Chapter 10 Fire in the streets
Gotham
Jaxon crouched atop a rooftop, dressed in an all-black assassin's outfit. His mask concealed most of his face, revealing only his piercing blue eyes. The ponytail was gone—his white hair now cascaded freely, swaying with the night breeze. Twin swords rested in an X formation on his back, and a small black communication device sat snugly in his ear.
He was motionless, lost in thought.
---
The Outskirts of Gotham – The Cabin House
Kneeling on the wooden floor, Jaxon hastily packed his bag. Guns, knives, and swords clattered inside, followed by a few pieces of clothing. His fingers brushed against the assassin's costume, and for a moment, he hesitated—staring at it as memories surged.
Then, without another thought, he shoved it inside, zipped the bag shut, slung it over his shoulder, and strode toward the door. One last glance at the cabin—then he left, slamming the door behind him.
---
The Present
"I don't know why, but I packed this before I left," Jaxon thought, exhaling sharply. "I guess I know why now."
His earpiece crackled to life.
"Jaxon!" Milo's voice rang in his ear, urgent. "What the hell are you doing? They're already on the move!"
Jaxon's eyes sharpened. His purpose came rushing back, washing away all hesitation.
Without another second of delay, he dashed forward into the night.
Jaxon sprinted along the rooftop, his body leaning forward as his legs moved in a seamless blur. His eyes locked onto a white van tearing through the streets below.
Reaching the building's edge, he didn't hesitate. He leaped high into the air, a black silhouette against the moonlit sky. He plummeted, twisting midair, and rolled upon landing—his momentum never breaking. His speed only increased with each step.
The van screeched into a sharp turn, cutting onto another street.
"Go left!" Milo's voice crackled through the earpiece.
Jaxon adjusted instantly, darting in the new direction. He was now in the center of a rooftop, losing sight of the van. Without missing a beat, he pushed forward, sprinting toward the edge.
Then, he jumped.
Air rushed past him as he plummeted at a terrifying speed. His feet slammed onto the asphalt, landing squarely in the middle of the road—directly in the van's path.
Tires screeched. The van skidded to a halt.
The masked figure stood motionless, his glowing blue eyes piercing through the dark.
The driver, a young man with brown hair and hollow cheekbones, stared in shock. "What the hell is that?"
Beside him, a bald, broad-shouldered man with a thick black beard reacted instantly. "Shit."
He yanked open a drawer beneath the dashboard, grabbing a gun. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped out, his boots crunching against the pavement.
He took a few cautious steps forward before stopping, gun raised, his finger hovering over the trigger.
"I don't know who the hell you are or what you think you're doing, but I'll say this once—move."
Jaxon stood motionless, unfazed.
The gun clicked. "Fine then."
Poo!
The gunshot rang out.
Jaxon had already vanished.
The bald man barely had time to register the empty space before a shadow streaked past his left.
Jaxon reappeared mid-air, body twisting with lethal precision. His grip tightened around the sword's hilt, both hands bracing the weapon. His momentum coiled like a spring—then snapped.
Ssshhht!
The blade whipped forward in a blur, faster than the eye could track. A cold blue glow trailed from his piercing eyes as the steel tore through flesh and bone.
The man staggered, his breath hitching. A thin line traced across his torso—then his body split apart.
Jaxon landed soundlessly, his blade gleaming under the streetlight.
Jaxon straightened, his gaze shifting toward the driver. Before the man could react—
BANG!
The truck's back doors burst open.
Twelve heavily armed men spilled out, rifles raised. Their fingers tightened on the triggers, aiming directly at Jaxon.
A beat of silence.
Then—gunfire erupted.
A storm of bullets tore through the air, shredding the pavement in their wake.
Jaxon vanished.
A black blur streaked across the street, zigzagging at impossible speed. The men's arms jerked left, then right, struggling to track him. Their gunfire chased shadows, but Jaxon never slowed. Each shot barely missed, skimming past his form as he twisted and weaved through the storm.
He darted into an alleyway, pressing against the wall as a fresh volley of bullets hammered the building's edge, chipping away concrete.
The lead gunman raised his hand. "Move in."
The squad advanced, weapons aimed at the alley where Jaxon had disappeared. Their boots crunched against the asphalt, tightening their formation as they prepared to corner their target.
Then—a shadow fell over them.
THUD.
Jaxon landed right in their midst, his knees bent, head tilted downward.
A beat of silence.
Then—he moved.
A single full-body spin.
His swords cut through the air in a perfect, lightning-fast arc, both blades carving through flesh, bone, and armor.
SCHLKT!
Twelve bodies crumpled to the ground in unison.
Blood misted the air as Jaxon rose, his breathing steady, his blue eyes glowing in the dim light.
BANG!
The driver's door slammed open, and he bolted from the van, his feet pounding against the pavement.
He ran blindly, desperate—
THUD.
His body collided with something. Solid. Unmoving.
He stumbled backward, gasping, his wide eyes slowly trailing up the black figure before him.
Jaxon stood still. A wall of death.
The driver's breathing hitched. His entire body trembled violently as he collapsed onto the ground.
"P-please… Please don't kill me… I-I'll do anything…"
Jaxon took a step forward. The man flinched.
Then Jaxon squatted down, lowering himself to the man's level. His glowing blue eyes bore into him.
"Got a lighter?"
The driver's shaking hands dug into his pocket. He pulled out a small, trembling smoker's lighter.
"H-here…"
Jaxon plucked it from his palm, rising to his full height. He turned without another word, walking toward the van.
He stopped beside the fuel tank. Flipped it open.
Click.
A small, bright orange flame flickered to life, its glow casting sinister shadows across Jaxon's masked face.
He tossed it in.
BOOM!
A violent explosion swallowed the van, a raging inferno lighting up the night.
From atop a rooftop, Jaxon stood, his dark silhouette framed against the flames.
Below, the driver had barely scrambled away, his face twisted in sheer terror.
Jaxon stared down at the destruction for a long, silent moment.
Then—he turned.
With quiet, calculated steps, he disappeared into the darkness.