Chapter 47: The Russian Mafia -2 (Edited!)

Worried about Matt, I swiftly lower my staff and employ my Metal Constructs Power to split it into two batons. Without even glancing in Matt's direction, I hurl one baton towards him, aiming for him to use it as a weapon. Meanwhile, with the other baton, I swiftly strike at the gunmen nearby.

My strike lands on the first guy's palm, causing him to release his grip on the gun in agony. With the momentum of my swing, I continue the arc, striking the second gunman's hand, causing his aim to falter.

"Aagh!"

The bullet from his misdirected shot hits another gunman's shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon as well.

Swish!

I sidestep the dagger-wielding assailant's attack again, moving with fluid grace. Swiftly retaliating, my roundhouse kick connects solidly with his cheek, rendering him unconscious. The force of my kick carries through, extending to strike the other thug who had misfired, his neck taking the brunt of the impact as he collapses to the ground.

The baton I had hurled swiftly sails through the air towards Matt, who reacts with lightning reflexes. He jumps and executes a swift kick, altering the baton's trajectory mid-flight.

It connects with one of the thugs' faces, knocking him unconscious. Seizing the opportunity, Matt rolls forward, catching the still-falling baton with expert precision. In one fluid motion, he slams it into another assailant's head, swiftly neutralising the threat.

As I scan my surroundings, I observe that one of the men who had been aiming at Matt has redirected his focus towards me. Two others are scrambling to retrieve their fallen firearms, one of whom appears to be nursing his injured shoulder. Three additional assailants have closed in on me, armed with metal bats and a knife.

In the heat of the moment, my senses heighten as I start with a burst of speed. As the bat-wielding thugs swing their heavy weapons towards me, I duck low with swiftness, the bats whistling harmlessly above my head.

I then plant my palms on the ground and launch into a powerful kick-up, driving my feet directly into the underarms of the two thugs, targeting their vulnerable nerves. The force is so precise and swift that it not only disarms them but also sends them flipping backward in a disoriented heap.

Still in motion and using my momentum, I spin on my heel standing up coming face to face with another knife-wielding attacker. As he lunges, knife aimed for my torso, I sidestep with a dancer's grace, my body swaying just out of the blade's deadly path.

Seizing his outstretched arm, I exert just enough strength to twist his wrist sharply, causing him to drop the knife. With a fluid motion, I yank him into the path of the oncoming gunman, transforming him into an impromptu human shield just as the gun discharges.

The bullet grazes the thug's side, stunning both him and the shooter with the unexpected betrayal.

Using this moment of shock to my advantage, I shove the dazed thug towards the gunman. As the gunman instinctively catches him, I dash forward and swing my baton with precision, striking both on their heads. The impact of the metal on their skulls is sharp and decisive, sending them crumpling to the ground unconscious.

I swiftly turn to assess the rest of the battlefield. Two thugs have managed to recover their firearms and are now aiming them at me.

Across the field, Matt, though heavily wounded, has neutralised his immediate threats and is now dodging bullets from two other gunmen. He moves with a desperate, zigzagging urgency towards them, making him a difficult target.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself, ready to end this fight decisively.

As I attempt to strategise a way to distract the assailants targeting Matt, my concentration wavers momentarily—a costly lapse in such a dire situation.

Bang! Bang!

The gunmen open fire relentlessly, their bullets pounding against my flickering personal shield, jolting me back to the immediate threat. In a desperate attempt to disarm the nearest thug, I sprint forward, but his reaction is swift; a bullet grazes my arm, sending a sharp pang of pain shooting through me—a stark reminder of the peril I am in.

I retaliate with a swift strike of my baton aimed at his arms, but the impact is superficial; his grip on the gun is unyielding, most likely fuelled by his fury for me. Both gunmen quickly regroup and aim their weapons at me once more.

BANG!

Before I can react further, a resounding blast from behind catches me off guard. Emerging from the shadows behind a nearby container, a scarred, middle-aged man advances with a shotgun aimed directly at me. His first shot lands heavily against my back, the force hurling me to the ground as my personal shield shatters from the impact.

BANG!

Dazed and vulnerable, I scramble to activate my psionic shield just as he fires again. The shield flickers and nearly disintegrates but holds just long enough to absorb the brunt of the blast, sparing me from a lethal wound.

"Po'shyol 'na hui!" he curses in baffled rage, witnessing my survival despite the direct hits.

Bang! Bang!

As he fumbles to reload, the other two thugs exploit the moment to continue their barrage. Bullets ricochet around me, striking the ground in rapid succession. Pain sears through me as one bullet pierces my hand and another burrows into my leg. I grit my teeth against the sharp stings, which, though excruciating, aren't as painful as I feared.

Heavy breaths echo inside my metal helmet, sweat pouring down my face as the reality of my dire situation sets in. With every ounce of strength left, I know I must muster the resolve for one final, decisive action to turn the tide of this deadly encounter and ensure my survival.

