Chapter 147
MADMAN
The man who had spotted IAM edged closer, his grin stretching unnervingly wide. His eyes were locked on IAM like a predator about to enjoy the kill. "Hahaha… look at you now," he jeered, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of those nearby. "Not so easy now, huh? Not when you actually have to face us all."
IAM didn't respond. He didn't have the luxury of indulging this man's smugness. His attention was fractured—half on the figure in front of him, half on the faint but undeniable sounds of rapid footsteps approaching from behind. His enemies were closing in fast. Time was bleeding away far too quickly. His mind was already working overtime, flipping through the list of possible escapes, contemplating each one against the shrinking window he had left.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" the man continued, inching forward like he was savoring every step. "Look at you—frozen like a statue. Are you scared? His head tilted, and the smirk widened just a little more. I'm going to beat your ass, and then you're going to tell us exactly where the rest of your buddies are. Do you understand?"
IAM's eyes narrowed, but still he said nothing. Words would not get him out of this. He rapidly scanned through his options. He was already dangerously close to his limit—his chest burned with every breath, his legs ached with the dull throb of overuse, and his shoulders felt like lead. Taking out the man in front of him before the three approaching from ahead closed in was an unlikely gamble. And that was without factoring in the limping man—the so-called Mr. Balls—who was somewhere just behind him, he might still be hurting, but anger was a powerful fuel.
Seconds. That was all he had. Seconds before they all collapsed in on him like a tightening net.
The crowd pressing around them was both a blessing and a curse. Moving through it at full speed would slow everyone down, If IAM forced his way through at full speed, he could buy himself a gap. but the price was high—by the time IAM forced his way out the other side, his stamina would be gutted. And in his current condition, he wouldn't get far before they caught him again.
One faint advantage—if it could be called that—was that the two separate groups chasing him weren't yet aware of each other. They hadn't joined forces… yet. But that ignorance wouldn't last. When they did notice each other, the brief distraction of confusion would vanish, and their attention would merge into one singular focus: catching him. And IAM would be finished.
His mind touched on the one thing he had deliberately been avoiding.
KASSARA.
He'd read the manual front to back. He knew exactly what it could do now—what he could do with it. And that was precisely why he didn't want to use it here. These weren't hardened soldiers or life-threatening enemies; they were just… people. Dangerous, yes, with bad intentions, yes, but not to the level that justified pulling out something that could cripple or kill them.
If he used it carelessly, even once, and something irreversible happened… the police wouldn't care about the context. He'd be arrested, maybe imprisoned. His life would be derailed because he'd chosen to unleash something far beyond what the situation warranted. His life would be ruined over a fight with street thugs.
KASSARA stays last resort, he reminded himself. Only when I've mastered it.
So… how?
He had no answer. And the man in front of him wasn't going to wait for one. With a sudden burst of aggression, the guy lunged forward, arms outstretched, aiming to pin IAM down until his allies arrived.
IAM's eyes darkened. Beneath his breath, so quietly only he could hear it, he muttered, "I'm sorry."
His right hand shot out, grabbing the collar of a random protester beside him. With a sharp yank, he dragged the startled stranger into the path of the oncoming lunge. The two collided with a heavy thud, their combined momentum collapsing them into the ground.
IAM didn't hesitate—he couldn't hesitate. Using the bodies like a makeshift springboard, he planted his feet on them and launched himself up and over the heads of several shocked onlookers.
Gasps and startled cries rose around him. Signs and placards bobbed in the air as the crowd instinctively recoiled from the sudden burst of violence.
And then—right behind him—Mr. Balls appeared. The man's face was twisted with fury and determination. By some stubborn miracle of willpower, he mirrored IAM's exact move, springing off the two downed bodies with reckless abandon.
The crowd, already rattled, erupted in chaos—people stumbling back, clutching their belongings, shouting in alarm at the unexpected fight cutting through their protest.
IAM landed, knees bending to absorb the impact, and without missing a beat, his hand shot out and seized a wooden sign from a nearby woman. In bold letters it read: "If you can't even protect The Hold, how can you expect us to hold trust for you?"
With no time for finesse, IAM swung the sign in a wide arc, smashing it against the head of Mr. Balls just as he landed. The wood splintered instantly, the impact jarring up IAM's arms. It wasn't enough to cause serious injury, but that hadn't been the point—he needed space.
He turned sharply, ready to bolt, but fate had other ideas.
In an act of sheer will—or perhaps animal persistence—Mr. Balls lunged again, his hand closing around IAM's ankle. The grip was like a vice. IAM's forward motion was cut off violently, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Shit," IAM spat, rolling onto his back just as Mr. Balls scramble forward with the unhinged speed of a rabid animal. His hands were clawing at the ground as he half-pounced, half-crawled, and in a blink, his weight crashed down on top of IAM, knocking the breath out of him.
They hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through IAM's spine. Dirt and dust sprayed up around them as they grappled, each struggling for control. IAM's fists flew on instinct, his right hook connecting squarely with the side of the man's face — the jarring thud followed by a muffled grunt. But the man didn't stop. With a twisted snarl, he retaliated in kind, knuckles colliding with IAM's jaw in a blow that rattled his teeth.
The momentum carried them into a messy roll across the rough ground, limbs tangling. IAM was trying to pin him, but suddenly there was a sharp, feral pain that tore through his shoulder. The man's teeth had sunk deep into flesh. The agony was white-hot and primal.
IAM's vision blurred, a flash of red streaking across it, and every rational thought evaporated. The pain stripped away hesitation and stripped away restraint. With no warning, he drove his knee up, fast and merciless, into the man's crotch — the same target as before, but this time with every ounce of vicious strength he had left.
The result was instant. The man froze mid-bite, his jaw slackening in disbelief before it fell open in a strangled gasp. His eyes bulged, bloodshot and trembling, as if sheer horror had joined the physical pain tearing through him.
IAM didn't give him a chance to recover. Staring him dead in the eye, IAM slammed his forehead forward in a brutal headbutt. Bone struck bone with a sickening crack, and the man was sent sprawling sideways. He hit the ground, curling up instinctively, both hands cupping the source of his misery as the world around him had ceased to exist.
IAM pushed himself up, breathing hard, with his muscles screaming from the fight. His shoulder throbbed, his jaw ached, and his face carried fresh bruises — but he was still on his feet. The soreness spread through him like a warning of how close that had been.
Then he looked up.
The fight had been bad enough, but the scene ahead told him… it had just escalated into something far worse.
The crowd had finally dispersed, though not without leaving a trail of confusion in their wake. Faces lingered on IAM, still wearing expressions caught between shock and disbelief. A few bystanders fumbled for their phones, already dialing the police.
IAM couldn't help but find the irony bitter. These same people had been out here protesting the government's inability to protect them, shouting about self-reliance and distrust in authority. Yet now, the moment something truly went wrong, who else could they turn to? What other option did they really have?
The problem was, that dispersal had left behind a hollowed-out space in the middle of the street—a perfect, open stage. And in that open stage, IAM was now the main attraction. The empty circle made it almost too easy for the bullies to spot him.
All six of them closed in. They shared quick glances between themselves—brief flashes of recognition—before their faces stretched into matching grins and cruel smirks, like they were all in on the same unspoken thought.
Step by step, they tightened the circle.
IAM realized that he was right back where he had started earlier—boxed in, cornered, forced to face his problems head-on.
His breaths grew heavier, dragging in through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body ached and his energy reserves were long depleted. He was running on fumes now… and from the way things looked, luck had already abandoned him too.