The men lunged at the boy. With a blur of motion, the boy drove a fist into the ribs of the closest attacker; a sickening crack echoed through the forest. The man collapsed instantly, gasping for air. The others recoiled, their bravado vanishing.
Fighting him head-on is suicide, one thought. A split second later, the masked boy vanished, reappearing directly in front of him. In a fluid, mid-air rotation, the boy's leg connected with the man's chest, launching him backward with such force that he leveled twenty trees in his wake.
Olivia watched, her hands trembling.
Nearby, the air was thick with the scent of pine and iron. Ethan slammed a man into the dirt with a single, bone-shattering punch. He turned toward Enzo, his eyes bloodshot with primal rage.
"Don't worry, Ethan," Madison said, her voice steady despite the chaos. Both Enzo and Ethan snapped their eyes toward her. "I've called for help. Trust me—your sister will be okay."
Ethan gave a stiff nod, though a seed of doubt remained buried in his heart.
Suddenly, the sound of snapping bone erupted from behind Madison. She spun around to find Roy pinned to the ground, Allen's boot pressed firmly into the back of his skull.
"Shall we finish our old score, Enzo?" Allen asked, his voice cold.
Enzo's lips curled into a smirk. At his signal, the rest of his men rushed forward. The skirmish was brutal and brief; moments later, Enzo's henchmen lay groaning on the ground. Despite the defeat of his pawns, Enzo's confidence didn't waver.
As Allen and Ethan closed in on him, the windows of the safehouse shattered. Two men vaulted inside. Simultaneously, the heavy rhythm of footsteps descended the interior stairs.
"Allow me to introduce my specialists," Enzo purred.
"These are the ones?" Shawn asked, surveying the wreckage of Enzo's previous team.
Mark let out a knowing whistle. "So, you really brought us out here just to beat up some high school kids?"
"Enzo, let me ask one more time..." Paul said, descending the final steps and taking a seat on the banister with casual arrogance.
"Do not underestimate them," Enzo warned, his voice low. "They've survived and defeated men twice your size."
"Really?" Mark raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't mention that in the contract, Enzo," Paul noted, his eyes narrowing.
Enzo sighed. "You want more money? You'll have it."
"That's my man," Shawn grinned.
"Let me and Shawn handle these two," Mark said, stepping forward.
Paul scoffed. "Were you even listening to Enzo?"
"As long as I get paid, I don't care who they are," Shawn countered.
Mark, towering over Ethan, launched a heavy strike. Simultaneously, Shawn rushed Allen, his hands moving in a blur of open-palm strikes. Allen dodged with surgical precision.
Is he using Taekkyeon? Allen wondered, tracking the fluid, rhythmic footwork. Allen lunged with a counter-punch, but Shawn slipped the blow and returned a lightning-fast kick that Allen narrowly avoided.
Meanwhile, Ethan and Mark traded thunderous blows. Mark was an elite kickboxer, his movements polished and professional. He threw a feint toward Ethan's face, then transitioned into a heavy roundhouse. Ethan blocked the kick with his forearm, countered with a strike to Mark's face, and then drove a fist into Mark's shin to break his balance.
Mark caught Ethan's next punch with his right hand, pulling him in to deliver a devastating elbow. Ethan jerked his head back, the skin of his cheek grazing the bone. In one explosive motion, Ethan drove his right fist upward, catching Mark squarely on the chin. Mark tried to retaliate, but he was too slow—Ethan followed up with a crushing blow that sent the giant flying through a brick wall.
Watching from the stairs, Paul's eyes widened. His movements are strange. It isn't a style... he's improvising, combining every move he's ever seen on the fly.
Ethan glanced over at Allen, who had Shawn pinned against the wall by the throat. With a single, clinical punch, Shawn went limp. The two boys turned their sights back to Enzo.
"Well," Paul said, standing up and descending the last of the stairs. "I suppose it's my turn."
Before the fight could resume, the door to the safehouse behind Enzo creaked open. A man stepped into the room, looking entirely out of place.
"Mr. Henry?" Madison gasped.
"Oh! It seems I've arrived at an awkward time," Henry said, a pleasant smile on his face.
Enzo's expression turned devilish. "I was going to come looking for you, but this saves me the trip."
Mr. Henry remained eerily calm. His phone rang, and he answered it without breaking eye contact with Enzo. "Yes... I'll have to call you back. I'm a little busy at the moment." He tucked the phone away.
"Let me handle this old man," Paul offered, stepping forward.
"No," Enzo Growled, dropping into a lethal fighting stance. "He's mine."