Chapter 28: MIDNIGHT WOLVES — PART 3
The door explodes inward.
They come like a wave. Twelve men. Armed. Coordinated. Professional.
Lucas fires. The shotgun roars. Two go down at the entrance.
Siobhan's rifle cracks from the window. Precise. Controlled. Another falls.
I'm already moving. The eastern group—four men breaching through the side window. Glass shatters. They roll through, weapons up.
Violence Mastery reads them. Four patterns. Four threats. Four deaths waiting to happen.
I meet the first with my knife. His weapon swings toward me—too slow. The blade finds his throat. He gurgles. Falls.
The second fires. Three rounds. One clips my side. Another cut. More pain. More fuel.
Pain Conversion burns. My body is a furnace. Every wound is gasoline.
I'm faster than I was a minute ago. Faster than I should be. Faster than human.
My gun empties into the second man. Center mass. He drops.
Third and fourth come together. Smart. Covering angles. Professional teamwork.
Doesn't matter.
Violence Mastery tracks both. Sees their patterns. Anticipates their movements.
I'm between them before they can coordinate. Elbow to third's temple. Gun to fourth's chest. Both down.
Four seconds. Four bodies.
"Jesus Christ," Siobhan breathes.
Lucas is still fighting at the front. Three more attackers pressing him. He's good. Experienced. But they're overwhelming him.
I cross the room. Tackle the leftmost attacker. We go down together. His weapon fires wild. I break his arm. His neck. Stand.
The other two turn toward me. Mistake. Lucas shoots one. I take the other.
Silence. Sudden. Deafening.
Twelve attackers. All down. Twenty seconds of combat.
I'm bleeding from half a dozen wounds. Shoulder. Thigh. Side. Cuts across my arms and chest.
I should be dying.
Instead, I'm standing. Breathing hard. Ready for more.
"Reload," Lucas orders. His voice is steady but his hands shake slightly. "They'll come again."
I check my ammunition. One magazine left. Maybe fifteen rounds.
"How many outside?" I ask.
Job's voice crackles: "Six confirmed. Plus Olek. He's positioned across the street. Watching."
Seven. We just killed twelve. Seven remain.
"State police?" Siobhan asks.
"Ten minutes," Job says. "Maybe less. They're scrambling everything."
Ten minutes. An eternity. A heartbeat.
Sugar hasn't moved from the bunker entrance. His shotgun is ready. His eyes are hard. "They coming again?"
"Yes," I say.
Movement outside. Shadows repositioning. Regrouping.
My Criminal Instinct pulses. Danger. But different now. More focused. One threat stands out above the others.
Olek.
He's the apex predator among them. The commander. The hunter who never fails.
"Ben." Lucas's voice is quiet. "Your wounds."
I look down. The cuts are still bleeding. But slower. The pain is fading—which means Pain Conversion is losing fuel.
"I'm functional."
"You're not human," Siobhan says. Not accusing. Just stating fact.
"I'm human enough."
"That's still not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
She accepts it. For now.
The front door opens slowly. No assault. No rush. Just one man stepping through.
Olek.
He's bigger than I expected. Maybe six-five. Heavy. Scarred face. Eyes that have seen too much death and stopped caring.
He surveys the room. Twelve bodies. Three defenders still standing. His expression doesn't change.
"Impressive," he says. His English is good. Barely accented. "Twelve of my best men. Dead in seconds." His eyes find me. "You did most of it."
I don't respond. Just watch. Violence Mastery is reading him. Different from the others. More dangerous. More skilled.
"You're not normal cop," Olek observes. "Cops don't move like you move. Don't kill like you kill."
"Neither are you."
He smiles. "No. I am something else. Hunter. Killer. Survivor." He takes a step forward. Lucas raises his shotgun. Olek ignores him. "I've hunted many men. Weak men. Strong men. Smart men. You are different. You are... exceptional."
"Flattering. Leave anyway."
"I cannot. The girl—Anastasia—she belongs to her father. I take her home."
"She's not going anywhere."
"Then you die. Your friends die. And I take her anyway." Olek's hand moves to his belt. Draws a knife. Large. Combat design. Well-used. "Or you fight me. Single combat. You win, my men leave. I win, you give me the girl."
"No deals," Lucas says.
But I'm considering it. Six men outside. Three of us functional. Ammunition running low. State police ten minutes away.
If I can end this now. End Olek. The rest might break.
"Ben, don't," Siobhan says. She sees my expression. Knows what I'm thinking. "You're wounded. He's fresh."
"I'm enhanced."
"You're bleeding out."
She's not wrong. But Pain Conversion is still active. Still feeding me power. And Violence Mastery is reading Olek's patterns. Cataloging them. Preparing.
"Your choice," Olek says. "Fight me. Or watch your friends die slowly."
My shoulder throbs. My thigh burns. My side screams.
All of it translates to power.
"Outside," I say. "Street. Single combat."
"Ben—" Lucas starts.
"It's the only way. You know it."
He does. I can see it in his eyes. We're outgunned. Outmanned. This is the play.
"Agreed," Olek says. He turns. Walks back outside.
I follow.
The street is dark except for streetlights. Bodies litter the pavement from earlier fighting. The air smells like gunpowder and blood.
Olek's remaining men form a loose perimeter. Six of them. Watching. Waiting.
Lucas and Siobhan emerge from the bar. Take position. Weapons ready.
"Rules?" I ask.
"No rules. Fight until one of us stops moving." Olek rolls his shoulders. Loosens up. "I have killed forty-seven men in combat. You will be forty-eight."
"Confident."
"Experienced." He draws his pistol. Racks the slide. "Begin when ready."
I have my service weapon. Half a magazine. A knife. Two wounded arms.
This should be impossible.
But Violence Mastery is screaming. Not warning. Anticipation. It wants this fight. Needs it.
Something is changing. The power is evolving. Under stress. Under necessity.
I raise my weapon.
Olek fires first.
I'm already moving. Violence Mastery saw it coming. Predicted the angle. I'm three feet left when the bullet passes.
I return fire. Two shots. Both miss. He's fast.
We circle. Professional. Cautious.
Then six more men appear. Six patterns. Too many.
They're converging. All at once.
This is it. The moment Violence Mastery breaks or I do.
Six opponents. Phase 2 couldn't handle five reliably. Six should be impossible.
But something clicks.
The world doesn't slow. That's a myth. But perception sharpens. Crystallizes. Every movement becomes readable. Not just one or two patterns. All of them. Simultaneously.
I see Olek's next three moves. See the left flanker's approach. The right's positioning. All six threats mapped in my mind like a tactical display.
Phase 3.
I move.
First attacker reaches me. Knife swing. I'm inside his guard. Break his wrist. Take his knife. Bury it in his throat.
Second and third together. Professional pair. I read them both. Sidestep the first. Use him as a shield against the second. Both shots hit their own man.
Fourth from behind. Violence Mastery saw him coming. I drop. His blade passes overhead. My knife finds his kidney.
Fifth and sixth are smarter. Hang back. Wait for opening.
Olek provides it. His pistol cracks. Round takes my left arm. Clean through.
Pain explodes. Pain Conversion surges.
I'm faster. Stronger. Moving beyond human limits.
Fifth dies before he processes I'm there. Sixth tries to run. Doesn't make it.
Just Olek now.
He's backing up. Re-evaluating. "What are you?"
I don't answer. Don't need to.
We fight.
And I learn what Phase 3 really means.
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