The underground wasn't just shaking anymore; it was coming apart.
Walls groaned. Plaster rained from the ceiling in dusty clouds. Lights flickered and died one by one. Every blast from a skill or gun echoed through the hideout like the place itself was crying out.
This was no longer a raid. It was a war zone.
Kane faced one of the pros—no rookie, no mid-tier guard. This man was built like a tank, wrapped in reinforced plating that shimmered with a faint blue force field.
Every time Kane hurled a Blast Cannon, the impact rippled across that field and scattered away like water on glass.
"Dammit," Kane muttered, teeth gritted as his HUD flickered. EP dropped again: 72 / 110. A third of his reserves already burned.
The officer just smirked. "You'll need more than fireworks, boy."
He moved, and the world jumped.
Kane barely slid aside before a thick arm hooked under his ribs. The officer lifted him like he weighed nothing and hurled him into the nearest wall. Stone cracked, dust exploded.
Kane's HP jolted down, stabilizing at 98 / 120. He groaned and forced himself back to his feet. His ribs throbbed, but nothing felt broken. Not yet.
He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers. "Alright," he said, breath coming hard. "Let's see how good that field really is."
He shot forward.
Boots struck the wall, then another. Kane bounced from surface to surface, turning the crumbling room into his own parkour course. His agility wasn't god-tier, but at ten it was sharp enough to blur him from one angle to the next, forcing the officer to spin, adjust, reorient.
But the man wasn't just a slab of muscle. His eyes tracked Kane with the patience of someone who'd done this too many times.
Kane's foot snapped out in a kick aimed at the side of his head—
The officer's arm came up and caught it clean.
"Too predictable," he said.
The words were barely out before Kane's hand pressed flat against the front of the man's chestplate.
"Not really."
The Blast Cannon detonated point-blank.
The world went white-blue for an instant. Energy rippled over the field, overloading it until it shattered in a cascade of flickering shards. The force slammed into the armor beneath and hurled the officer backward. He skidded along the floor, plating sparking.
Kane's EP dropped again—46 / 110. He sucked air in through his teeth.
The officer groaned, then pushed himself up, dust falling off his shoulders. A crooked grin split his face.
"You've got bite," he admitted. "But you'll need a lot more to finish me."
His hand blurred to his belt. The pistol came out in a smooth, practiced draw.
Gunfire ripped through the room.
Kane dove, rolled, felt bullets tear chunks out of the floor behind him. Another volley shattered stone where his head had been. His stamina bar flickered, edging lower with every desperate dodge.
On the other side of the compound, another battle carved its own scars into the hideout.
Yohan's sword crashed again and again against Welbeck's armored fists. Sparks burst with each impact. Every time they clashed, the weight of Welbeck's blows shoved Yohan back a fraction, boots scraping trenches in the dusty floor.
"Come on, tough guy!" Welbeck roared, grin wide and wild. "Can't handle my fists?"
Yohan's palms stung. His HP bled down to 70 / 140. Every parry cost him.
Even so, his expression barely shifted. "You are not worth the energy," he said coolly. "Trash shouldn't see my skills."
Welbeck's grin sharpened. "Is that right? Let's crack that attitude."
Metal shimmered along his knuckles. Two gleaming blades slid out from his gauntlets at the elbows, humming with contained power. The air around them buzzed as his aura flared.
He lunged, blades stabbing with lethal precision.
Yohan twisted aside—almost cleanly. One edge kissed his cheek, slicing skin. Warm blood traced a line down his jaw.
He raised his fingers, brushed the cut, and stared at the red. Something shifted in his eyes.
"That was a mistake," he said softly.
Welbeck lifted his blades again, smirking. "Finally going to—"
A blur of silver cut him off.
Yohan's sword flashed downward in a brutal arc. Steel bit through armor, through flesh. Welbeck's right forearm severed at the elbow and hit the ground with a wet, ugly thud.
"AHHH!" Welbeck's scream tore through the room. He staggered back, staring at the stump in disbelief.
Yohan raised his sword. Lightning began to coil along the blade, crackling in bright, jagged lines. The sound of it crawled through the air, a chorus of shrieking birds made of electricity.
"Lightning Stream," he said, voice like ice.
His HUD confirmed it: Skill Activated — Lightning Stream Lv.4.
Welbeck's face twisted, part fury, part pain. "You bastard—"
The lightning hissed louder in answer.
Back with Kane, things weren't improving.
The officer's field flickered back to life, weaker but still there, shrugging off the next Blast Cannon with a crackle. Kane staggered, vision blurring for a heartbeat. EP dropped again: 18 / 110.
He could feel fatigue crawling through his limbs now, turning his muscles to lead.
"You are stubborn," the officer growled. "I'll give you that."
He thrust his palm outward.
A wave of pure force blasted from his hand, invisible but brutal. It slammed into Kane's chest and flung him backward. He skidded across the ground, boots scraping, ribs protesting.
He spat blood, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His stamina gauge flashed yellow at the edge of his sight.
Think, Kane. You are not winning a slugfest. Outplay him.
He surged forward again, not giving himself time to hesitate. The officer's fists cut arcs through the air, each punch powerful enough to crack walls. Kane wove around them, ducking under one, leaning past another, feeling the impacts vibrate through the floor.
He struck where he could—elbows to ribs, fists to exposed gaps between plates. The hits chipped away at HP, but not fast enough.
