As his physical capabilities surged, Rex pushed his enhanced vision to its absolute limit. His compound perception dissected every incoming strike, tracking the trajectories of six flashing blades at once. In that storm of steel, he identified the narrowest gap—the single safest position—and slipped into it with surgical precision, already calculating his counterattack before his feet even settled.
His arms blurred into afterimages as the silver-white dagger carved a clean arc through the air, driving straight toward Murakami's throat with lightning speed. The strike was ruthless and perfectly timed, leaving almost no room for defense.
Murakami saw the blade coming. A chill ran through his entire body as instinct screamed at him to move, to survive. He roared internally, forcing the ancient energy within him into motion, dragging every ounce of power he had left into a desperate response. At the last possible moment, his body shifted just enough.
"Pfft!"
The dagger punched through his collarbone instead of his throat. Even so, the damage was brutal. Murakami's scream tore through the underground parking lot, raw and filled with pain, freezing the rhythm of the battle for a split second.
The coordinated assault from the others faltered as their attention snapped toward him. Kingpin's expression hardened, his cold gaze cutting through the chaos as he turned slightly toward the man standing behind him.
"Speed Demon," he said flatly, his tone carrying authority without effort. "Your turn. Move."
The man in the red-and-blue suit stretched lazily, completely unimpressed by the situation around him. His lips curled into a smirk as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, like an athlete about to step onto a track.
"Tsk. I thought these guys could handle it themselves," he muttered, clearly disappointed.
He dropped into a runner's stance, one foot forward, body tilted, fingers brushing the ground as if he were about to sprint. There was an almost playful arrogance in his posture, like he was treating the battlefield as a competition.
"Ding-dong, here comes your hundred-meter champion," he said with a grin.
A blur exploded forward.
Rex, still pressing Murakami, caught a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. There was no time to analyze, no time to plan. He reacted on instinct, driving a hard kick into Murakami's lower back to create space just as a fist filled his field of view.
"Boom!"
The punch slammed into his chest like a battering ram, forcing him back three full steps. The impact rattled through his bones, his muscles tightening instinctively as he absorbed the force.
Shock flickered in his eyes. This guy… is insanely fast.
According to his system, his speed had already surpassed the triple-digit threshold. Yet the man in front of him moved at a level that completely outclassed him. It wasn't just speed—it was overwhelming, oppressive velocity.
The Speed Demon didn't pause. He launched into a relentless barrage, fists flashing in rapid succession, each strike landing before the last one had even fully registered.
Rex barely kept up. His reactions held, his body moving just enough to reduce damage, but the pressure was suffocating. The uniform absorbed part of the impact, dulling the worst of it, but the hits still piled up. Each blow chipped away at him, stacking injuries faster than he could recover.
At least the guy wasn't a trained fighter.
That single fact kept Rex's face intact. The punches were fast, but sloppy. If this monster had real combat technique, his skull would've already been shattered.
Even so, the situation was deteriorating quickly. Bruises spread, muscles screamed, and his breathing grew heavier with each exchange.
The old saying echoed in his mind—there's nothing in martial arts that can't be broken except speed.
Dragon energy could give him explosive bursts, but it wasn't sustainable. He couldn't maintain this level of output indefinitely.
He needed to break the situation.
While the Speed Demon pressed him, the others hung back, watching like predators waiting for the right moment. Rex's gaze flicked across them, lingering briefly on two figures before snapping back to the immediate threat.
Another strike came.
This time, Rex didn't resist directly. He let the force carry him backward, stepping with it, then pivoted sharply and bolted.
He ran.
Laughter echoed through the concrete structure as Kingpin's voice followed him, amplified and calm.
"Hahaha… Devil Face, this parking lot may be large, but do you really think you can escape?"
Rex didn't respond. He already knew the answer.
He couldn't.
The exits would be sealed. And even if they weren't, he had no chance of outrunning that speed freak in a straight line.
So running wasn't escape.
It was bait.
He changed direction abruptly, heading straight for the stairwell. The memory of his earlier sweep of the area flashed through his mind. The place had been empty then—no guards, no movement. That meant everyone currently here had come down through that route.
Which made it the only viable path.
Kingpin noticed immediately. A hint of appreciation flickered across his face as he spoke again, his tone almost conversational.
"You're smarter than I expected," he said. "But what difference does it make if you go up? The people above are still mine."
Rex ignored him completely.
He reached the heavy iron door and slowed just slightly, his gaze sharpening as he focused. The loudspeaker—if it was still there, then this was exactly what he needed.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
Behind him, Kingpin's lips curved faintly, sensing the trap tightening.
