⚠️ Content Warning:
This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence and intense physical combat. Reader discretion is advised.
Blood and Reflection
The storm outside howled like an unending scream.
Thunder cracked above the derelict warehouse, shaking the rusted steel frames.
Rain bled through the broken roof, dripping in rhythm with the echo of footsteps.
Naoki stood in the center, his coat drenched, his pistol low but ready.
Across from him, the man in the ski mask stepped from the shadows, holding his own weapon—steady, practiced, merciless.
"Romano sent you?" Naoki's voice was calm, too calm.
The masked man said nothing. He cocked the hammer of his pistol, the sound loud and sharp through the rain.
Both men raised their guns—
And the warehouse exploded in gunfire.
---
Shells clattered against the concrete.
Muzzle flashes painted the walls in violent bursts of light.
Naoki dove behind a stack of crates, bullets shredding the wood around him. Splinters and smoke filled the air.
He rolled, returning fire—
Two, three, four shots—
The masked man ducked behind a column, bullets ricocheting off steel.
Rainwater mixed with dust, creating a haze that swallowed their silhouettes.
Naoki reloaded, teeth gritted. "You're persistent."
A response came in the form of a bullet grazing his ear. He winced, then snapped out of cover—firing while sprinting to the next pillar.
The masked man mirrored his movement on the opposite side, like a reflection in a cracked mirror.
Both men fired until the echoes turned to empty clicks.
Then silence.
The hollow sound of two magazines hitting the floor.
They looked at each other through the thick mist of gunpowder, both breathing hard.
No more words.
No more bullets.
Just blood and bone.
---
Naoki tossed his gun aside. The masked man did the same.
Both men stepped into the open, boots crunching on shattered glass.
Their eyes locked. The rain between them turned crimson as it mixed with the blood splatter on the floor.
Naoki lunged first—a clean right hook.
Crack!
The punch landed, jerking the man's head sideways, but he didn't fall.
The masked man staggered back, rolled his neck, and grunted through his mask. He waited. Watching. Measuring.
Naoki attacked again—a left cross, followed by a knee strike.
Blocked. Countered.
The masked man slammed an elbow into Naoki's ribs, forcing the air from his lungs.
Pain exploded in his side. Naoki stumbled, but before he could recover—
BAM!
A counterpunch caught him across the jaw. His vision flickered white.
He fell to the ground, dazed.
The masked man mounted him, pinning him down like a predator.
Then the barrage began.
Fist after fist after fist—
Brutal, merciless, raining down like hail.
Blood sprayed from Naoki's mouth. His teeth rattled. Each punch made the world blur around him.
He could taste iron. Hear his own heartbeat pounding in his skull.
The rain above turned red where it hit his face.
---
But Naoki wasn't done.
Through the haze of pain, his hand brushed against something jagged—
A broken shard of rock, half-buried in the mud.
He grabbed it.
The masked man cocked back for another punch—
Naoki struck first.
The sharp edge buried itself in the man's side.
The masked man screamed—a raw, guttural sound.
Naoki flipped him, reversing their positions. Now he was the one on top.
Rage took over.
No thought. No hesitation.
Naoki's fists became a storm.
Each strike landed with the force of years of torment.
His knuckles split. The masked man's blood splattered across the concrete.
Rain washed over them both, but it couldn't cleanse the violence anymore.
The masked man tried to grab Naoki's wrist. Naoki slammed his elbow down, shattering the man's forearm.
A howl echoed through the warehouse.
The masked man kicked Naoki off and rolled aside, clutching his wound.
But Naoki didn't stop.
He charged.
Head first.
They collided again—fists flying, bones cracking. The impact of flesh on flesh echoed like thunder.
Naoki's eyes were wild. His breath came in ragged bursts.
The masked man tried to stab him with a hidden knife, but Naoki caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted it backward until the bone snapped like dry wood.
The knife fell.
Naoki kicked it away and hammered his knee into the man's face.
Crunch.
Blood spattered across the concrete in arcs of crimson.
The man fell to his knees, gasping, dazed. His mask torn halfway off.
Naoki towered over him, chest heaving, drenched in blood and rain.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
The masked man raised his head, one last defiance in his eyes.
"You think killing me will fix you?" he rasped through cracked lips.
Naoki said nothing.
He just looked down at the man who had haunted his every nightmare, the symbol of all the pain he'd endured.
Then he saw it—a massive piece of rubble beside him. Heavy. Sharp-edged.
He picked it up.
The man shook his head weakly. "You're no better than me."
Naoki's lips twitched into something between a smile and a snarl.
"Maybe not."
He raised the rock high above his head.
The man's last word barely left his mouth before—
CRASH!
The rock came down with brutal force.
The sound of skull meeting stone echoed like a gunshot.
Naoki didn't stop at one.
He struck again.
And again.
And again.
Until the only sound left was his own heavy breathing.
Blood pooled beneath him, spreading through the cracks of the floor like a dark flower.
Naoki dropped the rock, his hands trembling.
His reflection shimmered in the puddle—distorted, monstrous.
The rain washed over him, but he didn't move.
He could still feel the ghostly ache in his knuckles, the echo of the man's final scream.
From the corner of the warehouse, the younger Naoki's astral form stood frozen, horrified.
He wanted to scream—but no voice came out.
The older Naoki turned his head slightly, half his face hidden in shadow.
Blood dripped down his chin, mixing with the rain.
He muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
"This… this is what survival looks like."
He staggered, wiping his face with a blood-soaked hand, and looked toward the broken skylight.
The storm was easing, but the darkness in his eyes wasn't.
---
He stood there, surrounded by death, his chest rising and falling slowly.
The body at his feet was still.
Utterly still.
Naoki exhaled—a long, hollow breath.
"Another one down," he whispered. "And still no peace."
Thunder rumbled once more, distant and tired, as if the sky itself mourned.
And with that, Naoki walked away, leaving the warehouse behind—
a cathedral of violence,
a grave built by his own hands.
To be continued.