The Real Black Council!

The courtyard was a battlefield drenched in chaos. Corpses lay scattered across the ground, their lifeless bodies twisted in eerie silence. Pools of crimson spread beneath them, seeping into the cobblestones as a grim reminder of the sudden violence that had erupted. The air was thick with the acrid scent of blood and smoke, mingling with the fading echoes of panicked screams.

Guests fled in all directions, their faces pale with terror. The once-boisterous banquet had dissolved into a frenzied exodus as the survivors scrambled for safety. But amid the chaos, all eyes; those brave enough to linger, were drawn to the center of the courtyard.

There, like the eye of a storm, stood a towering figure clad in a flowing black robe. A bronze mask concealed his face, but the aura he exuded was unmistakable: a palpable, suffocating danger that made the air feel heavier with every breath. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, yet the scene around him told a different story.

In one hand, he held a large, muscular man who hung limp like a ragdoll. The captive's head lolled to the side, his body entirely unresponsive. Even from a distance, it was clear who the victim was: George, the fearsome gym leader, subdued as though he were nothing more than a common thug.

Howard and the blond young man froze in place, the sight before them both incomprehensible and horrifying. They had prepared meticulously for this encounter, knowing George's reputation as a formidable fighter. Yet here he was, rendered powerless by a single individual.

"This… this is impossible," Howard whispered, his voice shaking as his mind struggled to process what his eyes were seeing.

Beside him, the young man clenched his fists, his face a mixture of shock and fury. "How can one man take down George like this?" he growled, his teeth gritted. "And who the hell is he?"

The answer came sooner than they expected. The man in the bronze mask, as if hearing their disbelief, slowly turned to face them. His movements were deliberate, exuding a calm confidence that only deepened the tension in the air.

"Who are you?!" the young man demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "How dare you impersonate the Black Council!"

The masked man tilted his head slightly, a faint chuckle escaping from behind the bronze. His voice, deep and chilling, echoed through the courtyard. "Impersonate you?" he said, his tone mocking. "You've got it backward."

He took a step forward, his black robe billowing lightly in the breeze. "In Malian City, only one entity bears the name of the Black Council," he continued, his voice growing colder. "And yet you dare sully it with your pathetic acts."

He raised his free hand, fingers curling into a fist. "For that insult, you've earned your deaths."

Before they could respond, his fist shot forward. The movement was deceptively simple, yet the force it unleashed was anything but. The air seemed to shatter as a thunderous roar erupted from the blow. It wasn't just a punch, it was a force of nature, a tiger's roar encapsulated in raw energy that surged toward them.

Howard and the young man barely had time to react. The shockwave hit them like a battering ram, forcing them to stumble backward. Their expressions shifted from disbelief to sheer terror.

"How is this possible?" Howard gasped, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

These weren't ordinary fighters, they were gym leader-level warriors, battle-hardened and confident in their abilities. Together, they had even bested Steven, the legendary head of the Red Bird Dojo. Yet now, against this lone figure, they were struggling to stand their ground.

The masked man didn't pause. He advanced with relentless precision, his next punch crashing down like a thunderclap. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the courtyard, leaving a massive crater where the blow landed. Debris flew into the air, and the ground beneath them trembled.

Howard and the young man staggered further back, their breaths ragged and their faces pale. The young man's hand instinctively went to his weapon, but his grip faltered as the masked figure's presence bore down on him like a mountain.

"Retreat isn't an option," Howard muttered, his voice laced with desperation. He tightened his stance, his eyes darting for an opening. "If we back down now, we're as good as dead."

Another devastating blow followed, the masked man showing no signs of relenting. Each strike was a masterpiece of destruction, calculated and merciless. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he pressed his advantage, his bronze mask gleaming ominously under the pale moonlight.

The young man glanced at Howard, his voice a low hiss. "We underestimated him. He's stronger than anyone we've faced before. We need a plan, now!"

Howard nodded, but his gaze remained locked on the figure before them. The masked man's energy seemed limitless, his every move a statement of dominance. For the first time in years, Howard felt the icy grip of fear tightening around his chest.

"How is this possible?"

Howard staggered backward, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice trembling with disbelief. The air felt thick with dread, every breath a struggle as he tried to process the sheer dominance of their opponent.

