OTHER FIGHT FRONTS
Red Jacket Teen – Sebastian
Behind a building a thug ran from Sebastian, the teen in the red jacket.
Sebastian chased but stopped dead — seven thugs were butchering another teen.
He clenched his jaw, realizing he'd have to face all seven alone.
The Betrayal
Two teens walked together until three thugs blocked them.
One teen suddenly stabbed his partner in the belly and leg. Both thugs and the remaining teen were shocked.
The traitor begged,
"Please… spare me. I can help you. With four of us we can win. Just let me live…"
A female thug smirked,
"Sure. We can work together."
The traitor asked softly,
"Really…?"
The injured teen whispered weakly,
"They're lying… They'll use you…"
The traitor stepped on her hand and hissed,
"Shut up. I'll do anything to live. Even if your head is the price."
The thugs said,
"Prove it. Kill her."
She cried, begged through tears — and he finished her.
Emperor (Johman Luxek)
Emperor fought two male thugs and one female.
A thug swung — Emperor dodged and punched him in the neck, crushing it.
The other thugs froze.
He grinned:
"You're all next. Kill yourselves now — I swear it'll hurt less."
One thug attacked, fast and wild. Emperor was faster. He sliced out both eyes, chopped off legs and arms, then stabbed the throat. The thug drowned in his own blood.
A female thug begged, removing her clothes:
"If you promise to let me go… you can hit right now. No one will disturb us. I'll do whatever you want… please…"
He exploded:
"YOU PATHETIC STUPID BITCH!? You think I can't control my lust?! You're not even worth being my slave!"
(He calmed, voice cold.)
"You'll do anything?"
"Y-Yes…"
"Then die for me."
He stabbed her through the skull.
Two more thugs entered and froze at the bodies.
"You little shi—"
Emperor roared, voice shaking the room:
"FUUUUUCK EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!!!"
Inside the Building – The Boss
Headen and Jerl vs The Boss
The teen — Headen — stepped into the boss's inner sanctum. Every step echoed on the metal floor. The thug boss spun around, eyes widening as he saw Headen, machete raised.
"How did you get in here? There's no way my men let you in—" the boss growled, his voice shaking more than he realized.
Headen's lips curled into a cold smirk. He tightened his grip on the blade.
"Try pulling that gun," he said, voice low, deadly calm. "I'll have this in your skull before you even blink."
The boss froze, his hands twitching toward his firearm. A scream erupted from the next room, followed by the metallic clash of blades. His men's panicked shouts echoed like a storm.
From inside the room, Jerl danced through the chaos. He wielded two machetes, slashing through three thugs with frightening precision. A manic grin spread across his face, blood dripping from his blades.
"Murder's wrong… and all," Jerl shouted over the clamor, "but killing you guys? Fun as hell. I promise—it's gonna hurt!"
The remaining thugs snarled, but Jerl's confidence made their bravado crumble.
"Cocky little shit!" one yelled.
"Get angry!" Jerl screamed back, spinning between two attacks. "Bring it on!"
Headen's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding:
"You done in there?! Sounds like you're having the time of your life!"
"GET OFF MY DICK!" Jerl roared, and even the toughest thugs froze, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
The boss stepped outside, panic finally flooding him. He saw the carnage: guards dead, blood everywhere, the floor littered with mangled limbs. Terror hit him like a punch.
Before he could react, Headen lunged. His machete pierced the back of the boss's skull, bursting through the forehead in a crimson spray. The boss's eyes widened in disbelief, gurgling as his life drained in an instant. Headen pulled the blade free, breathing evenly.
"Why did this idiot turn his back on me?" the boss tried to choke out, dying. "Didn't I—"
Headen crouched beside him, voice dripping with cold amusement.
"Didn't I threaten to kill him? Didn't matter. Clowns like you never survive. Done with fools today."
Headen stood, dusting off his hands, and turned to Jerl.
"You still alive?"
"Huh huh… very funny," Jerl replied, wiping blood from his blades.
