บท 197: Run
"Avery, what's the situation?" Black Sun asked, his voice low, though tension simmered beneath the surface.
"We...we were attacked!" Avery's voice crackled through the headset, strained and panicked, nearly drowned out by the chaos behind him. Gunfire erupted like thunder in the background—heavy and relentless. It sounded as if the team was under siege, bullets ricocheting wildly, punctuated by the deep, echoing booms of explosions. The sheer volume of noise made it hard for Black Sun to hear, but Avery's desperation was unmistakable.
Black Sun listened closely, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. "Ambushed by who?" he demanded, his voice still unnervingly calm. "The FBI? The military? How many are there?"
Black Sun's thoughts briefly wandered to Director Linton. The man had a military background, and although he was now entrenched in the FBI, it wasn't inconceivable that he still had high-level connections. But this kind of response seemed disproportionate, even for Linton.
Who had known?
What came next stunned him.
"There's only one... one person on the other side!" Avery's words sounded barely believable, yet there was no doubt in his voice. It wasn't confusion—it was fear. Pure, unfiltered fear.
Black Sun's eyes narrowed. "One person?" he repeated, incredulity lacing his usually composed tone.
His mind reeled. One person? Was Avery really saying that his entire elite squad—the best killers that Black Sun had at its disposal—was being decimated by a single individual?
No, that couldn't be right.
Before Black Sun could speak again, Avery's voice cut through the chaos once more, his words desperate and strained. "Boss, this... this one-eyed bastard is... a monster! We can't—"
Suddenly, Avery's transmission was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream, followed by the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through flesh. The gunfire, once so intense, became sporadic. Black Sun could hear panicked shouts from his remaining men, and then, just as quickly as it had begun, the sounds of combat faded into silence.
For a long moment, Black Sun sat still, gripping his headset, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. It was the kind of silence that signaled only one thing—death.
Footsteps echoed through the headset. Someone was approaching, and Black Sun knew it wasn't one of his men.
"Who are you?" Black Sun asked, his voice quiet but filled with a cold, deadly intensity. He had faced many adversaries in his lifetime, but this... this was different. He needed to know the identity of the force that had so effortlessly wiped out his best soldiers.
The response was chilling.
A hoarse, cold voice came through the headset, its tone dripping with a sick kind of amusement. It was the voice of someone who enjoyed the carnage they had wrought, someone who thrived in the chaos they created.
"Run."
The word hung in the air for a split second before the line went dead, leaving Black Sun staring at his communicator, the hollow beep of a disconnected call echoing in his ears.
Black Sun felt something he hadn't felt in a long time—unease. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened. One person had obliterated an elite squad of highly-trained killers. That should have been impossible. Yet it had happened. He had heard it with his own ears.
One person.
What kind of force could possibly do that?
Black Sun had spent his youth building 'Black Sun' from the ground up. He had become a legend, a figure of power and fear, someone who had outlived every enemy. But now, he found himself facing something—or someone—far beyond the realm of his experience.
For the first time, Black Sun felt doubt creeping into his mind.
Avery's squad had been his last line of backup. The Scarlet Reaper had already failed, and now, his elite killers had been wiped out in mere minutes. That meant one thing: Black Sun was alone.
Grace City was no longer just about a simple assassination. This was much bigger. There was a power behind Director Linton, something that had been lurking in the shadows, something far more dangerous than he had anticipated. He had thought Linton was just a bureaucrat with military ties, but now he realized the truth was far more terrifying.
But should he retreat?
Black Sun hesitated, considering the possibility. His mission had become far more dangerous than expected, and retreating might have been the smart choice. But then, he brushed the thought aside. He had never backed down from a challenge. Not for the reputation of his organization. Not for his pride. He wasn't just a killer—he was a legend. He had built an empire, and to retreat now would mean admitting defeat.
And defeat was something Black Sun could not accept.
The goal was within reach. He was close. Too close to turn back now.
Without further delay, Black Sun found himself inside the FBI building, his footsteps silent as he moved through the shadows like a ghost.
According to the original plan, Black Sun had intended to wait for Avery's team to draw attention to the front of the building, creating the distraction he needed to strike from the shadows. With the full force of an elite team behind him, his chances of success would have been assured.
But now, that option was gone.
The task had become infinitely more difficult, but Black Sun remained confident. He had fought alone many times before. Back in the early days of Black Sun, he had been a one-man army, breaching fortresses and eliminating targets with surgical precision. Now, he would simply return to his roots.
There was no doubt in his mind that Director Linton would die tonight.
He slipped into the ventilation ducts, crawling silently through the narrow space until he reached his destination—a storage room just outside Linton's office. Dropping down from the ceiling with feline grace, he landed in a low crouch, barely making a sound.
The perfect dive.
Black Sun allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, pleased that his skills had not dulled with age. He stood, silently mapping out his route through the building, mentally running through his assassination plan. But then, something caught his attention.
He wasn't alone.
His heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. In the corner of the room, shrouded in shadows, stood a figure. A small girl, no older than a teenager, dressed in a black combat suit. Her hood had two pointed ears that gave her the appearance of a bat, and her entire presence seemed to blend into the darkness itself.
