Rain stabbed the city like knives from the heavens—sharp, unrelenting, and cold. The sky was a bruised black, heavy with thunder and secrets. On the edge of a rusted rooftop, two figures knelt in silence, the storm soaking through their clothes like a curse.
Ren adjusted the strap of the pistol at his side. A blade, sheathed and polished, was tucked behind him—silent, deadly, and far more personal than the gun. His soaked hoodie clung to him, tattered at the sleeves, while his black cargo pants stuck to his skin, weighed down with bloodstains that wouldn't come out no matter how many times he washed them. The rain didn't help. It only reminded him that he was here. That this was real.
Beside him, Emi trembled under her drenched jacket. Her small hands struggled to keep hold of the gun Daizen had given her—an ugly thing that looked far too large for her delicate fingers. Her hood had fallen back, letting rain wash over her pale face, her lips trembling not just from the cold, but from the weight of what they were about to do.
A kill mission.
Their first.
Ren glanced at her. The fear was written across every inch of her. The way her breathing hitched. The way her knees dug into the rooftop like she was trying to vanish inside herself. He hated this. All of it.
He looked away.
"They told you too, didn't they?" Ren said suddenly, his voice flat, quiet. "Daizen. He told me that if I killed you during the mission… he'd let me go."
Emi didn't respond. Didn't flinch either. But that silence—fuck, that silence said everything.
"Yeah," Ren muttered. "Thought so."
He stared down at the warehouse across the alley. Dim lights flickered inside. The target was there. Easy hit, or at least it was supposed to be.
"But I'm not doing it," Ren continued. "We finish the job. Then we run. I don't give a shit where, just… away from them."
He didn't need her answer. And she didn't give one. But he knew. She'd made her choice, same as he had.
What Daizen didn't understand—what none of them understood—was that Ren had made peace with dying a long time ago. He'd been fucked up from the start. Whatever future Emi had, it didn't deserve to be scorched by the shitstorm that was his life. She had something to lose.
He didn't.
That's why he'd do all of it.
And so they moved.
They landed on the warehouse rooftop with the subtlety of falling feathers. Well… sort of. They were still amateurs—barely a week into training, barely old enough to hold a gun without it shaking. But even in his awkwardness, Ren moved with a quietness that wasn't natural. His body reacted like it had done this before.
They crept toward the skylight, rain masking their footsteps. Through the cracked glass, dim bulbs lit a shitty little office inside. The target sat at a desk—alone, dumb as hell, swirling whiskey like the world owed him something.
Ren crouched low and peered through the grime-streaked window behind the man. He slipped the knife between his teeth, pulled out a small tool from his pocket, and worked on the rusted window latch. It opened with a soft creak, barely audible beneath the rain. He slipped in first, hit the ground without a sound, then reached out and helped Emi in.
She stumbled. Almost dropped the gun. Ren winced. He hated this. She shouldn't be here.
He should knock her out. Just do it all himself. But… she'd never forgive him. And maybe some part of him still cared about that.
They crept toward the desk. Ren moved like a shadow, knife now in hand, boots silent on the floorboards. The man's back was turned—this was almost too easy.
Then the board creaked.
Shit.
The man stood fast, chair screeching backward. He turned, saw them, and laughed—a sharp, cruel bark.
"Are you fucking serious?" the man spat. "They sent kids to kill me?"
His hand moved for the drawer.
"Get the fuck outta here before I put you in a body bag."
Emi flinched.
Ren didn't.
He lunged.
They clashed in a flash of movement. Ren was fast, but the man wasn't weak. He blocked Ren's first strike, shoved him back, tried to reach for a gun—but Ren was on him again in seconds. They fought like animals in a cage, the man getting in a few strong hits, knocking Ren against a cabinet.
But Ren's body moved like it knew how to survive. He caught the man's wrist, twisted, slammed his head into the desk, and drove the knife into his throat.
Warm blood sprayed across the walls.
Ren didn't flinch.
He yanked the knife out, the man choking on his own spit and blood as he collapsed to the floor. His eyes still twitched as he died.
"It's done," Ren muttered, turning to Emi.
She stood frozen. Staring at the blood pooling around the man. Her eyes wide, mouth trembling.
Then she dropped to her knees and threw up.
"Emi!" Ren rushed to her, dropping beside her. "Hey, it's okay. It's over."
"Don't… don't touch me…" she whispered, gagging between sobs.
Ren froze.
He looked down at his hands. Covered in blood. Not just the man's—but maybe his own. He hadn't noticed.
He felt… nothing.
Except guilt. For the first time.
Not for killing. But for her having to see it.
He was a monster. He knew that. He'd known it for a long time.
But she didn't have to be.
Then—BANG.
The gun Emi had dropped went off as it hit the floor.
"Shit!" Ren cursed. "We have to go. Now!"
He turned to lock the door, but it slammed open with force, and three armed guards flooded in.
Time slowed.
Ren didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward, slamming his knife into the eye of the first guard, ripping it free with a sickening sound. Blood gushed, the man screamed, then gurgled.
