An energetic song blasted through the venue, a quick 15-minute break before the next fight. The air buzzed with voices—some loud and excited, others hushed and tense. People moved in waves, some heading outside toward the food trucks, others gathering in small clusters, replaying the best moments of the fights so far.
James was already dressed, in a dark jacket and sweats, comfortable and warm. But beneath the casual look, his Kiroshi optic was whirring, scanning the crowd in rapid bursts.
And he saw them.
Not all at once—just flashes. A man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze flicking toward him before looking away. Another, standing near the betting table, talking to no one, his posture too stiff for a guy just enjoying a night of fights. A third, across the room, pretending to scroll through his phone.
James exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
He wasn't stupid. The Irish weren't the type to let things slide. He'd humiliated their fighter, ignored their warning, and kicked their bribe back in their faces.
Yeah. They'd try something.
James kept moving, weaving through the crowd with an easy, practiced stride. He wasn't running, wasn't panicking—but he wasn't about to stand still and wait, either.
His Kiroshi optic zoomed in again, scanning the shifting bodies around him. More flashes. More familiar faces. A guy he'd seen working security earlier, now watching him a little too closely. Another, posted up near the exit, looking casual—but standing in just the right spot to cut off an easy escape.
They weren't making a move yet. Not here. Not with all these people.
But outside?
James had no doubt they were waiting.
He inhaled through his nose, let it out slow.
Alright.
He wanted to be a legend right?
—-
The night air was thick with the smell of grease, cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol. The muffled thump of music still leaked from the inside of the venue. The outside was filled with the hum of conversation, and an occasional drunk shout.
James stepped out, his gaze scanning the packed parking lot, he didn't see them instantly. But they weren't exactly subtle, he'd been to enough of these boxing events to know what normal people did.
A group near the side of the lot, where the streetlights didn't quite reach. Three, maybe four guys. Smoking, chatting, pretending to be just another group of fight fans.
Except they weren't looking at each other.
They were looking at him.
He pretended to not see them as he made his way through the car park, aiming for a nearby alley. And sure, from the corner of his eye, as he expected the group of four started to follow.
He made his way deeper into the alley, his fingers itching for the Malorian, the revolver tucked safely in his inventory.
"Should have taken the money Buckley." A familiar voice called out, James turned, spotting a familiar scarred visage. Three other men stood behind, their steely gazes focused on him.
"I didn't get your name?" James asked the man casually, he felt confident, strong, stronger than ever even.
He was better than these people.
He was enhanced.
Like Captain America.
"You won't need it," the scarred man said, almost tiredly. The four of them closed the gap, moving in like wolves surrounding prey.
James bounced on his toes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could almost hear his walkout song in his head—the steady guitar riff syncing with his heartbeat, drowning out everything else.
The scarred man snorted, shaking his head, almost amused.
James didn't waste a second.
With a thought, he activated Dash Mastery.
The world slowed.
He shot forward, blurring into motion, his feet barely touching the ground. In a fluid, almost effortless movement, he twisted mid-air, spinning like a top.
Before one of the men could react, James was already there—right behind him, his body poised like a coiled spring.
In his right hand, the Malorian Overture.
He wanted to be a legend right?
He brought the Malorian Overture up, the gleaming silver barrel catching the faint glow of a nearby streetlight.
The air seemed to tighten for a split second—then with an earth-shattering bang, the world exploded. The shot was a brutal, deafening roar.
One of the men let out a strangled gasp as his foot—his entire leg up to his knee—disappeared in an eruption of blood and bone. The stump that was left oozed crimson, the force of the shot sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.
The man's scream was choked out as he hit the ground, his hands scrabbling at the ruined stump, but it was too late. His life was already over, dying faster than he could process.
The other three didn't even flinch, their eyes wide with terror, their feet planted in place, momentarily frozen by the raw and quick violence that had just unfolded in front of them.
James didn't give them the luxury of hesitation, his eyes wide as the feeling of invincibility grew. He had already started to move, the gun still smoking in his hands.
His kerenzikov kicked in. Time stretched. Everything around him slowed as his body surged forward with another dash.
BANG!! BANG!!
The alley briefly lit up with the blinding flash of the shots. The sound of the blasts thundered through the space as the two men fell to the ground with sickening thuds, their bodies crumpling in unison.
The alley had briefly lit up with the blinding flash of the shots. The sound of the blasts thundered through the space as the two men collapsed to the ground with sickening thuds, their bodies crumpling in unison.
The scarred man watched, his eyes wide as he failed to track the young boxer's movements. One lonely thought echoed through his mind.
He's enhanced!
Suddenly, the scarred man was kicked from behind, landing face-first into the ground. He quickly flipped onto his back, pistol already in hand ready to shoot, but the weapon was swiftly kicked out of his grip.
"D'you know what a bullet to the knee feels like?" James asked, calling back to the scarred man's own words, his Malorian Overture catching the light of the moon as it was pointed down at the man's knee.
The man opened his mouth to speak, eyes wide as he looked up at James. But before he could, he was interrupted by a deafening—
BANG!!
His vision went dark almost instantly. He didn't feel pain—just…numbness. He shakily looked down at his body, his—fuck—his knee.
It was gone, practically just shards of bone, blood and cartilage. He felt a foot prod his side, his vision went dark, completely, his feelings numbing as he felt a sense of weightlessness.
James snorted, running his empty hand through his hair as he observed the carnage he'd caused. He remembered back to the sheer fear that ginger man had caused him, not even a week ago.
Now he was different, stronger.
He shook his head, casually strolling away, chest held high and chin up, the smoking gun still held loosely in his hand.
—-
Just noticed we had 42 powerstones?!? That's crazy, thank you guys!
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, lmk your thoughts!!