Headen shook his head, smirking.
"Overconfident soldiers always die first. You must be new."
Jerl laughed, the sound manic, echoing through the hall.
"Let's just go… and get off my dick."
"You really love saying that, huh? How the hell did I end up with you…" Headen muttered, shaking his head but smiling faintly.
Together, the two teens moved through the wreckage of the boss's operation, their presence a storm of death, leaving nothing but terror in their wake.
White clothes Teen – Vincent
Vincent wiped a thin line of sweat from his forehead and muttered to himself,
"I've gotta get out of here fast… thank god these stupid white clothes didn't get stained yet."
Before he could move, four thugs emerged from the shadows, blocking his path.
"Look, we need to team up," one sneered, "let's kill this kid before he gets any ideas."
Vincent's mind raced. Wait… more of them? Shit. This isn't good. Stay alive first, worry about the clothes later… He clenched his fists. If I die now, clean clothes won't mean a thing. Survive first. Figure the rest out later.
He looked up at the thugs with a piercing, icy stare.
"Hey. Listen to me. I'm stronger than I look. I'm the last person you want to fight in here. I'm not joking. Leave me alone, and you might survive. I'll let you go."
The tallest thug laughed, stepping closer.
"Let us go? Kid, you think you're invincible or something? There's four of us and only one pathetic you 😏."
Vincent's gaze sharpened, cold as ice.
"Hmm… I killed Gulten. Boss of Blue Tiger. Yeah… maybe you'll want to let that sink in while I go about my business."
Laughter erupted, sharp and mocking.
"Wait — you claim to have killed Gulten? 🤣🤣 Sure, people didn't see what caused his death, but you mean to tell us that it was you? 😆"
One thug slammed his fist into the wall, snapping,
"Enough! We're not here to debate your history. Kill him. That's the plan."
Vincent's thoughts sharpened. Damn. No choice now… just survive.
He drew his blade, movements fluid and deliberate. Every step measured. His eyes flicked from thug to thug like a predator calculating its strike.
"You're about to find out why I don't just talk," he murmured under his breath.
The Traitor Meets His End – Tayne Floro's Moment
The traitor moved through the chaos with a manic grin, flanked by three thugs. His eyes glittered with fear and greed at the same time. He spotted a teen collapsed against a wall, chest heaving, blood soaking his clothes—exhausted from a fight with a thug.
"Hey," the teen gasped, his voice weak but steady, "thanks… can you hold my machetes? We should… team up, find the others… Harman mig—"
Before he could finish, the traitor lunged. His blade drove into the teen's chest with terrifying precision. The wounded teen's eyes widened, shock rooting him in place, and blood erupted in a hot, dark spray. He slumped to the ground, choking and gasping.
The traitor laughed, a harsh, high-pitched sound that echoed off the walls. The thugs cheered around him, their twisted loyalty clear.
A voice shouted from the chaos:
"Did you just help them? Are you stupid? They'll kill you after!"
Tayne Floro froze for a heartbeat, heart hammering. He saw the traitor sprint toward him, eyes wild with bloodlust. Tayne didn't think. He reacted.
With every ounce of strength left, Tayne swung his fist like a cannon. The blow connected perfectly, sending the traitor flying across the room. He crashed into the wall, hitting the floor hard, coughing and scrambling.
"I'LL KILL YOU!!!" the traitor screamed, regaining his footing, blade raised.
Tayne didn't hesitate. Every movement was precise, calculated, a product of instinct honed by fear and necessity. He lunged forward, striking with a force that cut through the air itself. The fight was brutal, every hit sharp, every dodge narrow. Tayne's breath came in ragged bursts, blood and sweat streaking his face.
The thugs tried to intervene, but Tayne was a storm. He struck, parried, and countered with relentless speed. Each thug fell, one by one, until the last of them lay crumpled, groaning on the floor. The room stank of blood and smoke from metal scraping concrete.
