Chapter 25: The Prey and Predator VI

General POV

The rain started as a gentle drizzle, the first few drops spattering against the pavement, but it quickly escalated into a downpour that hammered against the asphalt. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and the flashes of lightning momentarily illuminated the darkened scene below—a scene that was about to descend into chaos.

Harry stood in the midst of the shadows, his tall, lean figure blending seamlessly into the darkness. He was an ex-military special forces operative, a man who had been trained in the harshest environments known to man, someone who had danced with death more times than he could count. The men surrounding him were seasoned mercenaries, highly trained and above average in every regard, but they were about to learn the hard way that Harry was not a man to be underestimated.

The mercenaries moved cautiously, their movements precise and disciplined as they spread out to form a perimeter. Their night-vision goggles scanned the area, and the beams of their flashlights cut through the rain-soaked air, but the darkness was their enemy, hiding the predator that stalked them from the shadows.

Harry remained still, his breathing controlled, his heart rate steady. The darkness was his ally, and he knew how to use it to his advantage. He had been in situations far worse than this—outnumbered, outgunned, and facing impossible odds. But this? This was just another day at the office.

The first mercenary made the mistake of stepping too close to Harry's position. With a fluidity born of countless hours of training, Hwan moved in. His hand shot out, wrapping around the mercenary's throat in a vice-like grip. Before the man could react, Hwan twisted sharply, snapping his neck with a sickening crack that was lost in the sound of the rain. He lowered the lifeless body to the ground without a sound, his expression calm, almost serene.

The others hadn't noticed—yet. They were too focused on maintaining their formation, too confident in their numbers. Harry's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. Confidence was a dangerous thing in combat, especially when facing someone like him.

The second mercenary went down just as quickly. Harry came at him from behind, wrapping an arm around the man's head and pulling it back sharply while simultaneously driving a knife up into his kidney. The mercenary gasped, a choked sound escaping his lips as the blade twisted, severing arteries and nerves with deadly precision. Harry didn't linger; he was already moving on to the next target before the body hit the ground.

The storm intensified, the rain pouring down in sheets that reduced visibility to nearly zero. But Harry didn't need to see them; he could hear their breathing, feel the tension in the air as the mercenaries grew more uneasy, their instincts telling them something was wrong, but they couldn't pinpoint what.

Lightning flashed, and in that brief moment of illumination, the mercenaries caught a glimpse of Harry—just a shadow moving through the downpour. One of them shouted a warning, but it was too late. Harry was already on them.

He burst into their ranks like a force of nature, his movements were a blur of lethal efficiency. His fists were like lethal weapons, striking with bone-shattering force as he dismantled the closest man, his elbow driving into the side of the man's head with a crack that sent him sprawling. Harry spun, his heel connecting with another mercenary's jaw, dislocating it with a brutal roundhouse kick that sent teeth and blood flying.

Panic began to set in as the mercenaries realized they were being picked off one by one. They fired wildly into the darkness, their bullets tearing through the rain, but Harry was already gone, slipping between them like a ghost.

He grabbed the barrel of a rifle, yanking it downward and slamming his knee into the gunman's stomach with enough force to lift him off the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs. Before the mercenary could recover, Harry drove the edge of his hand into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe.

Another lightning strike illuminated the battlefield, and Hwan's eyes glinted with cold determination as he continued his assault, much like a one-sided carnage.

The remaining mercenaries were disoriented, their formation falling apart as they struggled to keep track of their invisible assailant. They tried to regroup, but Harry gave them no time to recover.

He lunged at the next target, his movements precise and unstoppable. He caught the man's wrist, twisting it until the bones snapped with a wet crunch. The mercenary screamed, but the sound was cut short as Harry slammed the butt of the rifle into his temple, dropping him instantly. Without hesitation, Hwan swung the rifle like a club, smashing it into another man's face, the impact caving in his cheekbone.

The storm raged on, the thunderclaps masking the sounds of breaking bones and desperate cries. The rain turned the ground into a slick, muddy battlefield, but Harry remained in control, his footing sure and steady as he continued his ruthless onslaught.

One of the mercenaries managed to get a bead on Harry, his finger tightening on the trigger, but before he could fire, Hwan was upon him. He deflected the barrel of the gun just as it went off, the bullet whizzing harmlessly past his ear. Harry grabbed the mercenary's head and slammed it into the nearest wall, the impact splintering the wood and leaving a smear of blood behind.

Another mercenary charged at him, hoping to take him down with sheer brute force, but Harry sidestepped the attack, his hand lashing out to grab the man by the back of his neck. With a savage twist, he sent the man crashing into the ground, driving his knee into the base of his skull, ending the fight before it even began.

The remaining mercenaries were in full retreat now, fear overtaking their senses as they realized they were outmatched. But there was no escape. Harry was relentless, a predator hunting down prey that had nowhere to run. He moved with the precision of a machine, his strikes calculated to inflict maximum damage with minimal effort.

He disarmed another mercenary with a swift kick to the wrist, sending the gun skittering across the wet ground. Harry followed up with a knee to the groin, doubling the man over before driving an elbow into the back of his head, sending him face-first into the mud.

The last few mercenaries made a desperate stand, grouping together in a futile attempt to protect themselves, but it was too late. Harry moved in like a whirlwind, his fists and feet a blur of motion as he tore through them. He broke arms, shattered ribs, and dislocated joints with terrifying efficiency, each movement designed to incapacitate without mercy.

In the chaos, one of the mercenaries managed to land a lucky punch to Harry's jaw. The impact snapped his head to the side, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he turned back to his attacker, a slow smile spreading across his face—a smile that sent a chill down the man's spine. Harry retaliated with a brutal uppercut that lifted the mercenary off his feet, followed by a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the force of the impact.

The last mercenary standing was trembling, his gun shaking in his hands as he pointed it at Harry. The man's eyes were wide with terror, sweat mingling with the rain as he backed away, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Harry didn't give him a chance to fire. He closed the distance in an instant, his hand lashing out to grab the barrel of the gun. With a twist, he disarmed the mercenary, the gun flying out of his hands and into the darkness. The mercenary stumbled backward, falling to the ground as he looked up at Hwan with a mix of fear and desperation.

"Please… no…" the man whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Harry looked down at him, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word he stomped his foot hard delivering a painless death, he turned away, leaving the corpse lying there in the mud, broken and defeated. The fight was over.

The rain continued to pour down, the thunder rumbling ominously in the distance as Harry surveyed the aftermath.

The bodies of the mercenaries lay scattered across the ground, some unconscious, others dead. The storm had washed away most of the blood, but the marks of the battle were still evident—broken bones, shattered crates, and the occasional splatter of red on the pavement.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, the small flame briefly illuminating his face in the darkness. He took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that mingled with the rain-soaked air.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the scene around him as the rain continued to fall.

As the rain began to let up, Harry took another drag from his cigarette, the embers glowing softly in the darkness. He exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around him before being carried away by the wind. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to his body, but he didn't mind. This was what he was good at—fighting, surviving, winning.

With a final glance around the battlefield, Hwan turned and walked towards the worskshop, the cigarette still burning between his fingers.

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