The steel pipe, slick with brain matter, dragged across the coarse concrete.
Skreeeee—
The shrill noise acted like a blunt knife, carving into Kane’s eardrums stroke by stroke.
Brutus the butcher sneered, closing the distance step by step.
With every stride he took, the heat radiating from the pentagram seal on Kane’s palm intensified.
The blood in his veins was no longer cold.
It had been ignited, surging through him like burning, low-grade fuel.
The chill of terror still clung to his marrow, but it was being forcibly suppressed by a primal, more violent impulse.
"Run. Why aren't you running anymore?"
Brutus savored Kane’s current "paralysis." He slowly raised the steel pipe.
Whoosh!
A foul wind lashed his face!
The pipe descended vertically toward the crown of Kane’s head, backed by enough force to make the air explode.
In that heartbeat, Kane’s mind went blank.
No thought. No plan.
The fragmented memories of the Shadow Stalker coalesced into pure physical instinct.
The muscles in his legs erupted!
He didn't retreat. Instead, he was propelled by a massive force, rolling away toward the rear flank in a desperate scramble.
He kept his body low, low to the ground, and lunged.
Boom!
The steel pipe slammed into the spot where Kane had just been standing. The concrete buckled and cracked, sending stone shards flying.
The terrifying gust of wind grazed his scalp, raising a patch of stinging goosebumps.
So fast!
Kane himself was stunned by this unfamiliar explosive power. He nearly lost control of the roll, almost crashing into the pile of scrap metal behind him.
The sneer on Brutus’s face froze as the strike hit nothing but air.
Heavy bewilderment flashed in his eyes. He clearly hadn't expected this "corpse dog" to possess such reflexes.
Kane wouldn't give him a second opening.
The moment his body stabilized, he didn't try to increase the distance. Instead, he dove headfirst into a shaky, man-high stack of discarded engines to Brutus's left.
He knew this scrapyard better than Brutus did.
"Want to hide? Little rat!"
Brutus let out a disdainful snort. He raised a foot and kicked the engine pile hard.
Clang!
Amidst the massive metallic crash, the entire scrap heap shook violently. Several rusted gears and parts slid off the top, slamming down near Kane’s feet.
He thought this would flush Kane out.
He was wrong.
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Kane remained hidden in the shadows, crouched extremely low in a posture resembling a wild cat waiting for its moment.
Using the noise from the kick as cover, Kane kicked out at a long metal rod slanted against the ground.
Clatter!
The metal rod hit the floor, striking a steel plate on the opposite side and creating a sharp, distracting sound.
A feint.
"There!"
Brutus took the bait. He whipped his head around, his gaze locking onto the direction of the noise.
Now!
Kane’s muscles coiled like a fully drawn bow. He erupted from the shadows on the other side—Brutus's absolute blind spot.
Three years of processing corpses had given Kane an intimate knowledge of the human body's vulnerabilities.
The military knife in his hand thrust straight for Brutus’s undefended right flank!
The liver!
If it connected, it would be fatal.
But he had underestimated the combat instincts of a gang butcher.
Just as the tip of the blade was about to pierce the flesh, Brutus’s body reacted with startling speed.
Without even looking back, he jerked his torso to the left.
Simultaneously, the muscles in his right arm bulged as he threw it back in a hard block.
Puchi!
The knife failed to reach the ribs, instead sinking deep into his blocking forearm.
The blade tore through muscle, drawing a spray of scalding blood.
The agony sent Brutus into a total frenzy.
"Argh! You’re dead!!"
He let out a beastly roar. Dropping the steel pipe, his free left hand shot out like lightning, seizing Kane’s right wrist in a vice grip.
Crack!
An irresistible, massive force surged through him. Kane’s wrist bones groaned, letting out a strained plea for mercy.
Under the agonizing pain, his fingers loosened.
Clatter!
The dagger hit the ground.
The next second, Brutus’s injured, blood-slicked right hand clamped onto Kane’s throat like an iron shackle.
"You little mongrel..."
Brutus’s distorted face loomed large before Kane, a thick stench of blood and foul breath washing over him.
Suffocation set in instantly.
Kane’s feet left the ground, hoisted up by the brute's sheer strength.
The despair was bone-chilling.
The power gap was simply too wide.
At that exact moment, the memory fragments of the Shadow Stalker exploded within Kane’s mind.
Under the moonlight, facing a giant radiated hyena many times its size, how did the Shadow Stalker turn the tide?
It wasn't through strength.
It was timing. It was the angle. It was... lethal precision!
The human fear and panic in Kane’s eyes receded at a rapid pace.
In its place came a cold, emotionless feral instinct.
He stopped his futile struggling. He stopped trying to pry Brutus’s hand from his throat.
Instead, his left hand—outfitted with cheap prosthetic fingers—flipped upward from below at a grotesque angle no ordinary human could achieve.
The three cold, metal prosthetic digits pressed together into a cone.
Target: Brutus’s eye.
Splat!!
There was no hesitation.
The metal fingers plunged precisely into Brutus’s wide-open left eye.
"ARGH—!!!"
A shrill, inhuman scream tore through the deathly silence of the scrapyard.
Brutus instinctively released Kane, his hands flying up to cover his gushing eye socket.
The chance!
It was only a split second.
The moment Kane hit the ground, his body didn't pause. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, dropping his center of gravity.
His right hand swept across the floor like lightning, reclaiming the cold dagger.
[ Kinetic Boost ]!
Every ounce of strength in his body, fused with that beast-like explosive power, was poured unreservedly into his right arm.
Kane launched himself from the ground. As Brutus threw his head back in agony, Kane surged upward from below.
The dagger traced a lethal upward arc.
The target wasn't the heart, nor the throat.
It was one of the lethal shortcuts he knew best after processing countless corpses.
The jaw.
Puchi—!
The blade, backed by the entirety of Kane’s weight, drove violently through Brutus’s soft lower jaw.
The tip tore through the root of the tongue, shredded the windpipe, and pierced—accurately, savagely—straight up into the brain.
"Gurgle... gurgle..."
Brutus’s screaming stopped abruptly.
His massive frame stiffened. The hands clutching his eye went limp.
In his remaining good eye, there was only pure horror and bewilderment.
To his dying breath, he couldn't understand how a "rat" in his eyes had executed such a textbook counter-kill.
Thud.
His body toppled backward into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Warm, metallic-smelling blood splattered across Kane’s head and face.
The battle was over.
"Blegh..."
Kane leaned on his knees, gasping for air as his stomach churned.
A powerful wave of nausea hit his throat, but he ground his teeth and forced it back down.
Looking at the cooling corpse and his own hands—stained with blood and grey matter—Kane’s body began to shake uncontrollably.
It wasn't excitement.
It was the aftershock, the revulsion, and the primal rejection of having taken a life with his own hands.
But he knew this was no time for weakness.
Survive.
That was the only law of the Undercity.
Just then—
Bzzt... crackle...
The harsh sound of static erupted from the radio at Brutus’s waist.
Immediately after, a rasping, impatient voice came through.
"Brutus, how long does it take to catch one rat? We’re at the entrance. Where the hell are you?"
In that instant, Kane’s blood turned to ice.
He snapped his head up, staring toward the only entrance to the scrapyard.
In the darkness, several blinding motorcycle headlights pierced through the thick fog.
They were like sharp swords of light, illuminating his surroundings as bright as day.
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