Solitude's Crucible (4)
Around this time, miscellaneous armed groups were gathering in threes and fives from every alley leading to the building outside. The businesses under the breakwater faction, clustered around this dilapidated fortress, were sending reinforcements in response to their boss's call.
But the subordinates on the lower floors were already bracing for the new enemies' arrival, even before I could warn them. Thanks to the remote reconnaissance support from Becklux, which had launched drones the moment we breached.
The low-floor teams easily held off the reinforcements. They were just numerous, armed only with pistols and blades. Thugs specialized in civilian massacres and chaotic brawls were useless in real combat. With two snipers added from the mid-floors, the enemies didn't dare advance.
I, lost in thought, spotted the crowbar Kyung-tae had brought and decided how to end this fight. If they planned to use human siege engines, we'd counter in kind. They wanted to clear a path? We'd oblige—more creatively than those local gangsters.
"Lend me that for a sec."
I held out my hand, and Kyung-tae unholstered the crowbar from his waist. From another subordinate, I received a ballistic shield and plastic explosive for door breaching.
"Split into two teams again. Team 1 follows me; you two hold this position and block the path. No preemptive attacks without orders."
"Yes, sir!" came the crisp responses.
Team 1 meant Kyung-tae. The original chokepoint was narrow enough for two to hold. If any enemies tried to push through, that is. I had no intention of giving them time to respond this time either.
Most fights are won by those who never relinquish the initiative. Relentlessly pressing to deny the enemy any openings—that was the surest path to victory.
Descending to the fourth floor, I climbed onto a spacious gambling table and attached the plastic explosive to the ceiling. This was the floor the ambushers stood on. Even without the Golden Age's Eye, I could guess their positions from the sounds.
I jammed a rod-shaped detonator into the white clay-like explosive and ran the wire down to the trigger. Securing a safe distance with Kyung-tae, I gripped the detonator without counting down.
Boom!
After the flash, chunks of shattered concrete rained down with a clatter. As expected, the charge—barely enough to blow a door—was insufficient to collapse the ceiling. That's why I needed the crowbar.
The enemies' panic showed in the rising interlayer noise. Climbing back onto the table, I hooked the crowbar onto an exposed rebar and yanked with all my strength.
A rusted bar snapped free with a crack from its socket. Flecks of crumbling rust powder irritated my nerves. As if any proper rebar would be in China's shoddy civilian buildings. It made the job easier, though.
Crack, crack, crrack! Once, twice, three times. Each prying motion freed more bars. If I could fully deploy my mana field, I'd rip them all out at once.
"It's about to go. Prep flashbangs. Both of them."
At my order, Kyung-tae outside the door pulled the pins on a pair of flashbangs with both hands. I had no need to dodge. Neither flash nor bang could overwhelm my senses—especially not the flash.
For the record, though, I'd have to pretend to hide behind the shield. To reliably blind multiple enemies, two rounds it was.
Some foes above finally grasped my intent, pointing at the floor and shouting. Too late, you bastards. Their fatal mistake was not abandoning the ambush sooner.
I grabbed several dangling rebars, backpedaled, and wrenched them free.
"Hup!"
Rumble-crunch! Cracks spiderwebbed across the entire ceiling. Half-gone concrete couldn't support a muscle pig and multiple armed men.
Ting! The flashbang spoon popped.
As screaming men and concrete poured into my vacated spot, Kyung-tae hurled both flashbangs.
"Cough, hack! Fuck! What the shit is this—"
One fallen thug spat curses through his plastered face, then locked eyes with me behind the ballistic shield. His widened just as intense light bleached the room white. The simultaneous blasts deafened them, drowning all other sounds.
Crunch! The crowbar's hook pierced the kneeling muscle pig's jaw underside. As its massive limbs convulsed, I drove my weight down; the tip snagged the spine. Yanking the lever tore the tubular nerve bundle free with the jawbone.
A fine end for a decent reinforcement ability user. Quadriplegia even if he survived by luck.
"What the hell?!"
Heavy footsteps thundered closer from above. But—
Rat-tat-tat-crack!
Another muscle pig approaching the hole recoiled defensively at the gunfire. A panicked punk sprayed blindly. With Kyung-tae's covering fire added, their blindness spread like plague.
"Die! Die!"
Screams laden more with terror than enmity. Blind and deaf thugs madly pulled triggers, slaughtering each other in frenzy.
I retreated two steps, angling the shield with telekinesis to weather five seconds of chaos. Ordinary personal firearms with standard mags ran dry fast.
"Ugh, urgh..."
Gray debris stained crimson everywhere as groans of agony filled the air. The gang elites wore bulletproof vests or armor, so few dead. But unproven knockoffs offered scant protection; repeated rifle hits winded them badly. The wounded strewn about were easy prey for Kyung-tae and me.
No need to swap weapons. Reloading took time—blades were faster now. For normals or mediocre ability users, maybe not. But I had superior body reinforcement incantations.
I targeted gaps in their homemade armor and vests. The crowbar, charged with unnatural force, slew at unnatural speed.
"Spare... please spare me..."
A thug whose sight returned swung an empty SMG at me, begging. His finger futilely worked the trigger—a perfect contradiction of word and deed.
No need for me; Kyung-tae's shot pierced his neck vertebrae side to side.
Having culled the fallen, I spun low, shield raised.
Ping-ping-ping! Small-caliber FMJ rounds scarred the angled shield and ricocheted wildly.
"Fuck this shit!"
A muscle pig full-autoing an old rifle at me cursed. He'd guarded the emergency exit corridor like Hulong Bang gear—but his actions fell short.
Had this armored brute not flinched from his comrades' frenzy, Kyung-tae and I couldn't have finished the drop-ins. Now, seeing the carnage, his fear deepened. Size didn't guarantee guts.