Beside him, the blond young man clutched his ribs, his eyes blazing with both fury and shock. "We are 'not' weaklings!" he snarled, his words tinged with desperation. "We're gym master-level fighters! Together, we've taken down opponents even Sangmu himself feared to challenge. And now, this?!"

Their disbelief hung in the air, tangible and bitter. They weren't just losing; they were being utterly humiliated. Every strike from the masked figure had the force of a storm, leaving the two of them reeling, coughing up blood, and scrambling for footing.

The scene around them was a chaotic nightmare. Shouts erupted from the fleeing crowd, their cries sharp and panicked.

"The Black Council is here! Run for your lives!"

The guards, initially poised to intervene, faltered as fear overtook them. One by one, they abandoned their posts, shouting warnings as they vanished into the night.

This only deepened Howard's frustration. 'We are the Black Council! That imposter is stealing our name!' he thought, rage boiling in his chest.

Yet, even if they screamed the truth, who would believe them? The masked man stood tall and unyielding, his aura radiating power and menace. His every move seemed to embody the very image of the Black Council's feared reputation. By contrast, Howard and the young man were reduced to battered caricatures of their former strength.

"Who 'are' you?!" the blond youth finally demanded, his voice cracking under the strain of his anger. "With power like yours, why waste time pretending to be us? What do you gain from this charade?"

The figure tilted his head, the bronze mask gleaming faintly in the dim light. His response came in a voice calm and unbothered, dripping with mockery. "Pretending to be you? No, no. 'You' are the imposters. Pretenders sullying the name of the Black Council."

He took a step forward, the ground beneath his feet cracking slightly under the weight of his power. "And for that insult, you will face the 'true' wrath of the Black Council."

Before either of them could respond, he lunged. His fists, like battering rams, unleashed a torrent of devastating blows. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the courtyard, forcing Howard and the blond youth to retreat, stumbling and coughing up blood. Their coordinated attempts to retaliate were crushed under the sheer ferocity of his attacks.

Howard gritted his teeth, his mind racing as he barely dodged another earth-shattering punch. 'This isn't just raw strength,' he realized. 'His precision, his speed; he's leagues beyond us.'

The masked man continued his assault with unrelenting force, every blow pushing them closer to the brink. Yet, despite the chaos, his movements were controlled, almost calculated. To him, this was no desperate fight, it was a performance, one he was winning with ease.

Watching his opponents falter, Harry felt a flicker of amusement behind his mask. 'So, the rumors are true,' he mused. 'There really are Black Council operatives in Malian City. How convenient.'

To Harry, this encounter was a gift. These two, with their gym master-level strength, were exactly the kind of sacrifices his ritual required. Why waste the opportunity?

His punches grew heavier, his attacks more relentless, as he pressed the pair harder. Each time they tried to retreat, he cut them off, forcing them back into his reach. The rhythmic thud of his blows echoed through the courtyard, punctuated by their pained grunts.

"We can't keep this up," Howard muttered, his voice barely audible through ragged breaths. He locked eyes with the blond youth, their shared understanding passing unspoken between them.

The young man nodded grimly. "If we stay, we die. We need to run."

Their decision was immediate, but their execution proved impossible. Each attempt to flee was met with Harry's unyielding pursuit. His speed was unnatural, cutting off their escape routes with devastating precision. The ground itself seemed to conspire against them, shattering under his attacks and creating obstacles at every turn.

"Going somewhere?" Harry taunted, his voice low and icy. He advanced with the predatory grace of a hunter cornering his prey. "I thought the Black Council was braver than this."

Howard clenched his fists, frustration mounting as their every effort to escape was thwarted. His chest heaved with exertion, his vision blurred from the punishment they'd endured. The blond youth, equally battered, cast a desperate glance around the courtyard, searching for any opening, any chance to break free.

But Harry allowed none. This was his hunt now, and he wasn't letting them go. Not when they could serve a far greater purpose in his ascension.

"Struggle all you want," he said, his voice a low growl. "But tonight, you're mine."

With that, he charged again, his fists crashing toward them like thunder, and the courtyard seemed to tremble under the weight of his unrelenting power.