There was no choice. The Speed Demon was already closing the distance.
Rex pushed the door open.
The moment it cracked, he saw it—the large speaker mounted inside, its red indicator light snapping on instantly.
No one noticed the faint smile that appeared on his lips.
He moved.
The door swung open wider as he surged forward, stepping through just enough to trigger the attack. The shockwave detonated with terrifying speed, tearing through the confined space.
Rex didn't fully dodge.
Instead, he angled himself, leaving just enough room behind him.
A red-and-blue blur shot through the doorway in pursuit, only to be met head-on by the blast.
The figure slammed backward at high speed, retreating even faster than he had entered. A distorted shout echoed out, stretched and broken by velocity.
"F—k!"
The speaker powered down, entering a recharge state. Rex glanced at it once, confirming the effect, but didn't step further inside. Instead, he pulled the door shut again and sprinted away, vanishing deeper into the parking lot.
Confusion rippled through the group.
He had opened the door, taken the hit, and created an opportunity—so why hadn't he gone through?
Kingpin's expression shifted subtly. The faint smile on his face faded, replaced by something colder.
He had hinted earlier that escape was impossible. A smart opponent would immediately think of the stairwell as the only route, the path used by his own forces to enter.
What he hadn't mentioned was that the stairwell itself was also sealed.
If Rex had gone in, he would have trapped himself in a narrow corridor, a rat in a cage, waiting to be crushed.
But he didn't.
He had seen through it.
Impressive.
But ultimately meaningless.
The parking lot might be large, but it wasn't infinite. With enough time, they would find him.
Kingpin's eyes shifted to the faint trail of blood near the stairwell entrance. His voice remained calm as he issued his command.
"He's badly injured," he said. "Spread out. Find him, and bring him to me."
Elsewhere, Rex pressed himself against a thick concrete pillar, his breathing steady despite the situation. Communication with David had been cut off, his injuries were stacking, and the enemy was closing in from all sides.
By all appearances, it was a dead end.
Yet there was no panic on his face.
He turned slightly, spotting the nearest threat approaching—Wade, still far from becoming the infamous Deadpool. The man strolled casually, twin swords in hand, skipping lightly as he hummed to himself.
"La la la… finish the job, get the cash, life is looking bright," Wade sang under his breath, clearly enjoying himself. "Half goes to Vanessa, the other half pays for my treatment. La la la… my poor lungs, they—"
"Wade. I'll pay you twice what Kingpin is offering."
The sudden voice cut through his tune.
Wade froze, blinking as he turned toward the source. He spotted Rex behind the pillar, then instinctively glanced back at his teammates. Seeing no one paying attention, he slipped behind the same cover, curiosity piqued.
The two stood close now, separated by nothing more than cold steel—two long swords and two short daggers.
Wade straightened, his expression turning serious, as if switching roles instantly.
"I'm a mercenary," he said firmly. "Professional ethics matter in this line of work."
"Three times."
Wade glanced over Rex's shoulder, checking the distance of the others. His voice lowered slightly.
"There are too many of them."
"Four times."
Wade's eyes lit up despite himself. "Damn… you've got my attention now. Can you pay upfront?"
Rex let out a quiet chuckle. "I don't trust you."
"Hey, that hurts," Wade shot back, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. "I'm the most professional guy you'll ever meet."
Rex rolled his eyes. Trusting Wade to follow professional ethics? That was a joke in itself.
"I can cure your advanced lung cancer," Rex said calmly. "Interested?"
Wade blinked, completely thrown off. "Wait—what? How do you even know I… hold on, did I just sing that out loud?"
He frowned, replaying his own words, then looked back at Rex with suspicion.
"If you can't figure that out," Rex continued smoothly, "I can also make sure your girlfriend is taken care of while you recover."
"My— what the hell?" Wade stared at him. "Who are you supposed to be?"
Rex's voice dropped, low and deliberate, each word carrying weight.
"You've seen what I can do. I'm not joking," he said. "Are you really willing to die like this? Are you okay leaving Vanessa alone in this world, letting her end up in someone else's arms? Is that what you want?"
Wade's expression hardened instantly, the humor vanishing from his face. His grip on his swords tightened slightly.
"If you're lying to me," he said quietly, "I swear I'll come back and haunt you myself."
Rex raised three fingers without hesitation.
"I swear on Tony Stark's name," he said. "If I'm lying, may I get hit by a missile while sitting in a car, end up with a hole blown through my chest, still not die, and spend the rest of my life locked in a cave being tortured!"
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