Ping! Ping! Ping-ping-ping!
Shifting the shield to deflect a full mag, I broke his weak firepower and Kyung-tae's suppressing shots. The heavy panicked, trembling as he backed into the corridor, desperately calling without looking back.
"Shiming! Tenrin! Help! Hurry! It's all fucked here!"
As if I'd let you escape.
Dropping shield and crowbar, I snatched a dead pig's hammer and leaped one-and-a-half floors up.
Eye level flipped instantly. "Wha—?! Wha?!" His retreat hastened.
Rifle not reloaded yet. Panicked, he swung his arm shield like a sword. I countered with a full-body-squeezing hammer blow.
"Gah! Sh—"
The shield crumpled diagonally, exposing his front. Instead of resisting the near-aerial rebound, I pivoted half-turn on my lead foot, whipping the hammer head back. Stamping the floor with the other drove full force and weight through the haft.
Thud! Shock rippled from head to haft. His assault rifle shook wildly.
Turning, I saw his stance fully broken. Inside the homemade ballistic helmet's polycarbonate visor, bloodshot eyes stared up.
"N-no!"
Pig. I slammed the sky-high hammer down full force. Sparks flew; the thick steel helmet's crown caved. Blood streamed from the warped lower gap.
Yet he didn't die instantly. Hands braced on the floor, shoulders shaking—I kicked his arm to fully prone him, then hammered the grounded helmet again.
The round helmet squished oval between concrete and hammer. The loosely fixed gas mask filter popped; bubbling blood leaked from the hole.
I reset the displaced slings and straps. Left shoulder: two-point sniper sling looped back. Right: one-point loop for short-barreled AR. Two guns were cumbersome in CQC.
Heavy footsteps neared from the opposite side—the remaining half of their elites. Peering through walls, I saw them abandoning posts, rushing haphazardly.
I called up another team via radio.
The lower floors were sorted. Whether they'd forgotten or abandoned their goal, the reinforcements cowered behind bends and walls, firing blindly. Tactically, we'd fully stalled them.
"Team 1 Leader, link with the holdouts and commence attack. Now. Control 3rd Team too."
Kyung-tae looked up through the hole at my order.
"What about the boss?!"
"Go!"
No time to explain. He nodded and bolted for the emergency stairs. Gunfire echoed after ten seconds. Another ten, and 3rd Team ascended the vacated stairs, seizing the thugs' cover.
Encirclement always works. Coordinating via radio, Teams 1 and 3 poured fire sequentially. Sandwiched, the foes scattered into side rooms, organization shattered—even the two sturdy pigs swept up in the panic.
While sending Kyung-tae, I'd eyed the remote detonator at the room's edge. A tin-can IED trigger mimicking Black Sea Party style—three bombs linked to one.
Not complete idiots, then.
Thinking that while peering through the wall at bombs in the adjacent room.
These EFPs were directional, but the powder-filled cans fragmented omnidirectionally—70% of the blast. Lethal beyond the projectile cone, surpassing grenades. Unless thick casings, anyway.
Middle Eastern rookies had detonated beside them, mistaking "directional." Like green recruits behind artillery eating the backblast.
Moving to the inter-room door, I adjusted the bomb's angle, then returned to watch from the hole.
And—squeeze.
Whoosh-boom! Three projectiles punched through the wall. Three lines of death. Shoddy bombs met shoddy walls—fragments added casualties.
Cornered thugs shoving dangers at each other died in droves.
Now wielding the anti-materiel rifle, I shifted, using the bomb hole as a gunport to shred visible foes. Knockoff vests couldn't stop .50 BMG AP. Two bodies per shot routine.
Survivors screamed into corridors, shredded by Kyung-tae's fire net.
"Raaagh!"
A hammer-wielding muscle pig body-slammed our wall. Momentum to match its bulk—like a bipedal bulldozer. One heavy had taken a direct projectile hit; this was the last survivor.
Whoosh! Hammer cleaved air. Dodging as the wall crumbled, I retreated serially.
"Team 1, Team 3! Advance! Press them!"
Firing the rifle's remnants: Boom, boom! One AP round ricocheted, one penetrated. Their heart plates were extra thick—even .50 struggled.
"I'll kill you!"
Wounded but adrenalized, pain unseen, he charged desperately. Ferocity bordering terror at a life threat. But slow. Bulk rivaling El Maestro, yet half the power and speed. Circuit quality differed—unavoidable.
Rifle empty, I hurled it spear-like, bullfighting the heavy with dodges. Rear survivors ignored us.
"You... rat bastard...!"
Crash! Another wall demolished in three swings. Frenzy spiked his heart rate; full-power hammers rasped his breath. Tar-stained lungs strained. Natural awakener imbalance—cardiopulmonary lagged activity.
Non-smoker odds better. Moral: avoid smokes.
Tripping him at the crux, he tumbled uncontrollably through my hole to the floor below.
Thud!
Before recovery, I drew my shortsword, leaped, and stabbed the helmet-torso gap.
Crunch, crunch, clang! Twisting snapped the blade inside.
"Gack... glurk..."
Blood bubbled from his mouth; bulging eyes clutched me. Grip tightening to crush ribs. Die together spite.
Futile. Reinforcement tier differed. Even throttled, not frail enough for his grip. Without record, I'd crushed raw from start.
Strength ebbed from the meaty hand.
"Done?"
Tears welled in the pig's eyes. Even filthiest lives shed clear tears dying. I pried off the hand, discarding it. It didn't rise.
Upstairs now, the lone Hulong Bang branch master guarded his office, nursing liquor with smokes amid his men's deaths. Pitiful leader, posing in woe and self-mockery.
No other resistance.
Gazing at advancing Kyung-tae et al., I radioed.
The hunt's end neared.