Chapter 239: The Climber!
6th Floor of the Hotel.
A massive floor-to-ceiling window had been reduced to a jagged hole of broken
glass.
Raian Kure leaned out, his predatory gaze scanning the darkness below for
Sikorsky. But at that exact moment, the Russian convict was utilizing his
superhuman finger strength to cling to the exterior wall of the 7th floor.
The one who had fallen was not descending—he was rising!
Using only his fingertips, Sikorsky easily gripped the ornate stonework of the
hotel's facade, supporting his entire weight. Positioned directly above his
prey, he launched a high-altitude sneak attack.
Zip!
Both tactical boots drove downward with the combined momentum of Sikorsky's body
weight, slamming directly into Raian's face.
BANG!!
Blood sprayed from Raian's nose as his head was snapped downward. The impact
broke his balance and sent him hurtling backward out of the 6th-floor window.
In the split second before he plummeted toward the pavement—in that heartbeat of
life and death—Raian's battle instincts took over. He hooked his right leg,
clamping the crook of his knee firmly around Sikorsky's ankle.
The physical threshold of the Kure Clan was already a biological anomaly, and
Raian was the apex of that bloodline. His leg functioned like a hydraulic clamp,
locking onto Sikorsky's ankle with enough force to make the convict scream in
pain. Sikorsky felt as if his leg were about to be snapped off.
"Gah!"
Sikorsky kicked out with his free leg, trying to shake the "Devil" off, but
Raian—now hanging upside down over a lethal drop—simply grinned. He centered
himself and fired a massive punch directly into the exterior wall of the
building.
BOOM!
The heavy blow shattered the masonry. The recoil from the impact exploded
outward, providing the kinetic energy required to push Raian's body away from
the wall. He began to swing like a human pendulum, reaching a distance of nearly
three meters from the building.
Sikorsky, his fingers still dug deep into the wall's crevices, became the "pivot
point" for the swing. The two men traced a wide, terrifying arc in the night
sky.
As the recoil momentum faded, gravity dragged them back toward the building.
"DIE!"
Sikorsky roared, raising a leg to stomp Raian into the concrete.
But Raian simply released his grip. Using the velocity of the pendulum swing, he
crashed through the glass of the floor below, landing safely inside the building
on the 5th floor.
Slap!
Sikorsky slammed his palms back onto the facade, panting. He was currently
pinned between the 6th and 7th floors.
Replaying that lightning-fast exchange in his mind, a cold sweat rolled down
Sikorsky's back. The ankle Raian had clamped was still throbbing with a dull,
sickening ache.
So this is the 'Kure Clan' from the underworld records?
What freakish biology! Their combat logic is pure savagery!
Raian's finger strength couldn't match his own, but the boy had processed the
physics of a fall and converted it into a counter-swing instantly. He was a
monster.
And then there was Ren Shiroki.
Sikorsky's eyes shifted, looking back toward the 6th-floor window. Ren was
leaning out, his eyes tracing Sikorsky's position with a heavy, ominous
intensity. It felt as though he was silently inviting the convict: "Come on, try
that kick on me next."
Like hell I will!
If he tried that again, it wouldn't be a sneak attack—it would just be a
beatdown. Ren would likely just seize him and drag him back into the room.
Furthermore, Raian would be back on his feet in seconds. Fighting a "1-vs-2"
against those two was tactical suicide.
"Heh... This is a warzone. There is no time limit."
Sikorsky offered a provocative smirk to Ren before his hands blurred. He began
scaling the wall again, rounding the corner of the building and vanishing from
Ren's line of sight in the blink of an eye.
The commotion on the exterior of the 5th, 6th, and 7th floors hadn't gone
unnoticed by the group below. The exchange had lasted less than thirty seconds,
yet it had put the terrifying athleticism of the Kure Clan on full display.
Official Sonoda swallowed hard as he watched the "Devil" survive a fall through
raw torque. "As expected of the Kure..."
"Hmph. A performance like that hardly earns the name 'Kure'."
Erio Kure's expression was dark. He was clearly displeased with Raian's
carelessness. "Is that brat playing around? To be caught in a sneak attack like
a common amateur—disgraceful."
Sonoda hesitated. Even as a high-ranking official, he knew better than to argue
with the Patriarch of the Kure Clan, a man even the Police Commissioner treated
with extreme deference.
