Chapter 72: Blood and Fury

The night air was heavy with the scent of impending violence as Henry stood at the heart of Queen Mansion, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Slade Wilson was not alone. Behind him stood an army—masked mercenaries, armed to the teeth, their eyes cold and merciless. Henry could feel the weight of their presence pressing against him, but there was no fear, only fury.

Slade's voice cut through the tension, a sneer playing at the corner of his lips. "You think you can stop this, Henry? You and your little team. You're outnumbered. Outmatched."

Henry's gaze hardened. He wasn't just Henry Queen anymore. He wasn't just the CEO in a sharp suit. He was the man who had been through the fire, had seen the depths of hell and emerged from it. A man who had mastered every art of warfare, every combat style, and every weapon known to man. His heart beat with a cold, calculating rhythm, the kind that only came when he knew he had nothing to lose.

And Slade had no idea who he was truly up against.

The mercenaries moved in, closing the distance with a deadly precision. But Henry was already moving before they could even react. His movements were fluid, a blur of lethal grace. His hands blurred as he reached for the hidden knives at his sides, throwing them with deadly accuracy. They pierced the throats of the first two men before they even had time to raise their weapons.

A third mercenary charged him with a crowbar, swinging it at Henry's head. Henry caught the attack mid-swing, twisting the man's wrist with a sickening crack before slamming him into the ground. His knee crushed into the mercenary's chest, and with one swift motion, he drove a knife into his throat. Blood sprayed, painting the walls in red.

Another group closed in, firing weapons from all sides. Henry moved faster than the bullets, dodging and weaving with supernatural precision. He was a force of nature, his body an instrument of destruction. He lunged forward, taking down a man with a brutal elbow to the jaw before grabbing his assault rifle mid-air, spinning it in his hand, and unleashing a barrage of gunfire on the remaining mercenaries. They fell like dominoes, one after the other, their bodies littering the floor in a grotesque display of carnage.

In the midst of the chaos, Henry's voice rang out, cold and clear. "I'm not the man you thought I was, Slade. Last time, I was caught off guard. But this time? This time, I'm ready."

Slade stood at the back of the army, watching with amusement as his mercenaries fell, one by one, to Henry's wrath. He didn't flinch. "You're not facing the man you were on the island anymore, are you?" he said, his voice low. "You're facing the monster you've become."

Henry's eyes met Slade's, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The air was thick with the weight of their history—the betrayal, the shared pain, the broken trust. But Henry wasn't the same man who had left Slade behind on that island. He had learned, adapted, and become something far more dangerous.

With a sudden movement, Henry rushed forward, cutting through the mercenaries like a hot knife through butter. He twisted, turned, and slaughtered his way through them with brutal efficiency. His strikes were precise, calculated, and devastating. No mercy. No hesitation. Each blow was a death sentence.

Slade watched, impressed but still smug. "Impressive," he called out. "But you're still just a man. A man with a suit and a fancy reputation."

Henry paused, wiping the blood from his face, and turned to Slade, his eyes burning with an intensity that could melt steel. "I'm not just a man. And I'm more than a suit."

With that, he turned back to the mercenaries, his movements a blur of death. One by one, they fell before him, their weapons useless against his overwhelming skill. He fought like a storm, wild and untamed, his every strike a symphony of destruction. Blood soaked the floor, and the scent of death filled the room.

Slade had underestimated him. He had always believed that the man he faced on Lian Yu was the real Henry, the one who had been caught in the web of his past. But now, standing before him in the mansion, Henry was something entirely different. His combat style was no longer born of desperation. It was born of calculation, of a man who had mastered every form of violence, every edge of his skillset.

"You made a mistake, Slade," Henry said, his voice low, the calm before the storm. "You thought you could break me. You thought you could make me into something I'm not. But you're wrong."

Slade's grin faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as Henry advanced on him. He raised his weapon, but Henry was already there. In a blur of motion, Henry grabbed the gun, twisting it out of Slade's hand and sending it skidding across the floor. Then, with a brutal punch, he sent Slade crashing into a wall, the impact rattling the entire room.

Slade staggered to his feet, shaking off the blow, but Henry was already on him again. He grabbed Slade by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his fist tightening around the man's throat.

"You'll never break me, Slade," Henry snarled. "Not now. Not ever."

Slade gasped for air, his eyes wild with fury. "You think you've won? You're just delaying the inevitable. I'll bring everything down, Henry. Your family. Your friends. Your empire. You can't stop me."

Henry's grip tightened, his eyes flashing with an intensity that made even Slade flinch. "You've already lost, Slade. You just don't know it yet."

With one final twist, Henry sent Slade to the ground, his body crumpling in defeat. The battle was over.

But it was only the beginning.

As the last of the mercenaries fell, Henry stood, his chest heaving with the exertion of the fight. The room was a massacre—a testament to his strength, his fury, and his unyielding will. But even as he stood victorious, there was no satisfaction in his eyes. There was only the realization that the war was far from over.

Slade might have been defeated for now, but his army, his plans, were still out there. And as long as there was breath in his body, Slade would never stop. But Henry was ready.

He wasn't the man who had been caught off guard on the island. He was something more. Something far deadlier. And Slade had just awakened a storm he could never control.