Rion fought the first wave of thugs with calculated ferocity, already aware that another group was fast approaching his position. Their rapid footsteps echoed through the garage, signaling trouble. Though he'd anticipated reinforcements, their swift arrival exceeded his expectations.
With a swift glance over his shoulder, he saw them — another squad, heavily armed and ready to add to the already intense crossfire.
"Great, just what I needed," he muttered under his breath, the words laced with sarcasm.
His instincts kicked in, propelling him into action. He couldn't stay in the open for much longer, especially with multiple weapons trained on him. His eyes darted around for better cover, eventually landing on the burnt-out wreckage of an old car. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than standing out in the open like a target at a shooting range.
Without hesitation, he activated [Dash] and sprinted toward the wreck, throwing himself behind the burnt-out shell just as a fresh volley of bullets sliced through the air where he'd been standing moments before. The sharp crack of gunfire and bullets pinging off metal echoed through the air, mingling with the acrid stench of smoke and burning fuel.
The heat was intense, almost suffocating, as the flames from the nearby wreckage licked at the edges of his clothing. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his mind remained razor-sharp, focusing on the immediate threat. He risked a quick peek over the edge of the car, squinting through the haze of smoke and fire.
The grenade he'd tossed earlier had worked its magic, the smoke providing temporary cover, but it was beginning to thin out, revealing the figures of ten henchmen moving through the haze like dark phantoms. The way they moved showed that they weren't elite in any way, but that did not make them less dangerous as they had the advantage of numbers.
"Of course there are ten of them. Never just three or four," he muttered to himself as he ducked back down. There was no way he would risk taking on that many in a direct fight, not with a bullet already lodged in his shoulder. His body had compensated for the pain so far, but it wouldn't last. If this turned into a prolonged skirmish, his body would soon begin to wear down, and he would be at a disadvantage.
The urge to simply push through, to charge in and end this quickly, flashed through Rion's mind. With the precision of his skills, he was confident he could take down most of the men before they even had a chance to land a solid hit on him.
But even if he dropped the majority of them in a blur of motion, there would still be two or three left, all armed, and that was more than enough to turn the tables. It only took one lucky shot, one mistake, for things to go wrong. And Rion wasn't in the mood to test his luck today.
Rion took a deep breath and centered himself, feeling the weight of his own calmness wash over him. These men were nothing more than second-rate thugs, relying on cheap bravado and weapons they could barely handle. No matter how much they might bark and posture, they lacked the discipline and skill to truly pose a threat to someone like him.
His gaze shifted from one thug to the next, each of them more predictable than the last. There was no reason to let his emotions get the better of him. There was no way this bunch of second-rate thugs could rile him up.
His eyes darted around the destroyed garage, analyzing the terrain. That's when he spotted it; an old fuel tank, resting amidst the twisted remains of the garage's industrial equipment. The hulk was barely visible through the smoky air, but Rion's sharp eyes recognized its rusted silhouette. He didn't know if it still had any fuel in it, but if it did, well... that would solve a lot of his problems.
With a plan forming in his mind, Rion shifted his weight, peering just long enough over the hood of the car to fire off a couple of rounds. The shots weren't meant to hit anyone-just to force the goons back into cover and buy him some time. He needed them blind and pinned down.
The plan worked. The two closest henchmen dove behind a nearby stack of tires, and another trio huddled behind what was left of a concrete pillar, unsure of his exact position in the chaos.
Perfect.
Rion didn't waste a second. He moved fast, sprinting in a crouch toward the fuel tank, his body a blur of motion as he zigzagged between debris and burnt-out vehicles. Behind him, the group continued to shout orders, their frustration growing as they lost sight of him in the smoky haze.
"Where the hell is he?!" one of them yelled, his voice muffled by the smoke.
"Fan out! Find him!" barked another, probably the leader of this particular bunch.
They were closing in, but they still didn't know exactly where he was. Rion grinned to himself.
Now crouched behind a pile of broken crates, his back pressed against the cold metal of a rusting workbench, Rion took a deep breath. He reached for his weapon and swapped the magazine for the one containing the incendiary rounds, fingers steady despite the tense atmosphere.
Focusing on his Resonance, Rion felt the subtle thrum of energy within him, guiding it toward the weapon in his right hand. His fingers tingled as the energy crackled faintly, just enough to enhance his lethality.
He raised his gun and focused on the fuel tank. With a steadying breath, he took aim at its base, where the rusted metal was thinnest.
«Whizz!»
The bullet sped out, piercing through the thin metal shell of the rusted fuel tank. For a split second, nothing happened.
Then it exploded!
«Whooooosh!»
A thunderous roar filled the garage as the tank erupted in a violent fireball. Flames surged upward, consuming everything in their path. The heat was intense, waves of scorching air radiating outward.
Rion ducked low, shielding his face as chunks of debris rained down around him. The blast sent several of the abandoned cars crashing into one another, their gas tanks igniting in a chain reaction. Soon, the entire garage was engulfed in flames, thick black smoke curling toward the ceiling like the tendrils of some hellish beast.