Finally, Tayne turned back to the wounded teen lying in a pool of his own blood. Kneeling beside him, he pressed a trembling hand to the other teen's chest.
"Can you hear me? Hang on!" Tayne shouted, panic breaking through his controlled fury.
The teen's lips moved weakly, whispering through blood and pain:
"If… you survive… help… my siblings…"
Then his eyes closed, and his chest went still. Tayne's hands shook violently as the weight of the moment crushed him. Rage, fear, and sorrow collided in his chest.
He stood, staring at the traitor's broken body, then at the bodies of the thugs littering the room. The air vibrated with silence after the chaos, like the world itself was holding its breath. Tayne's heart hammered. His hands were sticky, red, trembling—not from exhaustion alone, but from the knowledge that death had touched him so directly.
He whispered under his breath, almost to himself:
"No one… no one else dies today. Not if I can help it."
Tayne looked around the room. Every shadow seemed alive, every sound a potential threat. Sweat mixed with blood stung his eyes. His mind raced, and yet, in the center of it all, a cold, sharp clarity settled in. Survival wasn't just about strength—it was about decisiveness. About refusing to freeze when the world wanted you to.
With a deep breath, he grabbed the machetes from the fallen teen, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the building. One step at a time, one fight at a time, he would find the others. He would survive. And he would honor the dying teen's last request.
The building was silent now, but Tayne knew this calm was temporary. Somewhere, beyond the next door, the chaos waited. And he would meet it head-on.
Pexier the beast
The room smelled of blood and smoke. Five thugs lay dead on the floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles, eyes glazed, knives still clutched in cold hands.
Pexier knelt in the center, drenched in his enemies' blood, his chest heaving. He laughed, a deep, hollow sound that bounced off the walls like thunder. His fingers tangled in his hair as he rocked on his knees, shaking with exhilaration and madness.
A lone thug in the corner froze. Eyes wide, every instinct screaming that this man was no longer human.
Pexier slowly stood, blood dripping from his arms, his machete gleaming under the harsh light. He turned to the trembling thug and said, calm but cold,
"You… gonna tell me everything."
The thug's lips quivered, but before he could respond, a shadow moved at the doorway. Another thug, searching the building room by room, stumbled upon them.
Without thinking, the new thug hurled his blade at Pexier.
Pexier dodged it with ease, the motion effortless, almost lazy. The first thug on the ground scrambled to his feet and ran toward the doorway, joining the second.
"Listen!" the first gasped, voice shaking. "He… he'll kill you! Don't fight him! He tried to kill me so many times… he only kept me alive because he wanted answers!"
The thug who had just arrived gulped, staring at the carnage. "How… how was he able to beat all of you together? This… this doesn't make sense."
The first thug's voice cracked. "Idiot… didn't you look around? Most of us are dying. Harman lied… these kids… they're not normal at all. I don't even know why I came here."
A tense silence fell, broken only by the shallow breaths of the terrified thugs. Then, with a flash, Pexier's hand shot out.
He caught them both before they could flee. One of the thugs—desperate, reckless—stabbed the rescuer in the leg, thinking he could create an opening to escape. Pain lanced through the injured thug as he screamed:
"What do you think you're doing?! I saved you, you—"
But Pexier's grip was unbreakable. He lifted the injured thug effortlessly, twisted him, and ended it without hesitation. The lifeless body fell to the floor.
The last remaining thug bolted, running down the passage, heart hammering. Pexier's eyes locked on him. In one fluid motion, he hurled his machete. The blade struck the fleeing thug in the back. The man stumbled forward, chest pierced, collapsing with a strangled gurgle.
Pexier stepped over the carnage, chest rising and falling with exhilaration. He stared at the bodies, the blood, the silence that followed. Then, as if remembering something mundane amid the horror, he muttered, almost to himself:
"Ohhh… shit. I forgot to ask them questions. 🤦"
The room held its breath. The battle was over… but the terror Pexier carried lingered, heavier than any corpse.by one.