Sunset Rebellion

I jumped onto the roof of the café where Jack was. The aged wood groaned beneath my weight, almost threatening to collapse. This whole place feels like it's barely holding together—years of neglect etched into every creak and crack. Glancing across the town, it’s obvious there are no towering buildings here like the ones I’ve heard about in the capital, but the flat rooftops give me a good vantage point. I scanned the horizon, my eyes skimming over run-down structures. They’re all in poor condition, nothing to suggest wealth or power—except for one. A blood-red building stood out in the distance, its crimson color unnerving against the gray skyline. There's some kind of writing on the top, but it's unfamiliar, cryptic even. The building isn’t far, probably symbolic, but the dark aura around it feels like more than just a symbol. Without wasting any more time, I leapt to the next rooftop. The uneven tiles shifted beneath my feet, and I had to stay light to avoid a fall. I wonder how the people living in these decrepit buildings feel about all this. Have they ever tried to rise up, or have they long since surrendered to their fates?

I kept moving, leaping across rooftops with ease, my body flowing in perfect sync with each jump. Grace and precision. I finally reached the last rooftop and crouched low, the scene unfolding before me. The space opened up to a courtyard below where twenty men stood guarding the blood-red building. Their crimson capes fluttered faintly in the breeze, the color matching the eerie hue of the building. A man in unfamiliar clothing, wearing a white cape, stood near the entrance, his stance rigid and watchful. But what really caught my eye was the hulking figure sitting on the steps. Muscles rippled beneath his red cape, and he exuded an authority the others lacked. He’s not like the rest. This place is either their HQ or something close to it.

I leapt down from the rooftop, landing smoothly in the open courtyard. My boots hit the ground with a muted thud, and I straightened up, raising my head with a calm yet commanding presence. The air here was thick with tension, a weight pressing down on my shoulders. I could feel the eyes of the men on me as I asked, "Is this Bloody Knuckle's headquarters?" The muscular man on the steps didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised a hand. Slowly, deliberately, the twenty men in blood-red capes began to fan out, encircling me like wolves closing in on prey. The tension heightened, but no one made a move. His voice broke through the quiet, low and gravelly. "Nice to meet you, Jiambou's savior. You've made things so difficult for me." The men completed their circle, eyes locked on me, but still—no attack. I wasn’t going to get an answer. Fine. My fingers clenched into fists, knuckles cracking in the eerie quiet as I spoke. "Let’s get this over with."

The man on the steps held up a hand, signaling me to stop. "Don’t assume I want to fight." His tone was oddly composed, amused. "Sure, you’ve made things difficult, but I understand the value you have." I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes. "Value?" His lips curled into a smirk as he stood, his muscles tensing as he made a fist. "Yes. In one day, you've taken out so many of my men... You have to be stronger than me. That’s not something I can ignore. I’m here to make you an offer."

Yuri rose to his feet, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the courtyard. He curled his arm, muscles flexing as if to emphasize his power. "Join me, Bloody Yuri," he declared, his voice booming, "and I'll make you my No. 2!" The man beside him, clearly taken aback, stepped forward, his expression tense as he placed a hand on Yuri's shoulder. "Wait, I'm the No. 2! Muhammad 'The God Throw'!" Yuri didn’t even flinch. He turned to Muhammad, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "You can be No. 3," he said flatly, "and you’ll keep all your benefits." Muhammad’s face fell, his grip on Yuri's shoulder tightening momentarily before he pulled back, stunned into silence. Yuri's gaze returned to me, fire in his eyes. "So, what do you think?!"

I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. The sound was loud and mocking. The sheer audacity of this man, standing there as if his offer meant anything. I shook my head, wiping a tear from my eye. "Look around you." I said, still chuckling. "Do you think you’re treating your citizens right?" Yuri’s demeanor shifted instantly. One of his eyes flared an ominous blood red, veins bulging as his face twisted into something darker. "Do I care about them?!" His voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. "They’re sheep, and I’m the shepherd!" He paused, spreading his arms as if to take in the whole desolate scene around us. "They’re still alive, aren’t they?"

