Rabbit-toothed stood there for a few long seconds, staring into the patch of darkness where his friend should have been.
There was nothing.
Just shadow.
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in his own ears. Sweat rolled down from his forehead, slipping past his brow and into his eyes. His back was completely drenched. When the night air brushed against his soaked shirt, a cold chill spread across his body.
Every hair on his arms stood on end.
His mental state was worse. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was scared out of his mind. Thoughts crashed into each other without order.
What happened?
Why did it happen?
Where did he go?
Was it an ambush?
Is someone hiding in the shadows?
A darker thought crept in again, unwelcome.
Something… not human?
The idea sent another chill racing across his body.
Every sound in the alley snapped his attention instantly. The faint drip of water. The distant hum of the city. Even the slight buzz of an insect near his ear felt deafening—like the world had turned its volume up a hundred times just to torture him.
The silence between those sounds felt even worse.
He didn't want to make a single sound.
He was afraid it would attract… whatever that was.
Even his breathing turned shallow, controlled—like he was scared to inhale too deeply. Each breath felt stolen, borrowed from the dark.
He gritted his teeth.
No.
He wasn't a coward.
He had fought in these very shadows before. Bled in them. Survived in them. He wouldn't let some unseen presence break him now.
He straightened slightly, forcing strength into his spine.
"Zekar…" he called out, barely above a whisper.
The name slipped from his lips like a wish rather than a call.
He didn't dare shout it.
Not in this silence.
The sound faded almost immediately, swallowed whole by the alley.
Suddenly—
A voice came from behind him.
Close.
Too close.
His body reacted before his mind did. He spun around at lightning speed. One moment he was facing the alley ahead—
the next, he was turned completely around, heart slamming against his ribs.
His pulse roared in his ears.
Who is it?
What was that?
How close is he?
His thoughts spiraled, colliding with each other. Fear surged back up his spine, sharper this time. His eyes searched wildly, trying to lock onto a shape—any shape—in the darkness behind him.
Adrenaline hit him like a hammer.
His breathing turned rapid, uneven. Each inhale scraped his throat dry. His fingers twitched at his sides, unsure whether to clench into fists or prepare to run.
His mind split in two.
Turn and fight.
Run. Now.
If it was cowardice, then so be it.
Better a living coward than a dead brave man.
Fighting something in the open was one thing—you could see it, measure it, react to it. But fighting something that hid in darkness… something patient enough to wait behind you without a sound?
That was different.
That was worse.
His legs tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest movement.
But even so, he couldn't run.
If it was Ash… and Ash slipped away again… the blame would land on him. No excuses. No second chances. The leader wouldn't care about .
He would be the one punished.
That fear rooted his feet to the ground.
Then—
There it was again.
A quick, sharp sound. Like something darting across stone.
Zig.
His eyes snapped toward the movement. A small silhouette shot across the alley, fast and low to the ground.
For a split second, his heart nearly stopped.
Then he saw it clearly.
A cat.
Chasing a mouse.
They vanished into a crack between two buildings as quickly as they had appeared.
Silence returned.
His lungs released the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Just an animal.
Just that.
But his heart was still racing.
Because the fear hadn't fully left.
Who could really blame him? Anyone in his position would be shaken. This alley, this silence, his friend disappearing without a sound—it would get to anyone.
He knew he was more scared than necessary. His own mind was feeding it, turning shadows into threats, silence into whispers. He hated that. Hated losing control like this.
He drew in a deep breath.
Then another.
Slow. Controlled.
This wouldn't work. Not like this.
If someone was out there, thinking too much would only make him weaker.
He had to face it.
Whoever it was.
Jaw tight, he took a careful step backward—toward the place where his friend had vanished.
Ash heard footsteps.
Steady.
Getting closer.
His body reacted instantly. He turned toward the pathway, eyes scanning the stretch of alley behind him.
He held still for a second, listening carefully.
Then he turned back to the skinny guy at his feet.
Still unconscious.
Chest rising faintly. No movement. No noise.
Good.
