Smell of Blood(3)

Under the shroud of a relentless downpour, a convoy of formidable, armored cars advanced with unwavering determination along the glistening asphalt of the nocturnal road. At the forefront, the imposing silhouette of an S-14, its sleek contours cutting through the rain-soaked darkness, led the procession like a vigilant sentinel. The armored vehicles, their surfaces embellished with riveted plates and matte black finishes, reflected the ethereal glow of city lights dispersed by the raindrops. The rhythmic hum of the convoy's engines merged with the percussive drumming of rain on reinforced metal, creating an ominous symphony that echoed through the desolate night. Headlights carved through the mist, casting an otherworldly aura upon the wet road, revealing the determination etched into the stern faces of the occupants within.

As if following an unseen cue, the convoy gradually decelerated, the rumbling engines diminishing to a subdued growl. The metallic beasts came to a synchronized halt, tires gripping the pavement with a soft screech. The neon sign of Wasabi Whisk was buzzing, the sign itself and the people inside. "Let's go," Remi said. She put the car in park and stepped out, the noises of car doors slamming shut behind her, and the clacking of shoes followed.

A few of the forces split and quietly headed for the back. Remi and the others slowly wattled into the building. More than fifty people were eating. And most of them were hounds. 

The men lined up next to, and behind her. The civilian customers looked confused, shocked at the amount of people in the store. The hounds however dropped their utensils, scraping their wooden chairs across the floor as they stood up.

"..."

It was silent.

Then, "SICK 'EM!!" Remi ordered.

The battlefield echoed with the thunderous roars of men, a cacophony of primal fury that resonated through the air. The ground beneath their feet seemed to quake as they charged, an unstoppable force hurtling toward an inevitable collision. The clash of steel and the fervent cries of soldiers filled the space, a symphony of chaos that unfolded on the canvas of war. With adrenaline coursing through their veins, the men roared like untamed beasts, their voices merging into a collective battle cry that reverberated across the field. 

Daken seized control, headbutting the closest person. "ACK!" The man cradled his face. In a decisive move, Daken shifted from the back foot, thrusting up his legs and whipping his leg forward, delivering another powerful blow to the nose.

The man fell back, defeated. Abruptly, he sensed a whirl of wind charging up from behind. Reacting swiftly, he pivoted, leaping into the air, and threw his leg where he believed the threat to be, a reactive defense born out of the consequences of a past defeat.

Despite his attempt, a fist slammed into his jaw and a surge of coppery blood flooded his mouth. He got up from the ground, massaging his jaw, "so they hid a big boy here, did they?" he wondered, smiling.

Across from him stood a creature that defied nature, an aberration that couldn't be deemed human. Its skin was wrinkly and veiny, with eyes nearly drooping out from their sockets, and arms that dwarfed the entire body. 

"Some kinda freak?"

The abomination drooled, manically laughing.

"Uh, wait," Daken put his hands up, spitting before continuing, "I...I didn't mean it like th-!"

Before he could react, a powerful force sent him hurtling across the room. He crashed through the wooden cubicles, his back slamming against something hard. Metal. "Agh, fuck." He groaned, reaching for his back. Pulling his hand away, a grim discovery awaited—his hand stained with blood from the impact.

In dismay, 'The bastard can't be human. The motherfucker tossed me through the goddamed building,' He thought, picking himself up.

He glanced at the room he was in. A kitchen.

A few people were in there, which one happened to be Hiroki. He was slamming his bat into an already unconscious person, laughing as he did. "Uh, you doing...good over here, kid?" Daken asked, confusion written on his face.

"H-Huh!?" Hiroki looked to the voice, noticing Daken, and said, "yeah, yeah. I'm doing great, Super great." His canine were showing. He pointed behind Daken and questioned, "but shouldn't you be dealing with that zombie lookin' thing out there?"

Daken rubbed the back of his head, smearing the blood from his other hand onto the face of one of the knocked-out hounds. "Yeah, looks like our men our struggling, so I guess I don't really have much of a choice. Alright then, I'll leave the back-" Hiroki had already started beating a limp body again.