I shook my head slowly, locking eyes with Yuri. "I'm good on that offer. In my very limited time here, I've realized something." My voice hardened as I spoke, the truth cutting through his denial. "This clan, Bloody Knuckle, is evil. Simple as that. No different than the current Sun." Yuri’s eyes flickered with sudden interest, and he cut me off, "Sun? You dislike Sun? They're amazing! They’re everything I aspire to be!" His excitement was almost childlike, and for a moment, I saw the delusion that fueled him. My fist clenched involuntarily, the tension in my muscles mirroring the disgust rising in my chest. "That's exactly the problem." I spat. "You all are dogs that need to die—for the betterment of everyone else."

Yuri's smile vanished, replaced by a dissatisfied scowl. With a simple snap of his fingers, the twenty men surrounding us sprang into action. Without hesitation, they rushed me, fists and feet flying with brutal intent. Some aimed punches at my face, others threw kicks at my sides. But I didn’t move. The blows landed hard, driving into me from all directions. I felt the impact this time—each punch and kick caving in parts of my body under the relentless assault. It was the first time I felt actual damage in a fight. Gritting my teeth, I endured it. These men were weaker than Tom, but their sheer numbers and combined force made them dangerous. A small amount of blood trickled from my nose, the metallic taste sharp on my tongue. I lowered my head slightly, and my fingers shifted into spear hands. With a whisper, more to myself than anyone else, I muttered, "It’s over for you all."

I extended my arms, my body moving with a fluid precision. My hands shot forward, piercing through two men like they were paper, my arms spread completely straight. I spun on my heel, moving my feet in a perfect circle, my entire body rotating with deadly grace. Each turn brought destruction—cutting through the men around me, carving their bodies apart. Blood sprayed into the air, and in moments, they lay on the ground, split clean in half. Screams erupted, but most of them died in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the speed of their demise. The courtyard was now painted in blood. I looked down at my attire, soaked in red, and sighed heavily. I'm going to have to get this cleaned. I glanced at the bodies around me, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. There was no guilt, no hesitation. They had abused and likely killed others. What I did was justice, cold and necessary.

Muhammad and Yuri stood frozen in place, their eyes wide with shock, staring at the carnage I had just unleashed. The silence was thick, broken only by the distant sound of dripping blood. Muhammad, still trembling, slowly slipped off his jacket, his voice shaky with disbelief. "How could you?!" Yuri’s expression twisted with disgust, but also resolve. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of worn gloves, swiping them onto his hands with deliberate care. "Muhammad," he growled, his voice low, almost guttural, "he’s a demon. We’re going all out from the start."

I watched them both, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. "Come on, then!" I beckoned, my voice steady, taunting. "I’ll show you what it really means when I fight in earnest!" As I spoke, I noticed the subtle changes in Yuri’s body. His hands began to enlarge slightly, only by a few millimeters, but the veins on his arms bulged grotesquely, like they were about to burst. I recognized it instantly—Reinforced Fist. It was a unique martial arts style. Practitioners hardened their fists by repeatedly striking bamboo, forming callouses, and then took it further by tensing their hand muscles to create a near-impenetrable force. Muhammad was using the same technique but in his own variation, likely customized to complement his strength.

The two dashed toward me side by side, their movements synchronized. They were fast, faster than the grunts I had just dealt with. Muhammad reached me first, his hand slamming against my chest, trying to push me down with a well-executed maneuver. His technique was flawless, but I barely shifted under the pressure. He gritted his teeth in frustration, realizing that his throw had failed. That’s Judo. Yuri was already in motion. His fist, hardened by years of Reinforced Fist training, slammed into my nose with a crack. Pain shot through my face, and I felt a warm trickle of blood as it dripped down from my nostrils. I tasted iron on my lips but kept my stance firm. A little blood wasn’t going to slow me down.

Yuri's face twisted with frustration as he shouted, "I can destroy steel with my punches! What are you?!" His voice was a mixture of disbelief and desperation. I seized his hand mid-swing, tightening my grip until his knuckles turned white. "You got it right before.” I replied. Without breaking eye contact, I lifted him high into the air with ease, preparing to slam him into the ground. I felt a sudden pressure at my side. Muhammad was pushing against me again, trying desperately to disrupt my balance. I didn’t budge—until my heel caught on something small. A pebble. My foot twisted, and the imbalance was enough. I stumbled backward, Yuri still in my grip. The momentum carried me down, and I hit the ground hard, crashing onto my back. The impact jarred me, and I lost my hold on Yuri, who landed on his feet beside me.