Rabbit-toothed guy walked forward slowly, each step measured and deliberate.
His posture was straight now—no more shrinking into himself. His hands were clenched tight at his sides, knuckles pale from the pressure. Every muscle in his body was wound tight, ready to react.
His eyes darted left and right.
He checked every corner carefully, thinking of all the places a hunter would use to prey on someone. Doorways. Broken staircases. Blind turns. Low rooftops. Anywhere a person could disappear and wait.
His own heartbeat sounded too loud in his ears.
Too heavy.
Too exposed.
Each step he took echoed in the alley.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound felt sharper than it should have, bouncing off the walls and returning to him like a warning.
Unaware, he was moving in the exact direction where Ash stood hidden.
Closer.
Closer.
The narrow alley ahead came into view.
He slowed.
Then slowly—carefully—he turned his head to look inside it.
He blinked.
Just for a second.
That was enough.
Something exploded into his face.
A crushing impact.
His head snapped sideways violently, twisting at an unnatural angle. A sharp crack echoed through the narrow alley—his nose breaking on the first hit. Warm blood burst out instantly, spilling over his lips and chin.
Before he could even register the pain—
The second blow landed.
Harder.
It smashed into his face like a press hammer coming down without mercy. His features distorted under the force, skin and bone compressing for a split second before rebounding.
Stars burst across his vision.
The world tilted.
There was a small, sickening crack.
One of his front teeth shot loose from the impact, tearing free and clattering against the stone ground. It bounced once before settling in a thin smear of blood.
Ash saw the shadow first.
Long. Stretching along the wall before the body followed.
Then the silhouette appeared at the mouth of the narrow alley.
He recognized him instantly.
Even before the face.
Rabbit-toothed.
Ash didn't wait.
The moment the man turned his head toward the alley—
Ash moved.
No warning. No hesitation.
His fist was already in motion before the eyes fully locked.
The first punch landed clean.
The second followed immediately after, no pause, no pose, no wasted movement.
Efficient.
Precise.
Brutal.
He didn't give him even a second to understand what was happening.
He watched the tooth hit the ground.
It bounced once, rolled in a thin line of blood, then stopped.
For a brief second, Ash's eyes followed it.
That front tooth.
From the moment he first met him—saw the way it stuck out when he sneered—he had wanted to smash it in.
Now it was lying on the stone between them.
Broken.
Useless.
Something stirred inside him.
Not rage.
Not relief.
Something quieter.
Satisfaction.
A slow warmth spread through his chest as he looked at the blood on the man's lips, the gap where the tooth used to be.
A faint smile touched his face.
Then it deepened.
A low chuckle slipped out of him—soft, controlled, almost amused.
Like he had just corrected something that had bothered him for a long time.
Rabbit-toothed's vision blurred.
A sharp ringing filled his ears—like a temple bell struck too hard.
Ting.
Ting.
The sound drowned everything else.
He stumbled backward, boots scraping against stone. His head swayed as he tried to shake off the dizziness, blinking hard to clear the red haze swimming in his sight.
Slowly—
He looked up.
And saw him.
Ash.
For a split second, something shifted inside him.
Fear.
Shock.
Then it snapped.
Rage flooded in—hot, violent, overwhelming. It swallowed the fear whole. The humiliation. The broken tooth. The blood in his mouth.
All of it twisted into one single thought.
Him.
The anger built fast, almost uncontrollable. It burned so fiercely that reason began to thin out at the edges. In that moment, he didn't care about orders, consequences, or the leader.
He just wanted to kill Ash.
To tear him apart.
To make him pay for every drop of blood running down his chin.
"You motherfucker! I'll kill you!"
His voice tore through the alley, raw and cracked, echoing off the walls.
He lunged forward recklessly.
No stance.
No balance.
No control.
Just rage.
He swung wildly, throwing a direct punch toward Ash's face, putting his entire weight behind it like an amateur brawler.
But Ash had already seen it coming.
The moment the shoulders tightened, the moment the hips turned too wide—
He moved.
