Chapter 21: The First Strike

The city was still beneath the veil of night, but Alexander Reid felt the weight of its gaze upon him. Every alley, every rooftop, every window could hide death. Fisk had escalated the war—and now Bullseye was in play. Alexander had heard the stories; the man was a legend among assassins, a nightmare whispered in the shadows. A killer who could turn the smallest object into a deadly weapon.

Alexander's body was coiled like a spring, his senses heightened beyond what he had ever experienced. The system's enhancements had sharpened him to a blade's edge, but even that might not be enough against a killer like Bullseye. This was not a street thug or a desperate enforcer. This was an apex predator.

The first sign of the assassin came with a whisper of movement. A subtle sound from the rooftop adjacent to his building—barely audible, but Alexander heard it. He killed the lights in his penthouse, slipping into the shadows like a wraith. His breathing slowed, his heart rate steady. He welcomed the tension; it was proof he was still alive.

A faint metallic glint flashed from across the gap between buildings. Alexander shifted just as a throwing knife embedded itself in the wall where his head had been a second earlier. The impact was swift, precise. Another inch, and it would have ended him.

He rolled behind cover, heart pounding but mind steady. Bullseye was here.

Another knife followed, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Alexander darted through his living room, keeping low. He retrieved a small mirror from a drawer, angling it carefully to catch a reflection of the opposite rooftop.

There he was—Bullseye. Dressed in dark tactical gear, his face partially obscured but unmistakable. The assassin stood with the casual confidence of a predator who knew he was at the top of the food chain. His posture was relaxed, but every muscle was ready to strike.

Alexander knew he couldn't afford a long-range battle. He had to close the distance.

He burst out onto his own rooftop, moving fast and low. Bullseye spotted him instantly, hurling another blade. Alexander twisted, the knife grazing his shoulder. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but he pressed on. He leapt across the gap between buildings, landing with a roll.

Bullseye smirked, drawing a baton from his side. "Brave. Stupid, but brave," he said, his voice cool and mocking.

Alexander didn't respond. Words meant nothing here. Only action.

They clashed. Bullseye was fast—faster than anyone Alexander had fought before. His strikes were precise, each movement calculated to exploit weaknesses. Every swing of his baton was aimed to break, to maim, to kill. But Alexander had power and endurance. He absorbed the hits, countering with brutal efficiency.

A punch to Bullseye's ribs made him grunt, but he twisted away before Alexander could capitalize. The assassin retaliated with a quick jab to Alexander's jaw, followed by a spin-kick that sent him stumbling. Alexander caught himself, planting his feet firmly on the rooftop.

Blood filled Alexander's mouth, the copper taste sharp against his tongue, but he grinned through it. This was the fight he had been preparing for. This was the crucible in which he would be forged.

The rooftop became their battleground—two predators testing each other's limits. Bullseye was a master of control, but Alexander felt his own instincts evolving. The system had made him more than human. Every dodge, every block, every strike became more fluid. He could feel his body adapting to the rhythm of combat.

Bullseye launched a small metal spike from his sleeve. Alexander deflected it with his forearm, the tip grazing his skin. The pain was immediate, but he pushed it aside. Pain was fuel.

Finally, Alexander landed a crushing blow to Bullseye's shoulder, forcing the assassin to retreat a few steps. The impact was solid, and for a brief moment, Bullseye's composure cracked. Their eyes met, and for the first time, Alexander saw something flicker in Bullseye—not fear, but recognition. Respect.

"Not bad," Bullseye muttered, rolling his shoulder. "This isn't over."

With that, he vanished into the night, melting into the darkness as swiftly as he had arrived.

Alexander stood amidst the quiet, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with blood. He had survived their first encounter. He had faced the best, and he was still standing. But he knew this was only the beginning. Bullseye would be back. Fisk would not stop.

The real war had just begun.

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