Smell of Blood(4)

"Ah, you fuckin' bitch!" A random lady spat on the ground, Remi standing across from her. Tables and chairs toppled around them, yet they remained focused on each other. Remi's stomach was bruised under her shirt, and the woman across from her had a swollen cheek.

The tension hung thick as the two women faced off, their emotions aflame. The random woman's eyes burned with frustration, and Remi's fists clenched in defiance. The air crackled with unspoken words until, suddenly, the dam broke. The clash started back up, a tempest of emotions manifesting in swift movements and heated exchanges. Their words, sharp as blades, cut through the charged atmosphere.

However, amidst the tumult, Remi, with a sudden burst of determination, disengaged. She dashed towards the exit.

"H-Hey! Get back here!"

Outside, raindrops cascaded from the stormy sky, adding a poignant backdrop to Remi's hurried movements. She reached her car, parked in the middle of the street, and pretended to act as if she were looking for her keys.

The lady appeared, out of breath as she said, "stop...running..."

A grin appeared on Remi's face as she opened the trunk. Not knowing what she had planned, the lady launched an attack, but Remi dodged it, tripping her leg. The lady fell into a puddle, "ack!" She cried out.

Then, Remi once more searched the trunk.

A can of gasoline.

Whilst struggling to open her eyes, the woman felt an enormous amount of liquid pour over her. She rolled away, wiping her eyes once she got up. "Ugh...you bitch. What the hell did you put in my eyes?!" Her eyes turned bloodshot as she rubbed them vigorously.

Her vision began to clear up, 'What's that...light?' She thought, a singular object of flame appearing through the blurs.

Remi was holding a lighter in her palm, shielding it with her other hand as the rain pummeled down. 

The woman trembled, cautiously putting her hands up, an act of begging.

Remi broke her silence, "I got more back at the office," she yawned, tossing the lighter through the air. 

Before it even touched the woman, she caught on fire, her screams of agony joining the rain and thunder. Wriggling around, she fell a couple of times before coming to a stop, portraying an unexpected ignition and a painful conclusion.

The lifeless corpse continued to burn. But before heading inside, Remi turned around, and spat on the dead.

While Team Swallow's first round was coming to an end, Team Salmons was just beginning. 

Having just surrounded all exits with their cars, the Ferris wheel stood above them, tall and glowing pink as it spun around, the team threw the first punch a few minutes ago.

"Don't kill me!" A crawling motorcyclist begged, clawing his way to his motorcycle despite knowing he could not go anywhere.

Yuuto stood above him, his sullen look spoke volumes, the lines of disappointment etched into the furrowed landscape of his face. "I was against this bloodshed. But the boss's words are truth." He turned the man onto his back, the asphalt acting like quicksand as he felt his body turn weak.

In a spontaneous motion, Yuuto clutched the man's neck, hands forming an instinctive grip, and as if summoning a Titan's grip, he squeezed with a primal force, the sheer determination evident in the knuckles turning white.

The man squirmed, but quickly succumbed to the death knell.

He stood up, placing his own hands around his neck. He didn't squeeze, but a thought crossed his mind, 'how would it feel...Death?'

"I know you tend to have those moral conflictions," Ryo stood back-to-back with Yuuto, multiple men rushing them, "but the boss is counting on us, so save it for later, yeah?"

"For later?" Yuuto scoffed, yet he took out a knife, "sure, later."

The first assailant lunged from the shadows, but Ryo, a whirlwind of calculated fury, sidestepped with a dancer's grace. His fist connected with a resounding thud, sending the intruder reeling into the darkness. Meanwhile, Yuuto, a bastion of stoic strength, parried a flurry of strikes with a blade of cold steel, each movement deliberate and precise.

As the horde closed in, the brothers seamlessly switched roles, a seamless choreography born of years of camaraderie. Ryo, now armed with a blade, carved through the opposition with fluid strokes, his weapon an extension of his lethal finesse. Yuuto, fists ablaze, met the onslaught with a martial prowess that left adversaries sprawled in his wake.

