chapter 15:The madness begins

Chapter 15:The Madness Begins

The battlefield was a chaos of clashing steel, crackling energy, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground. The chained man stood at the center of it all, his movements a blur of devastation as he took on the Hax brothers. Every swing of his heavy iron chains cut through the air with a whistle, each strike forcing the brothers to stay on the defensive.

Selina, meanwhile, carved through the lower-ranked fighters with calculated precision. The Hax family's lapdogs had underestimated her, assuming she was just another lackey. They quickly realized their mistake when she took out three of them in the span of a heartbeat, her movements swift and merciless.

But Ray had only one target—Penguin.

His sharp eyes followed the slippery figure as he darted away from the chaos, disappearing into an old, abandoned house at the edge of the battlefield. Without hesitation, Ray pursued, his boots kicking up dust as he stormed inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The dim lighting flickered. The wooden floors creaked under his weight. The walls seemed to stretch unnaturally, twisting the space into something unfamiliar.

Then, he saw them.

Mirrors.

Dozens of them.

Lining the walls, reflecting his every movement, creating an endless maze of distorted reflections. Some mirrors showed his present self, but others—others twisted reality, warping the past into something terrifyingly vivid.

And then came the whispers.

Soft at first, barely a breath against his ear.

"Run, Ray."

A shiver ran down his spine.

"It's happening again."

His breath hitched. His hands curled into fists.

The mirrors flickered.

And suddenly, he wasn't in the house anymore.

He was back in the past.

Back in that moment he had tried so hard to forget.

His body stiffened as the vision unfolded before him—his younger self, trembling, covered in blood, staring at the carnage he had once been forced to endure.

The walls closed in. The whispers grew louder. The air thickened with a strange brown mist, filling his lungs, making his head swim.

"They all died because of you."

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

"You let it happen."

His grip on reality started to slip.

Penguin's gas had taken effect.

And Ray was losing himself to it.

With a sudden, desperate motion, he dug his nails into his arms, clawing at his skin, drawing blood in an attempt to ground himself. But the illusions only grew stronger.

His reflection in the mirrors smirked at him—dark, twisted versions of himself, mocking his struggle.

"You think you're strong? You're still that scared little boy."

Ray let out a strangled breath, his vision spinning.

Somewhere in the haze, he could hear Penguin chuckling.

"Let's see how much madness you can take before you break."

Then, the real nightmare began.

The battlefield had thinned. Bodies lay scattered, unconscious or groaning in pain, their blood mixing with the dirt beneath them. The once-rowdy group of fighters had been reduced to a mere two standing figures—the North Star of the New Generation and Selina.

Selina's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her fingers twitching in anticipation. She had just cut down twenty men, their arrogance shattered along with their bones. Yet, despite her exhaustion, she was ready for more.

Across from her, the North Star stood tall, his chained weapon dripping with fresh blood. The Hax brothers lay motionless at his feet, their once-smug expressions replaced with defeat. He had dismantled them with brutal efficiency, proving why he was feared among the new generation.

Selina cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders as she sized him up. "Not bad," she muttered, wiping the blood off her blade.

The North Star grinned, resting his chains over his shoulders. "You're interesting. Most wouldn't still be standing after taking on twenty of those fools."

"Most aren't me."

The moment she finished speaking, she moved.

Selina shot forward, her blade slicing through the air with precision. The North Star's chains reacted instantly, lashing out like vipers, coiling toward her to restrict her movement. She twisted mid-air, flipping over the chains, landing on the other side with barely an inch to spare.

The North Star didn't hesitate—he yanked his chains back, the metal snapping against the ground, sending sharp fragments of stone flying at Selina.

She ducked, weaving between the debris before closing the distance between them, her sword gleaming under the dim light. She struck—once, twice, a third time—each move a deadly slash aimed at his vital points.

But the North Star was fast.

He deflected each attack with his chains, his reflexes on par with the best warriors. The metallic clang of their weapons echoed across the field as they exchanged blow after blow, neither willing to back down.

Then, Selina changed her rhythm.

She spun on her heel, her blade moving in an unfamiliar pattern—one that sent a cold chill down the North Star's spine.

His eyes widened. "That technique—!"

Selina's movements became fluid yet unpredictable, her strikes resembling the lost combat style of a forgotten clan. It was a technique long thought to have vanished from history, a style capable of overwhelming even the most skilled fighters.

The North Star barely managed to react, shifting his footing at the last second to avoid a fatal strike. He countered with a heavy swing of his chains, aiming to break her stance.

Selina anticipated the move. She sidestepped, twisting her body just enough to avoid the impact, then lunged forward, her blade grazing the North Star's arm.

He clicked his tongue. "Tch. You're full of surprises."

Selina smirked. "And you're too slow."

Their battle raged on, a blur of steel and precision, each combatant pushing the other to their limits.

Meanwhile, Engine leaned against a ruined pillar, casually spinning his red umbrella as he observed the fight from afar. His sharp eyes gleamed with amusement.

Then, his expression changed.

Through his earpiece, he received a message.

(The earpiece is a mechanical tool as tiny and round as a chip that's implanted in the ear of every guild member for communication the real name is choker)

"The Balotelli guards have arrived."

Engine sighed. "Troublesome."

He glanced toward Ray, who was still regaining control of his mind after Penguin's gas-induced hallucinations.

With a flick of his wrist, Engine tapped into the communication line.

"yo kiddo, we've got a problem. Elsa's getting taken back by her guards. If you don't want to get caught up in Balotelli business, you better move."

Rin's mind snapped into focus. He cursed under his breath before dashing toward the transport cargo near the outskirts of the battlefield.

The cargo was a traditional chariot-like vehicle, pulled by genetically enhanced horses—beasts bred for speed and endurance. Without wasting a second, Ray grabbed the reins and climbed onto the driver's seat.

The moment he gave the command, the horses bolted forward, the transport surging ahead at breakneck speed.

But something was off.

Rin's instincts screamed at him to turn.

Before he could react, the chariot's driver—who had been lying in wait—sprang to life, drawing a curved dagger.

"You should've stayed put," the driver muttered.

Rin barely dodged the first strike, twisting his body just enough to avoid a fatal wound. The dagger's edge grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

His grip tightened on the reins. He had two problems now—controlling the rampaging horses and dealing with an armed opponent in close quarters.

The driver lunged again, aiming for Rin's throat.

Rin caught the attacker's wrist at the last second, twisting it sharply. The dagger clattered to the floor of the chariot, but the driver didn't stop—he threw a punch, catching Ray across the jaw.

Rin's vision blurred for a moment, but he gritted his teeth, using his free hand to counter with an elbow strike to the ribs. The driver staggered back, but not for long.

The horses were growing restless, their wild gallop making it difficult to maintain balance.

Rin grabbed the reins with one hand, trying to steady the chariot, while using his other to block the driver's next attack.

The fight turned brutal—no finesse, no calculated strikes, just raw, desperate violence.

The driver managed to grab Rin by the collar, attempting to throw him off the chariot.

Rin's foot hooked around the wooden frame, preventing him from being tossed into the dirt. He retaliated with a powerful headbutt, dazing his opponent.

Seizing the opportunity, Rin pushed the driver back, grabbing the dagger from the floor in one swift motion.

The driver barely had time to react.

Rin drove the dagger into the man's shoulder, twisting it.

A strangled gasp escaped the driver's lips as he collapsed.

Rin didn't waste a second—he shoved the body off the chariot, reclaiming full control.

He pulled the reins hard, guiding the horses through the winding streets. The Balotelli guards were still behind him, but he had gained a lead.

With the city lights ahead, Rin knew one thing for sure—this night was far from over.