CHAPTER 116: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!
The strikes of Billy "The Caracal" Greco didn't feel like they were thrown by a human. They carried the impact of industrial ice picks—sharp, cold, and impossibly heavy.
One hit had been enough to shred the conditioned skin of Ren's forearm.
One grip had been enough to manhandle Ren's 97kg frame.
One movement had been enough to launch a simultaneous knee and elbow combination with lethal intent.
Billy was a "Suit-Clad Thug" in its most barbaric form.
"Pfft—!"
Ren spat a glob of blood, but his mouth wouldn't stop filling with the metallic taste. His solar plexus throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening ache.
He looked at Billy. The man looked completely fresh, as if he were just getting started.
"Thanks for taking care of my men," Billy said, circling Ren with a lazy grace. "The ones who went to fetch the chemical weapons from that cult girl... they were good earners. I heard your people liquidated them."
"And the missile business with Sadakuni? You were there too, weren't you? You're becoming quite a nuisance, kid."
Billy lunged. He threw a heavy, driving kick that Ren avoided by leaning his torso back at a sharp angle.
But Billy's biological stats were absurd. He used the momentum of the missed kick to transition into a "Hook-Sweep," his ankle acting like a scythe as it whipped back toward Ren's shins.
BANG!
Ren jumped, but the heel of Billy's boot slammed into the concrete floor of the ring. The old rubber matting was shredded instantly, and a spider-web of cracks appeared in the solid cement beneath.
"DIE..."
Billy didn't pause. He launched a barrage of flicker-jabs that rained down on Ren like a hailstorm.
Ren braced his arms, his biceps swelling and turning purple under the punishment. Even these "light" jabs felt like being struck by the point of a ball-peen hammer. Every impact sent a jolt of bone-deep agony into Ren's nervous system.
THUD!
As Billy paused to draw a shallow breath between combinations, Ren saw his opening. He swatted Billy's wrist aside and leaned his entire weight into a clinch.
Ren snaked his right arm under Billy's guard and clamped his left hand onto the man's shoulder. Using the explosive power of his core and legs, he hoisted the 115kg mercenary into the air.
Ren prepared to drive him into the deck.
However, Billy had anticipated the grapple. He didn't fight the lift. Instead, as he was hoisted, he drove his left elbow downward with terminal force into Ren's temple.
It was a cold-blooded execution strike.
THWACK!
Ren tilted his head at the last microsecond, but the impact still caught the side of his skull. A red haze exploded in his vision. His left eye went bloodshot instantly as a massive hematoma began to form.
But Billy was shocked.
Even with a hit that should have caused instant cranial hemorrhaging, Ren Shiroki didn't let go. His grip felt like iron bands. There was a terrifying, unyielding "Grit" to the youth's body that didn't feel like human meat.
"Oh!?"
Billy's smirk vanished. He was suspended in the air, helpless.
"You... goddamn... TRASH!"
Ren roared. His core muscles snapped like high-tension cables. He aimed for the patch of pulverized concrete from earlier and slammed Billy down with everything he had.
[ZANGIEF: SIBERIAN SLAM]!
BOOM!
Billy hit the concrete back-first. The floor didn't just crack; a crater formed, shards of stone and dust erupting around them.
The impact was a death-blow for any normal man. Billy's body actually bounced off the floor before settling into the debris, his eyes rolling back.
"Hah... huff... hah...!"
Ren exhaled a cloud of bloody steam. He blinked away the "tears" of blood from his eye, focused on Billy's throat, and raised a heavy boot.
[ZANGIEF: POWER STOMP]!
THOOM!
The deck shook, but the "Might" hit nothing but stone.
Billy had rolled away with the agility of a predator cat, springing to his feet in a single fluid motion. He coughed up a mouthful of blood and licked his lips, his voice a raspy, taunting drawl.
"DIE... PUNK..."
In just sixty seconds of combat, both fighters had traded "Kill Shots" that would have ended a standard Kengan match. Both were bleeding, both were redlining, and the atmosphere in the gym had turned into a thick, suffocating fog of murder.
A few yards away, Seishu Akoya watched the ring. He was currently unzipping his white gi top, revealing a black tactical compression shirt.
"The term 'Yobbo' means 'Weakling' in his dialect," Shunsuka Hiyama whispered to Akoya. "That Westerner... he has never respected the Association. He views us as a playground."
"It doesn't matter," Akoya whispered back, his voice a chilling monotone. "He is IDEAL. He is the germ. I will excise him in the name of Justice."
"I will not let him leave. I will not... I will not..."
"DIE... DIE! DIE!!"
Billy's grin turned manic. He locked onto Ren's throat, intending to end the game with his next move.
ZIP!
Billy launched a low-kick feint, his right hand blurring forward. He didn't use a fist; his middle knuckle was projected in a "Dragon-Head" strike, aimed directly at Ren's Adam's apple.
Billy was confident. Based on their previous exchanges, Ren's defensive timing was too slow to catch a specialized thrust-kill.
But he was wrong.