The moonlight caught the glint of steel and the flash of determined eyes as the clash intensified. The men moved in unison, a synchronized ballet of violence that defied the encroaching odds. Despite the overwhelming numbers, Ryo and Yuuto fought with a tenacity born of a shared history, their back-to-back defense a testament to a bond that transcended the chaos.

Yuuto, fists encased in makeshift hand wraps, engaged in hand-to-hand combat. His movements were a symphony of martial prowess, a seamless blend of disciplined strikes and defensive maneuvers. A thunderous uppercut sent one opponent sprawling, while a lightning-fast jab dispatched another. 

In a breathtaking moment, Ryo and Yuuto synchronized their efforts. Ryo spun away from an attacker, sending a razor-sharp kick that incapacitated another whilst Yuuto executed a series of rapid strikes that created a protective circle around them.

Then, there were none around them, except the bodies. Yuuto picked his blade from off the ground and placed it onto Ryo's chest, "finish them off. I'll go see where the boss is."

Ryo nodded his head, "good luck my friend, and stay safe."

"And you as well."

****************

"We've got you surrounded fuck-o!" A leader of a pack of hounds cackled, genuinely believing him and his other fifty friends stood a chance against a legend.

"Oi, we really got the one and only Yamishin surrounded."

'The parking lot was bigger than I expected. How could I have known It'd be multiple stories?' Kyoki thought, sighing as he lit a cigarette in his mouth. He took his first hit before responding to any of them. "What is this, a rat's race to see who dies first? You lot aren't from around here, I can tell."

"W-Well neither are you! You're from Tokyo!" The leader spoke.

"I merely switched oceans while you guys are like fish out of water. Do you understand?"

"You know what!" The man huffed and puffed, pacing back and forth, continuing, "ever since you rose to fame, it's shown you lack something! Respect your elders! Sick him boys!"

Kyoki evaded the onslaught with an uncanny agility. It was as if the very air responded to his will, his every step a whisper against the gravel-strewn ground. The first attacker lunged, a crude chain in hand, but Kyoki sidestepped with uncanny grace. A swift pivot, and his fist met the assailant's jaw with a resounding crack, sending him sprawling.

He then disarmed an opponent with a lightning-quick twist, repurposing the stolen weapon to deflect an oncoming barrage of attacks.

With a fluid flourish, he ensnared a charging adversary, redirecting his momentum and leaving him vulnerable to a swift, incapacitating blow. Each calculated move seemed almost preternatural, as if he anticipated the gang's every intention.

"Shoot the damn freak!" The men took out their guns and, in an instant, the night erupted in a symphony of gunfire. Bullets whizzed through the air, but Kyoki moved with a supernatural grace.

He hid behind the closest car, bringing out his own handgun, his bullets soaring with surgical precision. The metallic percussion of gunshots merged into a symphony of chaos. His bullets found their marks with unerring precision, disarming the hounds one by one. The clang of dropped weapons echoed through the lot as the gang members, disoriented and outmatched, faltered under the relentless assault.

The leader, witnessing his gang crumble before him, gritted his teeth in frustration. In a desperate attempt to turn the tide, he aimed his firearm at Kyoki. But undeterred, he expertly disarmed the leader with a well-placed shot that sent the weapon spiraling from his grasp.

Kyoki, now the sole possessor of a weapon, stood amidst the fallen gang members. "Listen...we can talk this out right?" The leader pleaded; tens of his dead men laid out next to him.

"Mercy has never been something in my book. And don't feel too sad about your friends, you can go meet them right now."

"Wait n-!"

The vicious discharge of the gunshot reverberated, a stark reminder of the unyielding cruelty it carried.

The leader's body flopped to the ground; his brains scattered across.

'Just which floor is he on?' Yuuto wondered as he rushed up a flight of stairs. Then, he heard more gunshots like what brought him to this area. 'That's him! It's gotta be!'

He found himself on the sixth floor, rushing out into the open as a singular silhouette stood in the open. Although he couldn't directly see the man, he knew who it was.

"Boss!"