On the other side, Biscuit Oliva had zero concerns. He had already ordered a
bottle of high-end red wine and was waiting for the specialized unit to finish
prepping the giant bear meat so he could begin his feast.
"It's his first time in a real warzone," Oliva noted with a smile. "Wanting to
have a bit of fun is understandable."
Oliva gestured to a squad of technicians. "Set up the tactical monitors. Link
them to the hotel's security grid. Let's enjoy the show from the front row."
5th Floor, Interior.
Raian Kure stood up, rubbing his face with his palm to wipe away the blood and
the tread-mark left by Sikorsky's boot.
"Sikorsky... you're a dead man," Raian whispered, his voice dropping into a
raspy, gravelly register. As he recalled being stepped on, his grin turned truly
demonic. Veins began to bulge across his entire body like writhing serpents.
The Kure secret art: [REMOVAL].
It was a technique that allowed the user to override the brain's natural safety
limiters on the human body. Combined with a physique hardened by centuries of
selective breeding, it allowed for the total release of the user's latent
explosive power.
In other words—the shackles were gone. He was now a living deity of destruction.
The "Release Rate" of this latent power depended entirely on individual talent.
Fusui Kure sat at 28%. Reiichi was around 50%. Karura, despite her youth, had
already reached a staggering 85%.
But Raian Kure? His latent power release rate was 100%.
In the thousand-year history of the Clan, such talent was nearly non-existent.
He was a biological anomaly destined to be etched into the annals of martial
history. And that talent was fueled by a bottomless well of arrogance and
bloodlust.
He didn't "do" being insulted.
THUD!
Raian slammed a foot down, shattering the floor tiles. In a blur of motion, he
intercepted a few straggling terrorists, snapping their necks with casual,
one-handed efficiency. Within seconds, he had vanished into the stairwell,
hunting for the Russian.
6th Floor, Interior.
Ren Shiroki watched Sikorsky disappear around the corner of the building. He
rubbed his chin, comparing the two convicts.
"Yanagi Ryuko sticks to walls with vacuum suction. Sikorsky climbs with raw
finger-grip."
"Hm..."
"I think Yanagi is still the more annoying one."
Ren moved out, resuming his search. Along the way, he ran into Raian.
But this time, neither Ren nor Raian moved to attack the other. They were
racing. The reason was simple: they both realized that unlike Sikorsky, the
other wasn't going anywhere. They could settle their own score anytime. Right
now, there were convicts to hunt.
They tore through the middle floors, occasionally encountering IDEAL or Worm
units. The criminals were neutralized with such speed and violence that Ren and
Raian didn't even slow down to check if they were breathing.
"Move!" Raian barked as he bowled through a mercenary.
However, as they reached the 8th Floor, they noticed something odd. Several
bodies were already littering the hall. Based on the wounds, they hadn't been
beaten to death by bare hands. They had been carved by a precision blade.
Not Baki. Not Ohma. There's another ghost in the machine, Ren thought.
They rounded a corner and saw a tall woman with short hair. She was curled in a
corner, trembling violently as if she were in the grip of a total nervous
breakdown.
A hostage? Did they miss one?
Seeing it wasn't Sikorsky, Raian lost interest instantly. He marched up to her,
intending to scare the girl for a laugh, snapping his jaws at the air in a
"chomping" motion.
Clack! Clack!
"Get out of here, brat! Take the stairs. You're in my way!" Raian snarled.
"E-Eh? O-Okay!"
The woman stood up, her body still shaking with terror.
But in that heartbeat, both Ren and Raian noticed something. The woman's "rising
motion" was wrong. It was too fluid, too centered. It was the movement of a
combatant, not a victim.
"Wait—" Raian's brow furrowed, his body coiling to dodge.
In a flash of silver, the woman snapped her wrist downward. A surgical steel
blade popped out from her left elbow. She swung it in a horizontal arc toward
Raian's face, catching his cheek.
SHINK!
A spray of blood painted the wall.
The "woman" performed a graceful backward leap, ripping away a wig to reveal
short red hair. The terrified expression was replaced by a sharp, handsome
smirk.
"I was looking for the 'Unchained'... but finding you two is a nice consolation
prize."
The "hostage"—or rather, the convict Doyle—stood bladed.
"Long time no see, Mr. Soul Combat. And a pleasure to meet you... Mr. Kure."
The "Biological Weapon," Doyle, had entered the fray!
(End of Chapter)
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