'Whatever.' He sighed, walking through the hole in the wall his body made.

As Daken went to fight "The Boss," the owner of the store had appeared before Hiroki. "Oh? It's been a couple days since I've seen you," Hiroki stuck a finger into his ear, an animalistic smile spreading across his face, "man, she was right. My wish really did come true."

The owner, who was attempting to sneak out, began to tremble. He looked both ways, as if crossing the street, and ran back down the hallway from which he came. "Come here old man! KAHAHA!" Hiroki chased after the man, holding his bat high, like a chainsaw.

He slowed down as the sounds of fighting turned into an echo, wandering down a quiet, dark hallway. "Oh, come out, come out, wherever you areee." Hiroki giggled, tip-toeing through the hallway, infusing the scene with a playful vibe.

Wondering which door to enter first, Hiroki noticed the lights under a door turn off. It was the closet to his right. He turned the knob, but it stopped short. 

'Locked.' He realized. But a violent kid only knows violent methods.

He took a few steps back. Swiftly, but powerfully, he launched his foot forward, shattering the door. With determination, he busted his way through.

He felt the nearest wall, flicking on a switch. The lights turned back on after a few flutters,

The room was small, a desk, chabudai, a closest, and what appeared to be a bathroom.

"A lil' game of hide and seek? Well, I don't mind," he grinned. Carefully, he looked under the desk. Empty. Suddenly, he tossed the desk as far as he could, an outburst of unattended rage. He moved to the bathroom and examined the shower, covered by its curtains, escalating the search with aggressive actions.

"Are you in here?!" He swung his bat through it, catching absolutely nothing, but himself in a mess. The curtains nearly wrapped around him, like a burrito. He angrily got out of it, huffing.

He rushed out of the bathroom, his eyes focused on the closet.

"Hehe...haha...I. Know. Where. You. Are. Old man." He stood in front of the closet. Faint, but noticeable breathing made its way to Hiroki's ears.

He swung the doors open, "found you!"

SMACK!

"So annoying," Daken said, cracking his neck. The being he thought to be supernatural was really just a figment of his imagination. 'But if this is really human, then what was Hiroki seeing?' He pondered, then remembered his predicament. He did the limbo, dodging out of harm's way.

No longer was the beast a beast.

'No... You looked like that from the beginning, you freak.'

In reality, it was just a man standing eerily still, his pallid complexion resembling the lifelessness of a revenant risen from the grave. His skin, an ashen hue, seemed drained of vitality, and hollows accentuated the contours of his gaunt face. The shadows cast by the faint light danced across his sunken eyes, giving them a vacant, otherworldly gleam. Strands of lank, dark hair clung to his forehead, framing a visage frozen in a perpetual state of silent contemplation. 

'It's gonna be a damn long night.'

Daken closed a nose canal with a thumb. He exhaled, a river of blood falling from it. With adroit self-care, he took a stance, assuming the posture of an experienced fighter, showcasing his readiness for the impending combat.

The freak rushed towards Daken, slinging a fist, barely nicking his forehead. Responding with precision, Daken counter-attacked, slightly hunching his body and sending his fist into the freak's stomach.

The freak tumbled but rose and attacked again.

And again.

Daken continued knocking the freak to the ground, but it continued to rise from its grave.

'Just what the hell have The Steel Hounds done to this thing-.' He dodged another attack. He took a deep, long look into the eyes of his enemy. The eyes were real. 'Idiot. He's just a man.'

He spun around and kicked his enemy in the chest, which sent him a few feet back. "My boss said we should put little zombies out of their misery. That includes you." He paused for a moment, then muttered, "It was the plan to kill 'em all anyway."

He took a knife out from inside his suit. Wearing a look of disgust, he charged at the enemy. Just before reaching, Daken spun himself and his knife, launching off his back foot and striking the knife into the neck with discerning efficiency.

The man fell.

While one's agony dissipated, those around did not. The fighting continued, and Daken had no time for pity. No underboss does.

So, he looked around, friend and foe, cleaning his blade, his red eyes reflecting off it.

"Well, time to finish this." He readied the blade and walked over the dead body, headed into the fray.