Highway Man (1)
Vrooooom.
Two motorcycles were chasing the Bentley at ferocious speeds. The riders on the black bikes were both clad head to toe in pitch-black leather jackets, helmets, boots, and gloves—wrapped up tight like they meant business. They closed in on the Bentley with a roar that demanded attention.
"How'd you know they were pursuers?"
"Only immortals ride motorcycles at that speed on the highway."
"Or maybe just crazy bastards?"
Right then, one bike surged up beside the Bentley. A black Japanese sword materialized in the rider's hand as if sprouting from his flesh. He stabbed it straight into the car's body.
Yoo Wol-ryeong had said the Bentley was armored against bullets and blasts, but the blade pierced the window glass in one thrust. It whistled past her nose by a hair's breadth.
Yoo didn't even blink, but Ju Kang-rim gripped the wheel and yanked it hard. The Bentley slammed into the bike. With a thunderous crash, the motorcycle smashed into the guardrail and flew off.
Yoo muttered, "Hm. I was leaving them be in case they were just crazy after all."
Ju shrugged. "They taught us in school: hit a biker doing that speed on the highway, and it's legal even if they die."
"You studied hard."
But the rearview mirror told a different story—they weren't pushovers. The bike, shattered against the guardrail, warped into shadows mid-air, reassembled in a flash, and reformed into its original shape. The assassin, flung into the sky, landed on the highway and bolted forward with momentum rivaling the bike itself.
He remounted the reconstructed motorcycle and resumed the chase at full throttle.
"Guy's got a neat trick bike," Ju muttered in disbelief, his voice tinged with tension.
This was a different league from anyone he'd faced before. The fluid movements screamed Ttakkachi-level skill or better, and the gear and tech were definitely superior.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
Bullets riddled the window behind the Bentley. The other rider was firing a submachine gun from the rear.
Of course, the gun's caliber couldn't penetrate the bulletproof glass. But the distorting cracks on the surface blocked their view. The side mirrors and rear glass spiderwebbed, obscuring sightlines.
The pursuer methodically painted every pane like a kid with a coloring book.
"Those ninja bikers... we gotta catch 'em, right?"
"Agreed."
Yoo pressed something beside the steering wheel. Ju half-expected a hidden turret to pop out, but no such luck.
Autopilot mode activated.
"This thing actually work?"
"It'll follow the lane. Lucky there's no other traffic."
She pressed another button inside.
Automatic brake system disabled. Speed limit removed. Airbag function deactivated. Automatic locks released...
Luxury rides like this came packed with safety features to protect the driver. But in a fight, many were liabilities.
Ju shivered faintly as the protections clicked off one by one. The Bentley was now a steel coffin hurtling at 200 km/h.
Yoo murmured flatly, "Even if something goes wrong, it's not like we'll die."
The two bikes pulled up on either side of the Bentley, swords drawn in unison this time—no openings given.
That was the signal. Yoo forcibly released the door locks. The assassins kicked both doors open in a flash.
Bam.
The doors flew wide, and the swinging blades buried into the metal panels. Ju lunged through the gap without mercy.
Crack.
His hand axe embedded in the helmet, but there was no satisfying skull-crush. Sensing the ambush fail, Ju kicked the assassin back and yanked the axe free.
Thud.
The kicked foe staggered rearward, but the bike balanced itself like it had a mind of its own and charged relentlessly.
"Annoying as hell."
Ju glanced at Yoo. Her door was completely torn off. She wielded the detached panel one-handed, swinging at her bike's rider.
The assassin recoiled in surprise at the improvised weapon, then drew a submachine gun from thin air—just like the sword—and opened fire.
Tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk.
The bullets pinged harmlessly off the door. She watched his moves, then hurled the panel like a discus.
He anticipated it, swerving sharply—but not fast enough. It sliced him clean in half with a whoosh-thwack, bounced across the highway, and vanished into the distance.
Immortal or not, rolling halved on asphalt wouldn't let him catch up quick.
Seeing his partner bisected and tumbling, the other assassin froze mid-attack.
Ju bellowed, "See that? Ride a bike, and you won't last long!"
No reply. Instead, he pulled ahead, fishing a hooked chain from his shadow. He whipped the grapple at the windshield, punching through the already-cracked glass.