For a moment, it was as though she didn't exist. No sound, no breath, no movement. She was like a shadow, a phantom.
She had been waiting for him.
The girl's eyes locked onto Black Sun, calm and steady, as if to say, "Sorry, but this place is taken."
Without hesitation, Black Sun drew his knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light as he lunged at her with deadly precision. He had no time to waste. Whoever she was, she was an obstacle. And he did not leave obstacles alive.
His knife—a custom-made fighting blade he had perfected over years—was designed for speed and lethality. Black Sun had spent decades mastering swordsmanship, and even though the rest of his skills had faded with age, his blade work had only improved. This first thrust was a feint, meant to bait her into dodging, allowing him to follow up with a lethal slash.
But the Batgirl didn't react the way he expected.
Instead of evading or defending, she launched herself at him with a flying kick, her leg cutting through the air with blistering speed and precision. The move was so sudden, so unexpected, that Black Sun barely had time to register it. The power behind the kick was undeniable—there was a sound of the air parting as her foot whipped through the space between them.
For the first time in his life, Black Sun felt his confidence waver.
The kick was perfectly timed. It cut directly into the trajectory of his knife, stopping his attack cold. His years of experience, his refined technique, all fell apart in the face of her impossible speed.
He had no choice but to abort the attack and retreat. But Batgirl didn't stop there. Her leg twisted in mid-air, seamlessly transitioning into a second kick, this one aimed directly at his head.
The fluidity of her movement was inhuman.
Black Sun had never seen anything like it. The move defied the rules of combat. Kicks were powerful, yes, but they left the fighter vulnerable. No one used them in close-quarters combat unless they were certain of a clean hit. Yet this girl had executed two consecutive kicks with an impossible level of precision.
He couldn't stop her.
The second kick connected with his forehead, the impact so powerful that it sent him flying backward. He crashed through the door of the storage room, his body slamming into the corridor wall with a sickening crunch.
Black Sun's vision blurred. Pain exploded in his head, and he struggled to stay upright. His body felt sluggish, his movements uncoordinated. He could barely stand.
For the first time in his life, Black Sun felt truly powerless.
He had built an empire, faced countless enemies, and never backed down. But now, his body, which had once moved with precision and grace, refused to cooperate. His legs wobbled beneath him as he struggled to keep his balance, vision swimming, and his head pounding from the impact. He pressed a hand to his forehead, blood already trickling down his face, sticky and warm.
As he tried to gather his bearings, his eyes focused on the hallway before him. Through the haze of pain and disorientation, he saw her—Batgirl, stepping out from the storage room with indifferent calmness. She moved silently, her black combat boots barely making a sound on the floor, her small frame wrapped in the darkness of her suit. Her hood framed her face, casting shadows that made her features difficult to discern, but her eyes—they were locked on him, cold and unflinching.
She was in no rush. She knew he was beaten, and she walked toward him with the surety of someone who had already won.
Black Sun's heart raced as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. His decades of experience, his legendary reputation, his mastery of the blade—none of it mattered here. This girl, this creature, wasn't human. She couldn't be. Her speed, her precision, the way she had countered his every move with ease... it defied everything he had ever learned. No one fought like that. No one moved like that.
This was what had been protecting Director Linton.
This was why the Scarlet Reaper had failed. Why his elite team had been slaughtered without a trace.
He stumbled, his back pressing against the wall for support. His mind screamed at him to run, but his body was betraying him, too slow, too weak. He tried to raise his knife again, but his hand shook uncontrollably.
Batgirl's approach was methodical. She wasn't just walking toward him—she was sizing him up, calculating the best way to end him.
Black Sun's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest tightening. In all his years as a killer, he had never known fear like this. There was no arrogance left, no pride, only cold, creeping dread.
And then, in the stillness of the moment, she was upon him.
Batgirl moved in a blur, her fist striking faster than he could react. It wasn't even a punch—it was a hammer blow, precise and devastating, aimed at his solar plexus. The impact was like a lightning bolt, paralyzing him with pain. His breath hitched, his lungs unable to draw air. His entire body convulsed as he crumpled, collapsing to his knees in agony.
Gasping for air, Black Sun looked up, his vision dimming. Batgirl loomed over him, her expression unreadable beneath her mask. There was no malice in her eyes, no hatred—only a cold, detached professionalism. To her, this was just another mission. Another target to eliminate.
She reached down, her gloved hand gripping the front of his suit, effortlessly pulling him up until he was dangling inches from her face. Her strength was unbelievable for her size, and Black Sun dangled like a ragdoll in her grasp, barely able to stay conscious.
He wanted to fight back, to swing his knife one last time, but his arms were limp, his body refusing to obey. His mind screamed in defiance, but his body was broken.
"You..." he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "Who are you?"
Batgirl's gaze remained locked on him for a moment, and for the briefest second, he thought he saw something flicker behind her eyes—perhaps a hint of pity, or maybe just cold indifference.
Then, without a word, she let go, allowing him to slump back against the wall, completely spent.
Black Sun's vision blurred further, his consciousness fading. He could feel himself slipping, the darkness closing in around him. But before he blacked out, he forced his lips to move one last time, the word barely escaping his throat.
"Bat..."
And then, the world went black.
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