Crimson Triad

City 403 pulsed with gunfire and blood. Jerry's forces and the Crimson Triads clashed in a brutal firefight, plasma bolts searing through the darkness, cybernetic enhancements whirring as gangsters tore through each other in a desperate bid for dominance. Hover-drones screeched overhead, unloading suppressive fire, while kinetic shields flickered and failed under the sheer chaos of it all. This wasn't a battle. This was a fucking war.

Jerry stood in the center of it, his custom-modified kinetic rifle spitting out rounds with brutal efficiency. Every squeeze of the trigger sent bodies crumpling, his cybernetic eye scanning heat signatures through the smoke. He knew the Triads fought dirty—ambush tactics, hidden snipers, explosives—but he had built his empire on being one step ahead. And yet, tonight, something felt off.

A whistling sound. Jerry ducked.

BOOM. The spot where he stood erupted, concrete chunks flying as a micro-missile vaporized half the street. "Fuck." He rolled into cover, popping up just long enough to snap off a few well-placed shots. Triads fell. But then he saw him.

Xiao.

The leader of the Crimson Triad walked through the battlefield like a goddamn king, the fires reflecting in his cybernetic-red eyes. His sleek black trench coat shifted, revealing a high-frequency blade holstered at his hip, while both hands gripped a pair of modified rail-pistols. Around him, his elite guards—Red Phantoms—moved like wraiths, their monoblades gleaming.

Jerry spat. "Finally decided to crawl out from your hole?"

Xiao smirked. "I figured I'd put a dog down myself."

No more talking.

They moved.

Jerry fired first, his rifle screaming as hyper-accelerated rounds streaked toward Xiao. Xiao twisted—inhumanly fast, dodging the shots with cybernetic precision. His rail-pistols barked in response, the electromagnetic slugs shredding the cover Jerry had ducked behind.

Jerry rolled forward, switching to his secondary—a pulse-shotgun strapped to his back. He pulled the trigger, sending an energy wave ripping toward Xiao, but the Triad leader leaped sideways, twisting mid-air as he returned fire. Jerry barely dodged—one shot clipped his shoulder, his arm taking most of the damage.

Close the gap. Jerry surged forward, swapping back to his rifle. The fight became a brutal dance of dodges, counters, and gunfire, two warlords dueling across a battlefield littered with bodies and wreckage. Around them, their forces tore each other apart—gunfire, explosions, blades clashing.

Jerry saw his opening. Xiao was reloading.

Jerry lunged, swinging the shotgun like a bat, aiming to cave in his skull—

Too slow.

Xiao sidestepped, twisted, and in one smooth motion—his monoblade slid from its sheath.

A flash of steel.

Pain.

Jerry staggered back. His right arm—was gone.

Gone.

He stared at the bloody stump where his limb used to be, the nerves burning, the twitching as if trying to reattach itself. The severed arm lay on the ground, still clutching the shotgun, fingers spasming uselessly.

Xiao flicked the blood from his blade, smiling. "I expected more."

Jerry gritted his teeth, his left hand reaching for a sidearm—he wasn't going out like this—

Then everything shifted.

A whisper of movement. A shadow where there shouldn't be one. A blur.

Shaoran.

No footsteps. No warning.

One moment, Xiao was standing tall, victorious. The next—his head snapped back as if something had struck him. But nothing was there.

Xiao stumbled, his cybernetic eye whirring, scanning, trying to find—

Another impact.

His gun arm jerked unnaturally, twisted out of position.

Then came the blade.

Not from the front. Not from the side. From everywhere at once.

A thin line of red appeared across Xiao's cheek, then another on his chest. Small cuts. Precise. Like he had been carved apart in the blink of an eye.

Xiao's instincts screamed. He jumped back, resetting, scanning for a target.

Shaoran stood there now, his figure emerging from the flickering neon lights like a ghost.

Xiao's eye locked on him. His jaw clenched. "You…"

Shaoran didn't answer.

Xiao opened fire—both rail-pistols unloading full mags.

Empty air.

Shaoran was gone.

No, not gone—moving.

Not normal movement. Not running, not dodging. It was like he was phasing between steps, slipping through reality itself.

Then he was behind Xiao.

A curved blade in his hand.

Xiao barely turned in time—his own monoblade meeting Shaoran's in a shower of sparks.

And then it was blade against blade.

No wasted movement. No hesitation.

Shaoran's attacks were unnatural—sharp, quick, and eerily precise. No excessive flourishes, no wasted energy. Xiao fought like a trained killer, but Shaoran? Shaoran fought like death itself.

Each strike from Shaoran came from a blind spot—angles that shouldn't exist. Xiao had decades of combat experience, enhanced reflexes, cybernetic processing— but it didn't matter.

He was losing.

Desperation flickered in Xiao's eyes. He triggered his hidden augment—a shockwave pulse designed to send enemies flying. The energy rippled outward.

Shaoran didn't move.

The shockwave passed through him.

Xiao's expression twisted. "What the fu—"

A stab to the ribs.

Shaoran's blade slid in cleanly.

Xiao gasped. His cybernetics flared, his body trying to override the pain.

Shaoran twisted the blade. No emotion. No hesitation.

Xiao's fingers twitched. He tried to raise his pistol—Shaoran's free hand snapped out, gripping his wrist.

A quick, brutal motion.

SNAP.

The gun fell from limp fingers.

Xiao coughed, blood staining his lips.

Shaoran exhaled. "You lost."

Xiao grinned through the pain. "…Not yet."

His free hand clenched. A dead-man's switch.

The entire block rumbled.

A self-destruct. A final fuck-you.

Jerry, still on his knees, barked out, "Shaoran, move—"

Too late.

The building exploded.

A shockwave of fire and debris ripped through the streets.

Flames. Smoke. The scent of burning metal.

But as the fire settled, as the smoke cleared—

Shaoran was still standing.

Unscathed.

Xiao? Gone.

Jerry, breathing hard, clutched his bleeding stump. He looked up at Shaoran. "You still don't fight normal."

Shaoran glanced down at him. "…Neither do you."