Maybe I have overestimated my abilities as despite my initial hesitations I ended up using many of my powers. Amidst this chaos and pain, I summon my last reserves of strength and activate my Chi Manipulation power. A surge of vitality washes over me, the overwhelming fatigue and pain momentarily subsiding as my exhaustion vanishes.

Simultaneously, I activate Personal Anti-Force, focusing primarily on its anti-gravity feature to lighten my body weight. Unbeknownst to me, this also affects the trajectory of a bullet aimed at me—it slows and it halts just before piercing my skin, its momentum inexplicably lost. But my attention is elsewhere so I do not notice this.

With my body now almost weightless, I explosively push off the ground with one hand, spinning into a powerful 180-degree kick. My boot connects with the shotgun-wielding man's face with a sickening crunch, sending him crumpling to the ground, his weapon clattering aside.

The remaining two thugs, momentarily stunned by my swift counterattack, regain their senses and aim their guns at me. Reacting quickly, I hurl my baton with precision, striking one assailant in the eye.

"AAAGH"

His agonised scream pierces the air as he collapses, clutching his face. Lunging at the other, I tackle him to the ground, swiftly locking his arms and striking him twice in the temple, ensuring he falls unconscious.

I then go to that screaming guy and with a solid kick to his face make him unconscious too.

As my Chi Manipulation subsides, the numbness wanes, and pain floods back into my consciousness. I notice a bullet wound in my upper arm and another in my leg; both are through-and-through shots, mercifully missing bone but still bleeding profusely.

Relief washes over me as I realise the fight is finally over. Though victorious, the immediate need to tend to my injuries presses on me.

For now, the battlefield falls silent, leaving me to gather my strength and address my wounds. A deep breath escapes my lips, a mixture of pain and relief, as I prepare to tend to the aftermath of this brutal confrontation.

I quickly tear the sleeve of my shirt, fashioning makeshift bandages to stem my bleeding.

A quick survey of the battlefield reveals to me two conscious foes, who despite their injuries, are still awake.

Reluctantly, I activate my Telepathy power—a tool I seldom use—and quickly extract the information I need from their minds before rendering them unconscious with a precise strike.

Turning my attention to Matt, I find him lying next to a thug whose face is severely bruised—Matt must have really used him as a punching bag. Gently, I help Matt sit up.

"Ughhh," Matt groans, his fists bloodied, blood trickling from his mouth, and a deep gash visible on his side, someone had cut him pretty bad.

"Sorry, ha... for dragging you into this," he manages to say between heavy breaths.

"It wasn't your fault," I respond, shrugging as I tear part of his shirt to bandage his wound.

"No, ugh, I was careless... They must have figured out that I uncovered info about this warehouse, ha... I expected them to send reinforcements, but I didn't anticipate so many people and that too armed to the teeth," he admits with a pained sigh.

"Well, we won, so it's all good. Definitely a night to remember for my first outing as a vigilante," I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

"Honestly, if you weren't here, escaping would have been difficult, let alone winning," he says with a wry smile.

"See, you are lucky I was around," I reply with a smirk.

"Yes, thank you... Also, help me up; there are still people trapped in the containers," Matt says, gaining a bit of strength.

After patching him up properly, we both stand up and he wobbles towards the containers, leaning on me for support.

As I approach the eerily quiet containers, I can't help but feel uneasy. After such a tumultuous battle, the silence from the containers seems unnatural.

The girls couldn't still be sleeping, can they?, I ponder, as we reach the containers.

I make Matt steps aside, as I focus on the lock. I touch it and activate my ability, Metal Constructs, transforming the metal lock into a metal stick, unlocking the door effortlessly.

Matt gives me a knowing look, clearly having caught glimpses of my Metal manipulation during the fight, but he holds his questions for later.

The door creaks open, releasing a wave of foul odour. Inside the dimly lit container, numerous women sit huddled together on the ground, their clothes torn and dirty, their faces etched with fear.

I wonder silently about their living conditions—how long have they been here? what have they been fed? and where do they relieve themselves? the latter probably explained the stench.

"The police will be here soon. You should wait outside the warehouse until they arrive," Matt instructs the women, his voice firm.

But the women stare blankly, either too frightened to move or numb from their ordeal.

"Now!" Matt suddenly yells, banging on the container's side. The sharp noise startles the women, they scream and hurriedly scramble out.

I watch them exit the warehouse, hoping they won't scatter and risk recapture.

Together with Matt, I continue clearing the containers, there were five of them, each one revealing another group of terrified women, totalling nearly fifty victims tonight alone.

The gravity of the situation sickens me. I think ruefully how I could have hit those traffickers even harder.

As I prepare to move on, I notice a girl standing apart from the others, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hesitation.

"What is it?" I ask gently, realising too late that my metal mask might seem more intimidating than Matt's cloth one.

"I-I can't let the police find me... th-they will deport me!" she stammers, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"What's your name?" I inquire, sensing something familiar about her.

"A-Anya, Anya Corazon … from Mexico," she replies with a quivering voice.