Sometimes, it's not the strongest who survive. It's the one who refuses to fall.
---
Knock. Knock.
Akira didn't move.
He sat still, on the floor beside his planning board, heart steady, eyes locked on the door like he already knew what waited.
Another knock followed. Louder. Slower. The kind of knock that didn't ask permission — it declared war.
Akira rose to his feet.
The room was dim, rain dripping down the window. Silence pressed in like a weight.
Then—
BOOM!
The door burst open, wood shattering. Akira had only a second to react before something slammed into him — hard.
He flew back, crashing into the side table. His shoulder cracked against the corner, pain shooting up his spine. His lip split. Blood filled his mouth instantly.
Through the broken door stepped a monster cloaked in black — Shadow Wolf.
His mask cracked down one side, the left eye exposed. In one hand, a serrated dagger, stained. In the other, a humming stun baton sparking with voltage.
No words.
Just the sound of rain.
And then they moved.
---
Akira snatched the nearest chair, swinging it as Shadow Wolf lunged.
The chair shattered on impact — useless.
The baton slammed into his ribs — once, twice. The crack of bone was louder than his scream.
He dropped to one knee.
But he didn't stay down.
With a roar, Akira grabbed the broken chair leg and jammed it into Shadow Wolf's side. The assassin grunted, staggering, but responded with a backhand that whipped Akira's head sideways. Blood sprayed across the wall.
The next kick came fast. It caved into his chest and sent him rolling toward the hallway.
His elbow dragged across broken glass. Blood poured from the wound.
His ears rang. But he forced himself up.
---
The safehouse was small, tight. Every room bled into the next — no place to hide.
Akira stumbled toward the corridor, gasping, blood dripping from his jaw. He fumbled behind a frame on the wall — pulling a wired tripline.
Shadow Wolf charged. The wire caught his leg.
He stumbled — just enough.
Akira grabbed a bottle and smashed it across the assassin's back. Shards flew.
Wolf spun, slicing with his blade.
The knife tore open Akira's forearm — deep.
Red spilled fast.
Akira screamed through clenched teeth, grabbing his wound as the killer lunged again.
They crashed into the kitchen.
---
The stove still held a pot of water — boiling.
Akira didn't hesitate. He grabbed it with his bleeding hand and splashed it across Shadow Wolf's neck and jaw.
The assassin let out a sharp, guttural scream, stumbling back, mask melting slightly.
Akira followed through — slamming a skillet into the side of his head.
CLANG!
But the killer recovered fast. He tackled Akira, slamming him into the fridge.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
The metal dented. Akira's vision blurred. Blood smeared down the white surface like a dying signature.
He couldn't see out of one eye anymore.
Still, he reached.
Fingers closed around a silver fork from earlier dinner.
Stab. Into the killer's thigh.
The groan Shadow Wolf let out wasn't human.
Akira twisted the fork. Hard.
The assassin roared, staggering back.
---
They moved like animals now — bleeding, bruised, broken.
Akira picked up the jagged chair leg again, swinging it wildly, forcing Shadow Wolf into the living room.
There — the trap. The bookshelf, rigged days ago.
He pulled the wire.
The shelf fell.
Shadow Wolf dodged — almost. The edge slammed into his leg.
He dropped to one knee.
Akira pounced.
They both crashed through the coffee table. Wood stabbed into their backs.
Akira bit down on his scream. His shirt soaked in blood. He couldn't feel his right hand anymore.
He gasped, body spasming.
But he didn't stop.
---
Shadow Wolf rose slowly, one arm limp. Blood gushed from his leg. His mask half-melted.
Still — he moved.
Fist to jaw.
Elbow to cheek.
Knee to gut.
Akira's nose shattered. A molar loosened. His lungs wheezed. He collapsed — barely alive.
But his eyes darted. He saw it.
The stun baton — lying behind Shadow Wolf.
As the assassin stepped in for the kill —
Akira let his body fall back, arm reaching out.
His fingers found the baton.
He rolled. Twisted.
And rammed it into the killer's throat.
ZAAAAAAP!
Shadow Wolf convulsed violently, limbs flailing, foam spilling from his mouth. His eyes rolled back.
Akira fell beside him, coughing blood. His vision blurred with tears and exhaustion.
His body was torn. His ribs broken. But…
He was alive.
---
Silence returned. Only the flicker of sparks and the hum of a dying light bulb remained.
Akira dragged himself up against the wall.
His face was purple and swollen. His shirt soaked red. His fingers trembled uncontrollably. One leg barely moved.
But his heart — his heart still beat.
Shadow Wolf wheezed, twitching.
"Who… sent you?" Akira croaked.
The killer turned his head weakly.
"You already know…"
"Kento," Akira whispered.
The assassin smiled faintly. "He's not a boy anymore. He's what comes after."
Akira stared at him.
Then limped toward the shattered window.
Outside, thunder rumbled.
And he whispered,
"I'm coming for you."
---