Ren Shiroki didn't block. He swung his right fist in a heavy downward arc, meeting Billy's hand mid-air with the force of a falling anvil.
[RYU: OVERHEAD CRACKER]!
CRACK!
Fist met fist. Billy felt his hand go numb as the shockwave traveled up his arm. He staggered back, his eyes wide with shock.
Ren's pupils were vibrating. The veins in the whites of his eyes had ruptured, and blood was pouring from his nose.
[ENGINE] — OVERDRIVE!
He had manual-overridden his nervous system. His actions were now perfectly synchronized with his will.
"Wow," Billy muttered, realizing the shift. "You really are trying to kill me. If you don't bring that intent to the table, you'll DIE in seconds..."
Ren spat a mouthful of gore and let out a jagged, demonic grin. "This isn't 'Killing Intent,' Billy. This is just My Style."
Next microsecond—
[DRIVE RUSH]!
Ren blurred forward. He launched a high-speed straight punch that Billy barely slipped, then immediately dropped into a low-line Thomas Flare.
[JAMIE: BREAKIN' SWEEP]!
The rapid-fire spinning kicks were a whirlwind. Billy found himself pinned, unable to find a window to counter without eating a dozen hits to the shins and ribs.
Should I trade? Should I tank it?
Ren didn't give him time to decide. He popped up from the floor, his right arm already chambered and vibrating with kinetic potential.
[GUILE: BURNING STRAIGHT]!
SHING!
The punch grazed Billy's black-textured ear, drawing a thin line of blood.
Ren's mind was a storm of hyper-clarity. He could feel a new phantom's presence—a youth with a wild, competitive energy.
That's it! You don't need a reason to kill him to win. Combat is just a high-stakes version of a playground scrap!
Think about the kids you used to play with. Everyone had a trick. Everyone had a reach. You just have to solve the puzzle!
Forget the terrorists. Forget the pressure. Don't change for him...
Just fight YOUR fight!
The Caracal's sheer savagery had pushed Ren into the "Death Zone." He was on the verge of a breakthrough.
Ren prepared to lunge for the finish—but then, Billy Greco suddenly kicked off the floor and threw himself backward.
He didn't take a defensive stance. He sailed through the air and landed outside the ring, sprawling flat on his back. He didn't move.
"..."
Ren froze.
The spectators and the Referee stood in a state of total confusion. After five seconds of silence, a look of pure irritation crossed the Referee's face. He realized he'd been played.
"Match... Match is decided! Winner: Ren Shiroki!"
There were no cheers. Only a hollow, angry silence.
Billy Greco—The Caracal—had taken a dive. He had intentionally "Lost" to end the formal Kengan match, preventing it from escalating into a true life-or-death struggle. He had insulted the very spirit of the Association.
Billy hopped to his feet, dusting off his pants with a lazy smile. "Sorry, sorry! If we keep going, we're going to start trying to kill each other. That's a 'War,' not a 'Match.'"
"I'm a man of peace. I hate high-stakes gambles."
"So... game over!"
Billy raised his hands, looking at Ren with a taunting wink. "You won, 'Soul Combat' boy."
"Heh... haha..."
Ren started to laugh. The laughter grew into a low, terrifying rumble. He tightened his fists, his face a mask of blood and fury. He began to march toward the edge of the ring.
"CARACAL! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!"
"Wow!" Billy shrieked in mock-terror. He turned to run, but Ren was blocked by the Referee and several Teiai enforcers.
"Ren-san! Calm down!" the Referee urged. "The match is over! If you hit him now, it's a criminal assault! The Association won't protect you!"
"Exactly!"
Billy grinned, reaching into his pocket for a business card. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. Billy Greco. Current Third Secretary for the CIA Diplomatic Mission."
"Launching a violent attack against me carries... severe international legal consequences."
Billy wiped the blood from his lip and straightened his collar. "The match was fun. But it's finished. Don't be a sore winner."
He turned to Heihachi Furumi. "My apologies, Furumi-san. I lost the bet."
With that, Billy scooped up his jacket and walked out of the basement gym, ignoring the murderous glares of the crowd.
"Haha! That was great!" Billy chuckled to himself as he reached the street. "Kengan matches are so safe. You lose, and everyone just lets you walk away. I should play more of these."
Billy climbed into a black sedan waiting at the curb. He gestured for his driver to move out.
The car traveled for three minutes. As it rounded a dark corner near an alleyway—
A silhouette emerged from the shadows. The figure was in a perfect "Baseball Pitcher" wind-up.
ZIP!
A heavy, metallic object smashed through the sedan's rear window, landing right at Billy's feet.
Billy looked down.
It was a military-grade fragmentation grenade. The pin was missing.
Billy: "..."
Billy: "...SHIT!!!"
BOOM!!!
A violent explosion turned the sedan into a fireball, the shockwave shattering the nearby storefronts.
In the dark alley, a man stood watching the smoke rise.
Seishu Akoya held the grenade pin between his fingers, his face a mask of cold, unyielding resolve. He watched the inferno consume the "Germ" of IDEAL.
"JUSTICE... EXECUTED."
☆☆☆
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