No longer just strong—he was monstrous. His shoulders stretched wide, his arms carved like steel cables. His trench coat clung to his new frame like armor fused to muscle. He flexed his hand, admiring the way liquid steel pulsed beneath his skin.
The Angel of Death
As he left the parking structure, the district was silent. Eyes watched from every window, every alley. Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That's him…"
"He killed them all…"
"Not human… not even demon…"
They called him an angel of death. A gangster reborn from hell.
But Kuro didn't care about names. He only cared about levels. And the district was far from empty.
A group of survivors, desperate and trembling, tried to rally in the streets. Maybe they thought numbers would save them. Maybe they thought their gods or demons would shield them.
Kuro walked straight through them, his blade dripping, his pistol smoking.
By sunrise, the Bloodbath District was painted red.
LEVEL UP. Current Level: 200.
Balance: $199,000.
The Calm After
As the sun rose over the city skyline, Kuro sat on the hood of the stolen police cruiser, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. Behind him, the Bloodbath District was silent—gangless, leaderless, nothing but corpses and ash.
His coat swayed in the morning breeze, dark and heavy with the stench of blood. His body was different now—bigger, stronger, his presence so heavy that even the birds seemed afraid to fly overhead.
He exhaled smoke and stared at the rising sun.
"Two hundred levels," he muttered. His voice was calm, steady, like the number didn't even matter. "Feels like nothing."
Because it was nothing. Just the beginning.
There were billions more levels to take. Billions of lives to claim. Billions of dollars to earn.
And Kuro would kill his way through every last one of them.