Ash shifted half a step to the side.
The punch cut through empty air.
At the same time, his hand shot out and caught the man's wrist mid-swing.
Firm.
Precise.
Before Rabbit-toothed could react, Ash twisted.
Hard.
The joint bent at an unnatural angle. A sharp crack threatened to follow as pressure shot up his arm.
A scream ripped out of Rabbit-toothed's lungs.
Raw. High. Uncontrolled.
Pain shot up his arm as Ash twisted his wrist, the joint screaming under the pressure.
But instinct kicked in before it could snap completely.
He reacted.
With his free leg, he drove a sharp kick straight into Ash's torso.
Not clean.
Not technical.
But desperate—and fast.
His heel slammed into Ash's side with a dull thud, forcing space between them.
The grip loosened just enough.
Ash absorbed the kick.
The impact thudded into his torso, pain shooting through his ribs and into his spine. His muscles tightened on instinct, bracing just enough to reduce the damage.
It hurt.
But it was manageable.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, taking half a step back—not from weakness, but to reset his footing.
Across from him, Rabbit-toothed staggered, clutching his twisted arm. His shoulder hung slightly off alignment.
Dislocated.
Not broken.
Lucky.
Very lucky.
If Ash had committed just a little more force to that twist, the joint wouldn't have been the only thing damaged. The counter would have been far worse—his planted leg wide open for destruction.
Rabbit-toothed glared at him with pure hatred, blood running down his mouth, eyes wild and burning.
Ash met that stare calmly.
Cold.
Measuring.
Rabbit-toothed gritted his teeth.
With a sharp, desperate motion, he grabbed his own forearm and yanked.
A sickening pop echoed between them.
His shoulder snapped back into place.
Pain flared bright across his face, but he swallowed the scream this time. He rolled his shoulder once. Then twice. Testing it.
There was stiffness.
Burning.
But it held.
He let out a shaky breath of relief.
Bad move.
Because Ash never intended to give him time.
The moment he saw that exhale—
That tiny drop in focus—
Ash moved.
His body turned smoothly, hips rotating first, then shoulders. The motion was fluid, controlled.
A roundhouse kick sliced through the air.
Sharp.
Clean.
It landed against the side of Rabbit-toothed's head with terrifying smoothness—like a blade cutting through butter.
The impact snapped his head sideways violently.
The sound echoed.
And the alley swallowed it whole.
Rabbit-toothed couldn't react.
The kick crashed into his skull with crushing force.
It felt like a truck had slammed into the side of his head. For a split second, he genuinely thought his skull might split apart from the impact.
White exploded across his vision.
His knees buckled.
The world tilted violently to one side as his balance vanished. He tried to stay conscious—tried to force his eyes to focus—but everything spun out of control.
The alley twisted.
The walls bent.
Sound stretched and warped.
He couldn't control his body anymore. His legs felt disconnected, like they belonged to someone else.
He staggered sideways, barely aware of where the ground was.
Consciousness flickered.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
But he couldn't hold on.
The strength drained from him completely.
His body tipped backward.
Then he fell.
Hard.
His head hit the stone with a dull, final thud—and everything went dark.
Ash heard it—
A sudden rush of air from his right.
He started to turn—
Too late.
A figure burst out of the darkness and launched forward, both legs leaving the ground.
The kick came in fast.
Both feet slammed into Ash's side at the same time.
A brutal drop-kick.
The impact exploded against his ribs, driving him sideways. The force lifted him slightly off his footing before he crashed into the brick wall with a heavy thud.
Air ripped from his lungs.
Pain flared sharp through his torso.
Dust shook loose from the wall as his shoulder scraped against it.
The attacker landed a few feet away, boots hitting the ground solidly.
Ash forced himself to breathe.
Slow.
Controlled.
Pain pulsed through his ribs, but he suppressed the reaction. No groan. No visible weakness.
He pushed off the wall slightly and lifted his head.
His eyes rose first—cold, steady—locking onto the figure standing a few steps away.
Now he saw him.