This dirt road was technically a shortcut—on paper it saved a lot of distance.
But Leon had already wasted some time earlier, and crossing rough terrain also meant time lost.
Still, the fact that Dominic, Letty, and O'Neil had managed to keep pace proved one thing: these three weren't just racers. They were masters behind the wheel.
And that realization lit a fire in Leon's chest.
At first, he'd assumed fate had split their paths—that he wouldn't cross with Dominic and O'Neil again. But traffic blockades had forced them all back onto the same battleground.
"Let's go!" Leon shifted gears and slammed the accelerator.
The Silver Marauder roared in delight, unleashing its terrifying might. Dust and gravel exploded in its wake like a miniature nuclear blast, surging skyward in a rolling cloud.
From a distance, the Marauder no longer looked like a car—it was a streak of silver light tearing across the night.
Up ahead, O'Neil gripped his wheel with white-knuckled fury. Dominic's Venom kept pressing on his flank, refusing to yield. O'Neil cursed under his breath.
Again and again, he tried to force Dominic back with side-swipes and bumps. But Dominic never flinched—matching him blow for blow. Sparks flew, fenders crunched. They weren't even at the finish line yet, and already both cars were scarred like battered gladiators.
Behind them, Letty was having the easiest run. Her ride was untouched save for the coating of dust.
And then… a new sound split the night.
A monstrous, guttural roar—like some primordial beast charging out of the dark.
The three glanced around instinctively.
"What the hell is that?" O'Neil muttered, glancing to his right. The sound felt familiar, too familiar. It sent a chill down his spine.
And then it happened—less than two minutes later, the silver streak came into view.
The Silver Marauder.
Leon had arrived.
The crowd watching via live broadcast erupted. Dust storms trailed behind him as if the apocalypse itself was chasing them.
"He… he actually caught up?!" O'Neil's heart skipped. His face drained of blood.
He'd thought his D16 supercar gave him unshakable dominance. But Leon was a nightmare he couldn't escape—an unstoppable storm who crushed tactics, strategy, and "advantage" with nothing but raw, impossible speed.
Dominic's sharp eyes narrowed. He couldn't shake the feeling gnawing at him since Leon first appeared. The car didn't just look different—it sounded different. That deep, alien engine note wasn't like anything this era could produce.
Was this really just a car?
The shape, the sound… it reminded him of that phantom from the other night. Even with its altered bodylines, the aura was unmistakable. A ghost on wheels.
"Could it be him? Or are they working as a crew?" Dom thought grimly, casting a glance at the Medusa (the car Leon had faced before). The engine tone was eerily similar, just weaker.
No doubt about it. This wasn't just one freak driver—it was a syndicate.
And Dom decided then and there: after the race, he'd make sure someone shadowed them.
If Dom and O'Neil felt unease, Letty's reaction was the complete opposite.
The moment she heard the Marauder's growl, her face lit up with excitement. She turned and caught sight of the silver beast sliding into the fray, and her lips curved into a smile of pure admiration.
That's my guy.
The real king of the asphalt.
She'd worried earlier, after hearing Leon mention "a few problems," that maybe he wouldn't make it. That maybe he'd lose his chance tonight.
But now? Seeing him blaze back into the race, untouchable as ever, her doubts evaporated.
"Boss is boss," Letty muttered with a grin, flashing him a thumbs up from her window.
Leon guided the Marauder into a perfect drift onto the dirt road. Mud flew, dust exploded, and the crowd watching from their screens screamed in disbelief. To Leon, though, it was as effortless as sipping water.
The Marauder landed back onto the track smooth as silk. No panic, no loss of control—just a master's hand on the wheel.
He was behind now, sure, trailing the Medusa by about a kilometer. But Leon knew—one touch of the throttle, and that gap would vanish like smoke.
Just as his foot pressed down, the onboard system spoke:
"Warning: suspicious vehicles detected ahead. Armed hostiles. Proceed with caution."
Leon's eyes hardened. "Show me."
The HUD blinked alive, projecting the live scan.
Five black armored SUVs.
Ten superbikes.
And not just any bikes—Kawasaki Ninja H2R.
Leon exhaled sharply. "So they're back… and this time, they brought toys."
The H2R wasn't street-legal. It was a track-only monster, stripped of headlights and mirrors, with carbon-fiber wings jutting out like blades. The reflective silver paint glared under the moonlight.
Each one carried a supercharged inline-four, pushing nearly 300 horsepower. At 6000 RPM, they were already vicious. Past that, they turned savage, roaring with power that could fling an unprepared rider straight off the seat.
These bikes weren't for show—they were made to dominate speed records. Even at 321 km/h, they still pulled like rabid demons.
And now ten of them had formed a wall across the road.
Each rider armed.
Each intent clear.
Tonight, it wasn't just a race anymore.
It was a hit job.
~~----------------------
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