The second raised his rifle—but Ren twisted, caught the barrel, and slammed the gun upward as it fired. A bullet grazed Ren's cheek.
Then—Emi's scream.
He spun.
Two guards had her.
"NO!" Ren roared, drawing his pistol.
CRACK!
One of the guards' heads snapped back, blood splashing Emi's face.
Then—WHAM.
A rifle butt slammed into Ren's skull.
Then again.
And again.
His body hit the floor. Boots kicked his ribs. Hands beat him down like a dog.
Pain.
So much pain.
And then…
Nothing.
Everything was black.
But in that blackness… something stirred. Like a whisper clawing its way out of a coffin. A faint heartbeat, steady and distant. Then—a creaking door. Somewhere, deep in his mind, it swung open.
"She's going to die."
And then—
Snap.
His eyes flew open.
Black. No whites. No irises. Just bottomless voids. Twin pits of annihilation.
And when he rose—
The air changed. His hair started to turn white again and was growing longer.
The guards, trained killers, armed to the teeth, instinctively stepped back.
"The fuck…" one of them stammered, his voice trembling. "That can't be—he's… they were extinct… He's one of them… The Wolves…"
Ren made a face.
But it wasn't a human expression.
It was something else.
Something primal. Broken. Wrong.
Then he moved.
Not fast—instantaneous.
One moment he was standing still.
The next, his fist was buried halfway through the nearest man's torso, splitting his ribcage open like wet cardboard. Blood exploded behind the man like a shotgun blast.
The guard gurgled, coughed red foam, and collapsed—already dead before his brain could even register the pain.
The second guard screamed and opened fire.
Big mistake.
Ren didn't flinch.
The bullets hit—but he didn't feel them.
They punched into his flesh, slowed only slightly by skin tougher than kevlar. They embedded deep… and then fell out, pushed back by muscle that refused to tear.
Ren turned toward the shooter, eyes cold, expression hollow.
He reached forward and crushed the barrel of the gun like tinfoil. The metal shrieked. The guard gasped.
Then Ren's hand closed around the man's skull.
One squeeze.
Pop.
The body dropped with a wet thud, head caved in like a kicked melon.
The rest panicked.
Three opened fire, flanking him from both sides, bullets raining down like hell.
Ren walked through them.
His limbs blurred—twisting, weaving between rounds as if the air itself bent around him. One slug clipped his cheek. The skin cracked—then reformed instantly, tendons shifting like rebar under pressure.
He ducked beneath a spray, grabbed one man by the vest, and threw him through a concrete wall. The impact shattered the man's spine, and his body folded like a rag doll.
Another man lunged at him with a blade.
Ren caught the wrist mid-air—and ripped the entire arm off with a single jerk. Bone cracked, tendons snapped, blood jetted from the socket. The man didn't even get the chance to scream—Ren jammed the severed arm through his throat before he could.
Six down.
One tried to run.
Ren vanished.
In less than a heartbeat, he was there—behind the man—fingers wrapping around his ankle. He lifted him into the air with one arm, then slammed him into the ground like a sledgehammer.
Crack.
The man's body bounced. Once. Twice. By the third hit, he was just… meat.
Ren turned to the remaining four.
They hesitated.
He didn't.
He burst forward—too fast to track. The first had his jaw ripped clean off. The second tried to punch him—his hand shattered on Ren's face. Literally. The bones in his knuckles folded inward like broken glass.
Ren returned the favor with a backhand that sent his lower mandible spinning through the air.
The next screamed and fell to his knees, hands up. "Don't—"
Ren grabbed his head and smashed it sideways into the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Skull fragments painted the concrete like abstract art.
The last man—a taller one, breathing hard, tears in his eyes—backed up against the steel wall.
Ren walked toward him slowly, breathing steady, eyes still black as death.
"I… I have a family…" the man whispered.
Ren tilted his head.
Then plunged his fingers into the man's chest and ripped out his heart—still beating.
Ten men. Gone.
Not a battle. Not even a struggle.
Just carnage.
And Ren?
Ren wasn't even trying.
He looked down at his hands—dripping red, painted with gore—and felt nothing.
No satisfaction. No disgust.
Just silence.
Ripped apart. Drenched in their own blood and fear.
And standing at the center of it all—Ren.
Soaked in red.
Not breathing hard.
Not blinking.
A monster.
Emi's voice called weakly from behind him.
"…Ren?"
He turned.
Fast.
Too fast.
And lunged.
His hand wrapped around her throat before he could even think. She gasped, eyes wide, feet lifting from the ground.
He was going to kill her.
He didn't want to.
But he couldn't stop.
"No… please…"
Her voice broke through.
His grip loosened.
Eyes flickered.
The blackness receded.
And Ren fell to his knees, hands shaking, blood dripping from every inch of him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… I didn't mean to—"
Click.
He looked up.
Emi.
Pointing the gun at his head.
The same fear in her eyes.
But now—mixed with something else.
Doubt.
Mistrust.
And that hurt worse than the bullets.