The moment their weapons clashed, the night exploded into chaos. The screech of metal against metal echoed through the skeletal structure of the unfinished building. Sparks flew as Alexander's blade met Vasiliev's combat knife in a flurry of rapid, precise strikes. Each movement was calculated, a deadly dance between two masters of the kill. The air was thick with tension, and every breath was drawn with caution. The scent of metal, sweat, and dust lingered between them, mixing with the ever-present air of violence.
Vasiliev pivoted, pressing the attack. He moved with terrifying efficiency, every strike aimed at Alexander's vitals. The Butcher wasted no energy, no movement—his blade work was ruthless and surgical, meant to cripple or kill within seconds. His eyes remained fixed, emotionless, betraying neither frustration nor satisfaction. Each attack was purposeful, an unrelenting tide of aggression that Alexander barely managed to parry. A downward slash aimed at his throat forced him to twist away just in time to avoid the follow-up elbow strike aimed at his jaw. The force of the attack grazed his cheek, sending a jolt of pain down his spine, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
Alexander countered, slashing low toward Vasiliev's thigh, aiming to wound and slow him. But the Russian was just as quick, pivoting on his heel and delivering a punishing kick to Alexander's midsection. The impact sent Alexander staggering backward, his boots skidding across the dust-covered floor. Pain radiated through his ribs, a deep ache that threatened to buckle his stance, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. He wouldn't allow himself to falter—not now.
Vasiliev smirked, his stance unshaken. "Faster than I expected." His voice was calm, his accent laced with amusement, as if the battle was nothing more than a test—a game he already knew he would win.
Alexander exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Likewise." He could feel the sting of sweat mixing with the cut on his temple, but he ignored it. The fight was far from over.
The pause was brief, like the eye of a storm before the next violent surge. Vasiliev lunged again, his knife a blur in the dim light. Alexander twisted to the side, avoiding the thrust by inches, and retaliated with a brutal backhand slash. His blade grazed Vasiliev's arm, slicing through fabric and flesh. A thin line of crimson dripped onto the concrete, but the Butcher barely acknowledged the wound.
Instead, he smiled. A slow, knowing smile that sent a chill down Alexander's spine.
The Russian's counterattack was immediate. He surged forward, using his wounded arm as a feint while his free hand snapped forward, seizing Alexander's wrist in an iron grip. Before Alexander could break free, Vasiliev yanked him forward, slamming a knee into his ribs. The force stole the breath from his lungs, and for a split second, his vision blurred. His body screamed in protest, but he refused to give in to the pain.
It was enough.
Vasiliev capitalized on the opening, twisting Alexander's wrist violently. The knife tumbled from his grasp, clattering to the floor. The Butcher struck again, this time with his elbow, catching Alexander across the temple. Stars exploded in his vision, and he barely managed to roll with the impact, avoiding a fatal follow-up slash. He hit the ground hard, the cold cement jarring his senses back to reality. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the rush of blood fueling his survival instincts.
Regaining his footing, Alexander darted backward, blood trickling down his temple. His mind worked fast, analyzing, adjusting. Vasiliev was stronger, more experienced in close combat. Every attack had been deliberate, designed to break his guard and finish him efficiently. But Alexander had more than just skill—he had the system. He clenched his fists, his body responding to the enhancements the system had granted him. He wasn't just fighting as a man—he was fighting as something more.
Vasiliev narrowed his eyes as if sensing the shift. "Still standing?" he mused. "Interesting."
Alexander said nothing, his expression cold. He had fought enough battles to know when brute force wasn't the answer. Vasiliev was dangerous, but he was predictable—he relied on overwhelming his opponent through sheer force.
Drawing on his enhanced agility, Alexander shifted his strategy. No more meeting brute force with brute force. Instead, he became the ghost.
With a burst of speed, Alexander disappeared into the shadows, moving with impossible swiftness. Vasiliev's eyes flickered, scanning, searching. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife, his stance shifting into pure defense. The hunter had just become the hunted.
A whisper came from the darkness. "Let's see how well you fight when you can't see your enemy."
Vasiliev's jaw clenched. His posture shifted slightly, shoulders tightening as his body prepared for the unknown. He turned, listening intently, his muscles coiled like a spring. He was not a man who feared the dark, but in that moment, Alexander could sense the slightest hesitation—a fraction of uncertainty creeping into the Butcher's usually impenetrable confidence.
The game had changed. The advantage was his.
The real battle had begun.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
🔥 Hey legends! Quick updates! 🔥
💥 Can't wait for the next chapter? Good news—ALL advance chapters are available on Patreon for just $5! No more waiting, just pure binge-reading goodness! 🚀
👉 patreon.com/cyci07
✨ Power Stone Challenge! ✨
If we hit 100 power stones, I'll drop 2 bonus chapters! Let's see if you guys can make me suffer! 😂
💬 Enjoying the story? Leave a review and let me know your favorite moment so far! It helps the novel grow and reach more readers!
Thanks for all your support—you guys are awesome! ❤️