Chapter 44: Ticking Clock

Fixer might've looked like just another muscle-bound thug, but Avery knew better. The way he held himself, the laser-focused gleam in his eyes—this was no ordinary street brawler. This was a warrior, honed by countless battles.

Memories of their encounter with the Butcher flashed through Avery's mind. That fight had been pure chaos, fueled by bloodlust and insanity. But Fixer? He was cut from a different cloth entirely. Calm. Calculated. Deadly.

What's a guy like this doing in a place like this? Avery wondered, his mind racing to formulate a plan.

"Edward," he said. "I need you to slip past this guy and get inside. Find the people they're holding and get them out."

Edward hesitated, his eyes darting between Avery and Fixer. "You sure about this? This guy feels way tougher than the last one we faced."

Avery blinked, surprised by Edward's perceptiveness. But he wasn't the same Avery anymore. Day by day, with rigid training, he could feel echoes of Yeomra's strength returning. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"Positive," Avery said, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Now go crash that birthday party you've been so excited about."

A grin spread across Edward's face as he darted towards the facility. But Fixer reacted fast. In a blur of motion, he lunged at Edward, those wicked spikes aimed straight for his chest.

"Who said you could leave?" Fixer snarled.

Time seemed to slow. Avery moved on pure instinct, his body remembering skills his mind had forgotten. In a heartbeat, he was between Edward and Fixer, a gleaming dagger deflecting the brutal attack. Fixer was fast, but Avery was faster, way faster.

Moreover, this wasn't his old blade. This one was different - high-grade stainless steel with a Teflon coating that caught the fading light.

Avery's eyes met Fixer's, cold determination radiating from every fiber of his being. "I did."

The clash of metal on metal rang out like a church bell, echoing through the night. The sheer force behind their attacks sent vibrations up Avery's arm.

Edward slipped away, unable to resist sticking his tongue out at Fixer as he vanished into the shadows. Fixer's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pursue. He knew he had his hands full with Avery.

"What's a guy like you doing with Night Gallery?" Avery asked. He remains casual despite the tension in his muscles.

Fixer's gaze was as cold as winter frost. "Dead men don't need to hear my reasons," he growled.

Sizing up Avery's stance and the wicked-looking dagger in his hand, Fixer felt a spark of excitement. It had been a long time since he'd faced someone who could match him in close combat. Not since...

A memory flashed unbidden - a shadowy figure that had sent him into retirement, fear coursing through his veins even now at the mere thought.

Fixer shook off the chill. This was different. This was his turf, his rules.

"We'll see who ends up dead before the night's over," Avery shot back, a dangerous glint in his eye.

Avery melted into the night, becoming one with the shadows. In a heartbeat, he materialized at Fixer's side, blade flashing—only to meet unyielding resistance.

"Hmmph. Child's play," Fixer scoffed, his eyes tracking Avery's movements with eerie precision. "Did you really think I'd fall for such a basic trick?"

Avery's mind raced. His stealth, honed over countless missions, had never failed him like this before. Fixer might not match his agility, but the ex-Butcher's instincts were razor-sharp.

Time for a new approach. Avery didn't just blend with the darkness this time—he became the darkness itself. It wasn't magic, just a masterful manipulation of shadow and movement that should have rendered him invisible to the untrained eye.

But Fixer was far from untrained.

Clang!

Steel met steel once more as Fixer effortlessly countered Avery's strike. A chill ran down Avery's spine. This was no ordinary opponent.

"Impressed?" Fixer's gravelly voice cut through the night. "Agility's just a crutch for those who can't defend themselves properly. And defense?" His lips curled into a predatory grin. "That's where I excel."

Avery gritted his teeth. If stealth and speed wouldn't cut it, he'd need to dig deeper into his arsenal.

"Is that all you've got?" Fixer's voice dripped with disdain. "You're boring me. Let me show you how it's really done."

Fixer's stance shifted, a predator coiling to strike. In one fluid motion, he scooped up a rock and tossed it skyward. As it reached eye level, his fist shot out, the spiked knuckles pulverizing the stone.

A hail of razor-sharp fragments exploded towards Avery. Each tiny shard promised pain—or worse. Avery's blade became a blur, deflecting the deadly rain in a dizzying display of speed and precision.

But Fixer wasn't finished.

The instant Avery parried the last fragment, Fixer's massive fist materialized before him.

WHAM!

The impact sent Avery skidding backward, his boots leaving furrows in the earth.

"Not bad, kid," Fixer chuckled. There was a hint of genuine admiration in his voice. "Most wouldn't have even seen that coming, let alone defend against it."

To an untrained eye, Avery should've been paste. But Fixer knew better. At the last possible second, Avery had brought his dagger up, taking the brunt of the blow.

Avery's chest heaved as he caught his breath, mind racing. Fixer wasn't just strong—he was crafty. This fight was far from over, and Avery knew he'd need every trick in his arsenal to come out on top.

"Time for the main course," Fixer growled, a wicked gleam in his eye.

In a heartbeat, he closed the gap between them. There was no finesse, no trickery—just raw, unbridled power. His fists became a blur, each strike aimed to shatter bone and rend flesh.

Avery's world narrowed to a pinpoint focus. His dagger flashed in the moonlight, meeting each devastating blow. The clash of metal on metal rang out like a twisted melody. One slip, one moment of hesitation, and those wicked spikes would find their mark.

"That's it, boy!" Fixer's voice boomed with savage glee. "But how long can you keep this up? Who'll break first, I wonder?"

Sweat beaded on Avery's brow as he parried blow after punishing blow. This wasn't his style. He was an assassin, trained to strike from the shadows, to find that one perfect moment. But Fixer wasn't giving him a moment to breathe, let alone plan.

As the onslaught continued, a cold realization settled in Avery's gut. He couldn't match Fixer's stamina. Not like this. He needed an opening, a split second of weakness to exploit. But Fixer's guard was ironclad, his technique honed by years of brutal combat.

While Avery and Fixer clashed outside, Edward glided through the clubhouse like a ghost. Fixer's lackeys never stood a chance—each one neutralized without a trace. Edward had learned his lessons well; loose ends had a nasty habit of unraveling at the worst possible moment.

As he rounded a corner, a familiar face caught his eye among the huddled group of captives. Bishop!

"Well, well," Edward chirped, his voice a strange mix of childish glee and something darker. "Look what the cat dragged in! Ave sent me to fetch you, and he is not amused about your little adventure."

Bishop's eyes widened in recognition, a flicker of relief quickly replaced by urgency.

"Edward, we don't have time for this," Bishop hissed. "They've already moved Rocco to the job site."

Edward tilted his head, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "Job site? But what about my invitation? I was promised a party!"

The disconnect between Edward's lighthearted tone and the gravity of the situation was jarring. Bishop fought the urge to shake some sense into him.

"Focus, Edward! Rocco's in serious danger. We need to move, now!"