"Strong fighting skills."
The slightly hoarse voice echoed through the alley, low and steady despite the chaos. Locke stood still, his gaze fixed on the man embedded in the wall ahead of him. Blood streamed down the attacker's head, bright red against the cracked bricks, his eyes half-lidded as if consciousness was already slipping away.
Locke hadn't used his full strength in that kick, yet the result was already devastating. The follow-up strike had been worse. When his palm connected with the man's skull, he had felt it give under the impact, the bone denting inward like soft metal.
"Judge… you can't escape…"
The man's voice trembled, choked and uneven, like he was forcing the words out through failing lungs. The moment the sentence ended, his head slumped forward, his body going limp.
Around them, the remaining attackers froze for a fraction of a second, shock flashing across their faces. That brief pause shattered instantly.
A shadow tore through the darkness.
A blade cut silently through the air, aimed directly at Locke's back. Elena and the others, still watching from a distance, gasped in horror as the strike landed cleanly.
Pain flared across Locke's back, sharp and burning, forcing him to react instantly. He turned, his leg snapping out in a brutal counterattack that sent the ambusher flying backward. The man barely had time to register what happened before he was driven into the ground.
Locke didn't stop.
He surged forward, intent on finishing the kill, but movement exploded from above.
Figures dropped from both sides of the alley.
One after another, men in black descended from the rooftops, their landings precise and controlled. Long blades gleamed in their hands as they closed in, surrounding Locke in a tightening circle.
More than a dozen.
Each one moved with discipline, their coordination precise, their intent unmistakable.
They attacked at once.
Steel flashed in every direction, blades cutting through the air with lethal precision. Locke's body blurred as he moved, afterimages weaving between the attackers as he slipped through their strikes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Fists, legs, and steel collided in rapid succession, the rhythm of combat intensifying with every exchange. Locke struck back while dodging, his movements fluid as he engaged multiple opponents at once.
At the same time, arrows cut through the air.
He leaned back slightly, the projectile whistling past his face before embedding itself in the wall behind him with a sharp crack. His eyes flicked briefly toward the source, noting the addition of ranged support.
These weren't ordinary attackers.
They had come prepared—blades, projectiles, hidden weapons—and every one of them had combat experience. Their physical strength was beyond normal limits, their bodies clearly enhanced in some way.
For the first time in a while, Locke felt the pressure of numbers.
Even with his power, fighting so many at once forced him to stay sharp.
A massive fist came crashing toward him, the force behind it enough to crush bone. Locke met it head-on, his own punch driving forward without hesitation.
The collision rang out like a dull explosion.
The attacker was sent flying instantly, his body thrown backward by the overwhelming force. Locke, however, paused for a fraction of a second.
The strength was there—but it still wasn't enough.
Before he could press the advantage, more attacks followed.
A blade slashed toward his upper body while a whip-like kick swept toward his legs. Locke's focus sharpened instantly. He struck one attacker aside with a quick punch, then pushed off the ground, leaping onto the wall.
His hands gripped the surface, his body climbing upward in one smooth motion.
A shadow dropped onto his shoulder.
Locke's eyes hardened.
Without hesitation, he reached back and grabbed the man by the ankle. With a single motion, he swung him down, smashing the attacker into the wall beside him.
Boom!
The bricks shattered under the impact, fragments scattering as the man crumpled and fell.
At the same time, Elena and the remaining students seized their chance.
No one was watching them anymore.
They ran.
One by one, they rushed toward the alley's exit, stumbling over each other in their desperation to escape. Elena was the last to leave, her steps slowing briefly as she glanced back.
Her eyes caught a strange sight.
One of the fallen men in black was crouched on the ground, scooping up snow stained with blood and sealing it into a small container with careful precision.
Before she could process it, the sound of combat drew her attention upward again.
Locke had already moved to higher ground.
He emerged from the shadows above, facing two attackers at once as they pressed him in the narrow space. Blades flashed, their strikes relentless and coordinated, leaving little room to maneuver.
The confined space worked against him.
Within seconds, Locke abandoned the idea of finishing them there.
A dart cut through the air.
He tilted his head slightly, feeling the rush of wind as it passed. The next instant, it slammed into the wall behind him, the impact sending fragments of brick scattering.
Locke's eyes flicked toward the embedded projectiles.
Three darts.
Without hesitation, he pushed off the wall, his body launching upward. His black coat flared behind him as he moved, knocking attackers off balance and sending them crashing back into the alley below.
He reached the top.
For a brief moment, his gaze shifted toward the retreating figures of Elena and the others. Then he moved again, dropping from the wall and landing on the street beyond.
The attackers followed.
They didn't hesitate, their focus locked entirely on him as they poured out of the alley in pursuit.
The noise finally drew attention.
Windows opened along the street, residents peering out as the sounds of combat and breaking masonry reached them. Gasps and shouts spread quickly as people realized what was happening below.
Locke ran.
His speed carried him down the street in long, fluid strides, his figure cutting through the darkness as more than a dozen men chased behind him. Despite their training, the gap between them grew quickly.
Within moments, he was already halfway down the street.
He turned sharply at the corner, disappearing into another alley.
The attackers followed immediately.
The lead man reached the corner first.
The moment he stepped through—
A shadow struck.
Locke's fist slammed into his head with brutal force. The man barely had time to raise his arms before the impact shattered through his defense, sending him flying backward.
Bone cracked audibly.
His body crashed into the others behind him, disrupting their advance.
They reacted instantly.
Without hesitation, they spread out, letting the fallen man hit the ground as they continued forward. Not one of them stopped to check on him.
Locke stepped out from the shadows.
His body moved again.
He entered the group like a storm, his strikes landing with precision and speed. Every punch and kick sent another attacker flying, their bodies crashing against the ground or walls.
Now, in the open street, he finally had space.
He let loose.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—several of them circling behind him, attempting to box him in again. At the same time, blades cut toward him from multiple directions, forcing him to stay on the move.
Even for him, eliminating them cleanly without taking damage was difficult.
His gaze sharpened.
He drove his fist forward again, sending another attacker reeling—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots exploded across the street.
The sound cut through everything.
In an instant, several of the men in black were struck, bullets tearing into their bodies as blood sprayed across the pavement. The formation broke as they scrambled for cover, diving behind whatever they could find.
A third party.
Locke didn't hesitate.
Using the disruption, he vanished.
His figure blurred into motion, leaving behind a trail of afterimages as he retreated into the distance. By the time the attackers recovered, he was already gone.
He didn't stop until he reached a deserted alley.
Then he climbed.
His body moved across the rooftops with ease, leaping from one structure to another until he found a quiet perch in the darkness.
Only then did he slow.
His hand reached behind him, pulling out the final cross-shaped dart lodged in his back. He tossed it aside without a second thought.
His chest rose slightly as he steadied his breathing, his mind already analyzing what had happened.
These opponents were different.
Compared to the Mask Club, they were far more dangerous. Every single one of them required real effort to deal with, their coordination and preparation pushing the fight into something far more serious.
His gaze drifted back toward the street.
Gunfire still echoed in the distance.
Another force had engaged them.
Residents who had been watching quickly shut their windows, retreating from the danger as stray bullets continued to fly.
....
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