Then he saw it.
The vest.
Heavy plating across the chest and shoulders, thick enough to take hits—but stiff. Slow. It gave his opponent protection but stole some of his mobility in return.
Kane bounced back, gaining distance. The officer moved to follow.
Kane aimed not at him, but above.
One more Blast Cannon.
The shot tore into the ceiling directly over the officer's head. Concrete groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed outward in every direction.
"Ah, hell," the officer muttered, glancing up.
A heartbeat later, the ceiling caved.
Chunks of stone and metal slammed down, burying him in a storm of rubble. His force field sparked once, twice, then died under the weight.
For a second there was only settling dust and a faint, ragged cough from beneath the debris.
Kane stayed where he was, chest heaving, eyes locked on the mound. His EP bar sat at a miserable low. If that hadn't worked, he wasn't sure what he had left.
"You… got lucky this time, kid," the officer rasped from under the broken concrete.
Kane took a step closer, every muscle protesting. He didn't answer.
"Wait," the man choked out, voice weakening. "Before you run off… you should know. Sean—Welbeck lied. He wasn't in on this."
Kane froze.
"What?"
"When Welbeck asked him to sell you out, he said no," the officer went on. "So we made sure he couldn't spoil it. Tied him up, beat him down. He's still here. Straight ahead, right turn… next room."
Silence stretched for a long moment as dust drifted through the air.
"…Thank you," Kane said quietly.
Then he turned and ran.
The house was dying around them.
Wood splintered. Beams sagged. Each distant impact sent new cracks crawling through the walls.
In the main chamber, Welbeck and Yohan still tore into each other. Even one-armed, Welbeck fought like a cornered animal, blade flashing from his remaining gauntlet.
He carved strips from Yohan's clothes, steel just barely missing deeper flesh—or sometimes not missing at all. A slash along Yohan's shin drew more blood, and his HP blinked an angry red at the edge of his gaze.
He did not have much left.
Yohan's eyes hardened. He could not drag this on.
He poured what remained of his EP into his sword. It flared in answer—lightning roaring along the metal, brighter and thicker than before, the blade almost lost inside the glare.
EP dipped to 12 / 130.
With a harsh cry, Yohan stepped in and swung.
The Lightning Stream erupted in a single, obliterating slash. The bolt carved across the room, too fast for any human to dodge in that state.
It hit Welbeck square in the chest.
His body convulsed, limbs jerking violently as the current ripped through him. For a moment he was a silhouette inside the light. Then the lightning faded.
Welbeck crumpled to the ground, smoke curling from the ruin of his torso.
Silence rolled in, heavy and absolute.
Yohan's sword shimmered, then dissolved as the technique ended. He let out a long breath and turned away, steps unsteady but controlled.
Kane followed the officer's directions down the hallway, dodging falling debris and cracks in the floor.
The room he burst into was small, half-storage, half-cell. Sean hung slumped in a chair, arms tied behind him, face mottled with bruises. One eye was swollen half-shut.
"Sean!"
The man stirred, winced, tried to focus on him. "Kane…? You actually made it?"
"Apparently." Kane dropped to one knee and tore at the ropes. His hands shook from fatigue, but the knots gave way. "You could have warned me your job came with surprise executions."
Sean snorted a laugh that turned into a cough. "I said the show was rough. Did not say who wrote the script."
Kane hauled him up, slinging Sean's arm over his shoulders. The house groaned around them in long, miserable creaks.
"Can you walk?" Kane asked.
"I can lean," Sean replied. "That enough?"
"It'll have to be."
They staggered out together.
Outside, under the bruised sky, the rest of the rookies had already made it to the open air. Sarah, Kaya, Jax, and Axel stood a safe distance away, eyes locked on the building as it shuddered.
Dust billowed from broken windows. Part of the roof had collapsed inward. Each new tremor made the walls bow more.
"Yohan's out," Axel said, nodding toward the figure approaching from the side.
Yohan stepped into view, scorched, bloodied, but unbroken.
"But Kane…" Kaya began, then clenched her jaw shut.
The house let out one last, long groan.
Then it fell.
The entire structure collapsed in on itself, a roaring wave of rubble and smoke. The sound drowned out everything for a moment. When it finally faded, only a choking cloud remained where the hideout had stood.
They stared into the haze, hearts hammering.
Nothing moved.
Sarah took a step forward before she could stop herself. "Kane…"
The smoke thinned—just enough.
A shape emerged, first just a dark blur, then clearer as the dust slid away. Kane staggered into the open, hunched under a weight slung across his shoulders.
Sean.
His wrists were bound, but his chest rose and fell. Alive.
Kane looked like he'd gone three rounds with a truck—blood smeared across his face, clothes torn, movements shaky—but he was upright.
Relief broke across Sarah's and Jax's faces at the same time. They ran to meet him, taking Sean's weight between them. Kane's knees nearly buckled when the load left his shoulders.
"Easy," Jax said, grabbing his arm.
"We thought that was it," Kaya admitted, voice rough.
Kane managed a tired grin. "Takes more than a building to bury me."
No one laughed, but the tension in their shoulders eased.
Together, they turned their backs on the smoking ruins and slipped into the night—limping, exhausted, half-broken, but free.
They weren't going to prison. Not tonight.
They had fought.
They had bled.
And for the first time since this all started, the victory wasn't about ranks or prize money.
They had won their freedom.