The fight only grew more intense.
My breathing became ragged, each inhale burning my lungs as if fire were scraping against my chest. Sweat mixed with blood beneath my mask, dripping down my chin.
I couldn't think clearly anymore.
Every punch, every slash, every incoming attack—I dodged them on instinct alone. My body moved before my mind could process anything.
Left. Duck. Block. Counter.
The villains kept coming.
No matter how many I knocked down, more replaced them, pouring in like an endless tide. Their movements were wild, reckless, yet strangely coordinated—like puppets dancing to the same unseen strings.
The pistol in my hand clicked.
Empty.
No bullets left.
Yet strangely, I didn't feel fear.
Without hesitation, I threw the pistol straight at a villain's face.
It struck him squarely across the nose with a sickening crack.
Before he could react, I rushed forward, spun, and kicked his face with everything I had left.
He collapsed instantly.