"Now, Muhammad!" Yuri roared, sensing his opportunity. Muhammad didn’t waste a second. He grabbed hold of my foot, using his Judo training to hurl me backward with surprising strength. My body flew through the air, skimming the ground, until I was hurtling toward their blood-red HQ. I caught sight of Yuri sprinting after me, his fist pulled back, charging for a devastating blow. He moved with more ferocity than before, his eyes wild with determination. Still airborne, I faced him, keeping my posture steady despite the speed of the fall. Yuri bellowed, "Crater Punch!" His fist slammed into my chest near my heart, with far more force than I expected. The impact sent small shockwaves through my body.

I rocketed backward, crashing through the outer wall of their HQ, and then through another, until I landed in the center of their lobby. The building crumbled around me, debris and wood splintering into the air. I lay on my back, surrounded by shattered remnants of the HQ’s walls, dust clouding the air. Yuri, breathing heavily, collapsed to his knees outside, clearly exhausted from pouring everything into that final punch. His ultimate technique had taken a toll on him. As for me, I stared up at the ceiling, the chaos swirling around me. My chest throbbed where his fist had landed, but it was more of an annoyance than actual pain. I smirked to myself, brushing some wood off my shoulders. Well, I let them have their fun. They got lucky, that's all.

I stood up, brushing the debris from my shoulders, shaking off the dust like it was nothing. My eyes flicked to Yuri, still kneeling in exhaustion. I formed a spear hand, feeling the weight of the air as it parted under my fingers. "Cool ultimate technique, man," I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. "had a lot of power behind it. Now, it's my turn." Yuri blinked, his fatigue slowing his reaction. But as his eyelids shut, I moved. In an instant, I was in his blind spot—his eight o’clock—my movements silent and lethal. I yelled, "Severed Soul!" mimicking his own yelling of techniques. My hand sliced downward, cutting through flesh and bone like butter. Yuri didn’t even have time to scream as his body split in two, organs spilling out. Blood pooled around his severed form, staining the ground beneath us. I stood over his lifeless remains, wiping the blood from my hand. Well, that’s the end of him. Then, a sharp blow landed on the back of my head. My vision flickered briefly, and I staggered forward, again, more out of surprise than pain. Slowly, I turned to face the attacker, my eyes narrowing into a cold, menacing stare.

"You want it too?" I growled, my voice low, dripping with threat. Muhammad, trembling, leaned back, fear written all over his face. I didn’t wait for an answer. I screamed again, "Severed Soul!" My spear hand came down like a guillotine, slicing him cleanly in half. This time, there was no mess—no spilled organs, just a clean cut, his two body parts falling together. I glanced down at the bodies, wiping a speck of blood from my cheek. To be honest, Bloody Knuckle wasn’t strong at all. I reflected silently, stepping over Yuri’s remains. Only four members were worth anything, and only two of them had something unique, like Reinforced Fist. They must’ve learned it from some fraud.

I turned back toward the building. There were no innocents nearby, no civilians caught in the crossfire, and no other structures that might be collateral. Just this decrepit shell of a headquarters. I formed another spear hand, holding it at my side, and sliced horizontally through the air. The building groaned, splitting in two, and collapsed with a thunderous crash as it slid into rubble. Satisfied, I took a deep breath, then yelled as loud as I could, "Hey, everyone! Bloody Knuckle is no more! Jiambou owns this area now, and they’ll treat you great!" Slowly, cautiously, people emerged from their hiding places, stepping out of buildings with expressions of disbelief. One man, emerging from a small house, called out, "Are you… serious?" I nodded. "Yes. There might be a few stragglers, but their top brass are all defeated. Jiambou will clean up the rest and help you rebuild." The man covered his mouth, tears streaming down his face, "Thank you… whoever you are." I turned my back on the crumbling remains of Bloody Knuckle’s HQ and started walking toward the bridge to meet up with Jiambou. Without looking back, I called over my shoulder, "No problem."

I was wrong. I do have feelings in this conflict.