Securing the chain, he rammed his bike head-on into the Bentley's front.
Kaboom.
The Bentley shuddered violently as the bike shredded. But the assassin launched himself at the window.
Thud.
Unlike the hook, he bounced off. Grabbing the taut chain, he drew another sword.
Crunch.
The blade plunged deep toward Ju's torso. Ju swung his axe, deflecting it sideways into the bulletproof glass. Pummeled laterally, the sword snapped.
The assassin discarded it without a flinch, summoning a fresh one.
Ju clicked his tongue and buckled up. "As you wish."
Yoo nodded and cranked the wheel right. Tires screamed as the Bentley braked hard and spun. The chain-tethered assassin couldn't hold on and flew.
He wrapped the chain around his arm to cling, but no slack for that. Thud, kaboom, crash, smash.
He spun like a top, slamming into guardrails on both sides. As Ju pictured a blender over a top, the Bentley grazed a rail, clanged, and flipped.
After several rolls, Ju opened his eyes intact. Thump.
The car teetered but righted itself—totaled, but upright.
Yoo was already cutting her belt. Ju followed, climbing out.
"Fancy cars are worth it. Their bikes regen infinitely; we trashed one luxury ride."
"Then we catch one to break even."
The highway was a warzone, scars stretching hundreds of meters. They rushed to the "blendered" assassin's chunks in the median.
"Hey! We stopped like you wanted! Now what? Hitchhike?"
Ju scanned—no cop cars or tow trucks, despite the chaos. He narrowed his eyes.
'They blocked patrols somehow?'
Korean cops would've spotted it on CCTV by now—cameras everywhere. But bribing that many? No. They jammed info somehow.
'Explains the empty highway.'
Ju spotted a rolling motorcycle helmet. Head or no, it'd be gruesome—but necessary. Even intact, he'd make it gruesome.
Empty, thankfully. Ju didn't want to imagine a 200 km/h topless blender ride.
A sharp whistle—dagger incoming. Ju whipped his robe to block.
Thunk. The tip dug in but stopped.
An axe-worthy dagger piercing his robe? Ju regripped.
Across the lanes, a staggering silhouette under streetlights—limbs attached, barely.
Relieved at the torture fodder, Ju grinned. "Plenty of spots to work with. Good thing immortals don't die easy—the perfect playthings."
Yoo sidled up, eyes slitted. "Regen speed's impressive."
"Yeah. Not superior regen, though..."
Ju recalled the weapons conjured from hands, the wrecked bike reforming. Not regen—something else.
"More like transformation."
Smoke-like shadows trailed the rebuilding assassin.
Weapon summons, bike repairs—all shapeshifting. The darkness might be the medium, or true form.
Yoo nodded. "If transformation, not regen, damage accumulates. Just forcing a 'normal' shape. Limit coming soon."
"Hm."
Streetlight caught the foe's hazy face. Ju smirked. "Think I know who it is."
"You do?"
Ju nodded, charging before full recovery. The assassin lurched, flinging daggers.
His robe held; Ju angled it to glance them off, closing in.
Whoosh, slice!
Fist swing? No—black sword from the hand. Weapons popped unpredictably; no relaxing.
Miss gave Ju his shot. Chin, crack!
But the arm dissolved to shadow, reforming from the shoulder to grab Ju's axe hand.
Absurd, but he couldn't spam arms endlessly.
Ju kneed the solar plexus. Face twisted in pain—shapeshifter or not.
Ju's hand stung too—razor in the blocking palm.
"You fucking..."
Ju grinned coldly, clamping tighter. Eyes met; assassin's flinched.
Ju whispered cheerily, "Busy restoring, arming up? Stamina low?"
Focus on form left the core hollow—like sandcastle innards.
Ju wrenched the arm down. Snap.
Scream brewing—Ju headbutted the nose. Smack, smack.
Foe recoiled; Ju held fast. "Can't shift what's touching me!"
Old life knowledge: possible, but mixing with his blood/sweat wrecked control—better to sever.
"Kuh...!" First groan.
Spear from the other hand. Ju snatched the thrusting tip.
It crumbled; new hand/spear stabbed. Ju anticipated.
"Ttakkachi!"
From Ju's robe, Ttakkachi burst out, gouging the assassin's eyes in a blink.