(Kuchiba Hiro hadn't fled the heart of the storm; he'd only withdrawn to a relatively safe edge. Now, with the surrounding district completely blacked out, the crippled power grid had taken every camera offline, carving out a temporary "safe zone" for him.
Beyond the devastation, chaos reigned. Dust thick as fog drifted down from the sky, swallowing the streets. People screamed and scattered, swearing this disaster movie was worse than 9/11.
Kuchiba Hiro pressed his back to the damp bricks of a gloomy alley, breath held, a stalking leopard waiting for the tempest to die so he could slip back and scavenge.
Yet the instant his vigilance wavered, a jolt of dread—sharp as an ice pick—pierced his mind. His danger sense had fired.
His scalp exploded in prickling heat. Without thinking, he drove off the ground and catapulted sideways and back.
Shff-shff-shff—!
The moment he left the spot, a storm of crimson, crystal shards rained down, peppering the wall and ground he'd leaned against, cracking like shattered glass.
Kuchiba Hiro snapped his head up. A tall silhouette dropped like a night bat.
Black trench coat, white-streaked hair, a black armored mask covering the lower face —only those red pupils on black sclera showed, eyes that weren't human.
Most striking were his hands: not gloves but a symbiotic mutation, massive fists encased in thick black armor, jagged and brutal.
Using the fall, the stranger slammed both fists together, meteor-like, straight at Kuchiba Hiro's head. Before the blow landed, the wind alone snapped Kuchiba Hiro's hair back.
With his left hand still clutching the vital briefcase, Kuchiba Hiro whipped up his right arm, channeling Hardening. Muscle bulged, skin darkened to gunmetal, and he braced for the impact.
CLANG—!!!
Armored fist met hardened forearm with a bell-like roar. A ring of visible shock rolled out, kicking up dust. Kuchiba Hiro felt mountain-shaking force; his boots sank an inch into concrete, yet he stood unshaken.
What power! Kuchiba Hiro marveled—this strike rivaled his own reinforced body.
The masked man landed without a sound, balance superb, and unleashed a whirlwind of blows—straight drives, sweeping hooks, hammering smashes, every move wide and crushing, air shrieking under the onslaught.
But Kuchiba Hiro's skill outclassed his. One-handed, suitcase in tow, he flowed like water.
Footwork light, he wove through the narrow alley, deflecting the heavy fists with hardened forearms or guiding them aside with wrist and elbow, then slamming in with a Bajiquan shoulder-throw that sent the masked man stumbling.
The alley became a blur of colliding limbs —drumbeat thuds and leather-crack echoes, a brutal ballet of strength and technique danced on the edge of death.
The longer they fought, the more Kuchiba Hiro marveled: the stranger's stamina and raw toughness were monstrous, absorbing hits with barely a shiver. Stalemate.
Suddenly a cold, crisp female voice rang from above: "Back off!"
Without hesitation the masked man feinted and sprang away, opening distance.
Instantly a denser, heavier cascade of red crystal blades poured down like a waterfall, sealing every escape route.
Kuchiba Hiro's eyes narrowed. Dodging was impossible; in a heartbeat he spread Hardening across his entire body, turning to dark-gold metal, forearm raised to shield head and face.
Ting-ting-tang—thunk-thunk!
The crystal blades sparked and shattered against him, harmless, while the walls around were chewed to pieces.
As the barrage ebbed, a petite figure leapt down like a cat. She wore an oversized blue raincoat and a cute pink rabbit mask, her back crowned by a single crimson wing of flame.
Mid-drop the wing froze, crystallizing into a jagged greatsword. Spinning like a crimson top, she slashed for Kuchiba Hiro's neck.
CLANG—CRACK!!
The blade struck his neck and exploded. The impact buckled her body; she grunted.
"Tough bastard!" she cursed beneath the rabbit mask, already trying to retreat.
Kuchiba Hiro wouldn't allow it. In the instant the blade shattered he dissolved all Hardening save for his right fist.
Exploiting her stagger, he planted, hips and fist unified, and snapped out a lightning piston-punch straight at her face.
She threw up crossed arms.
THUD—CRACK!
Bone cracked; she screamed, catapulted into the wall, and slid limp.
The masked man scooped her up, shot Kuchiba Hiro a wary, inhuman glare, then vaulted away through the maze of alleys without looking back.
Kuchiba Hiro didn't chase. He unclenched his fist, letting the Hardening fade.
"Bounty hunters..." he muttered. Everyone's just trying to eat. If the prey's too hard, you move on—no point dying for it.
He shook his head, unsurprised by merchants of violence who knew when to fold. Survival meant knowing your limits. Melting into shadow again, he waited for the storm's final verdict, hoping for no more surprises. He only wanted his paycheck.)
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