The thugs screamed as the firestorm swallowed them, scattering in every direction as they tried to avoid the advancing wall of flames. Several of them were thrown backward by the blast, their bodies slamming into walls and debris with sickening force. One poor soul caught the full brunt of the blast, his limp form flying through the air before slamming into a pile of twisted metal beams.
Rion didn't wait to admire his handiwork and used the confusion to move again. He darted through the chaos, employing the thickening smoke as cover, his boots barely making a sound as he weaved between burning wreckage and collapsing structures. He needed to get out of this mess before reinforcements boxed him in.
The roaring flames seemed to amplify the chaos, adding an almost surreal atmosphere to the battlefield. As he advanced, his sharp ears picked up a familiar voice echoing above the noise, raspy and laced with venom, "That fucking son of a bitch! I'm gonna fucking—!"
Rion smirked. Nice to see you're still alive, Scarface.
He knew Cobra wouldn't give up easily. The man had too much pride to admit that he'd been played. But that worked to his advantage. Cobra was impatient, rash when his temper flared. And right now, his continued survival was pushing all the right buttons.
From somewhere in the smoke, Cobra's voice boomed again, this time more composed but laced with fury. "Enough games, Mr. Nobody. You're just prolonging the inevitable. Surrender now, and perhaps your death will be quick."
Rion, unfazed by the distant voice, smirked through the chaos and retorted, "Oh, spare me the theatrics, Smokestack. Maybe if you spent less time blowing smoke and more time honing your aim, you wouldn't be shouting empty threats from the sidelines."
Cobra's eyes widened in disbelief as he heard Rion's retort. Smokestack? The audacity! His already flushed face gained a deeper shade of red as he furiously clenched his fists, shaking with rage.
"Smokestack?!" Cobra roared, his voice echoing over the chaos. "How dare you, Mr. Nobody! You insolent brat! I'll have your head for that, you worm!"
Rion chuckled under his breath. "You seem to forget, Smokey, I'm the one with the upper hand here."
Cobra was beyond livid at this point. With a wild gesture, he pointed towards Rion's direction, his voice trembling with fury. "KILL HIM! KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH!"
The group who had just turned the corner, fueled by their leader's anger, sprang into action, racing after Rion with renewed determination. However, amidst the chaos and confusion, one hapless henchman accidentally tripped over a stray piece of debris, causing a domino effect that sent several others tumbling to the ground in a comical heap.
Cobra, some distance away, witnessed the absurd scene unfolding before him, seething with frustration. "Get up, you imbeciles! After him!"
The henchmen scrambled to obey, struggling to untangle themselves from the pile. Rion on the other hand could not help but grin.
Hehe, made my job easier... With that, he reached into his pocket and retrieved one of the remaining smoke grenades.
Aiming carefully, he tossed the grenade towards the henchmen, shrouding the immediate area in thick, obscuring fog.
The acrid smoke from the grenade hung thick in the air, blending with the lingering flames to create a surreal atmosphere. Taking a quick glance to assess the situation, he estimated that it would take the at least 5 seconds in order to reorient themselves.
More than enough...
He took a several deep breaths, the slight increase in concentration courtesy of the [Lesser Focus] technique making it easier for him to steady his mind. Without hesitation, he emerged from cover, his movements swift and calculated. The haze enveloped him like a shroud as he darted between burning cars and twisted debris. His senses heightened by the adrenaline rush, he unleashed a barrage of well-aimed shots, each one finding its mark with deadly precision.
The disoriented goons stumbled backward as they cried out in surprise and pain amidst the chaos. Bullets tore through flesh and bone, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake.
As he moved with purpose, his mind raced, analyzing every detail of the battlefield. The crackle of flames and the stench of smoke filled his senses, but he remained focused, his instincts honed by his training. With each step, he plotted his course, weaving through the wreckage with the grace of a dancer.
But the henchmen weren't disoriented for long. As Rion advanced and picked them off one at a time, the remainder found it easier to untangle themselves and regrouped, their weapons trained on him like vultures circling their prey. Bullets whizzed past him as he ducked and rolled, sending shards of concrete and glass raining down around him.
Unfortunately, he couldn't keep this up for much longer. With each passing moment, Rion felt the strain of the relentless onslaught weighing heavily upon him. The once sturdy bulletproof vest, now worn and battered, offered little protection against the onslaught of bullets. Its fabric, riddled with tears and punctures, strained to hold together under the barrage.
In addition, his reserve of origin energy had dwindled, making him unable to activate any techniques for long or empower his guns. Although they were still strong in their own way, they now lacked that extra oomph that made them highly lethal.
And most importantly, he was quickly running out of bullets. His original plan for when Cobra turned on him was to catch him by surprise and escape in the confusion. But now, the presence of the agents outside had made that plan impossible, making his preparations woefully inadequate.
Suddenly a burst of gunfire erupted from the side, the sharp crack of bullets whistling past his ear as he dove for cover behind on the damaged cars. All the remaining henchmen had arrived, their weapons aimed in his direction.