Chương 125: Darkness
After his first month with the Ninth Special Service Division, Ivan Petrov learned that the division kept a list of its own most wanted criminals. Unlike those maintained by other agencies like the FBI or the CIA, this list was unique. The Ninth Division had been created to deal with extraordinary events, especially infections and anomalies that posed a threat to society. Naturally, their criteria for a "most wanted" list reflected that.
The list wasn't long, nor was it updated frequently. The infected or those trafficking in dangerous materials usually didn't last long enough to be put on it. The division's agents were efficient, making arrests or eliminating threats swiftly before they could do significant damage.
But there was one exception.
A name at the top of the list, a name every agent in the division knew, had been there from the beginning, a name that had never been knocked from the number-one spot.
That name was Link.
Link had once been a hero in the Ninth Division, a legend that new recruits like Ivan grew up hearing about. He was a role model, the very embodiment of what an agent should be—brave, skilled, and seemingly unbreakable. He set records for combat, weapon proficiency, and tactical genius, becoming a living legend in the organization.
Until, in one horrifying moment, everything changed.
During what was supposed to be a routine mission, Link turned on his team. He slaughtered every single one of them—agents, civilians, anyone in his path. The man who had once been their hero became their greatest enemy. Since then, his name had sat atop the wanted list, a reminder of betrayal that haunted the division.
For years, Link vanished without a trace. Even with the Ninth Division's unparalleled resources and their eyes and ears spread across the globe, no one could track him down.
But now, standing in front of Ivan in that dark, cold lair, was the man himself.
From the moment Ivan had joined the Ninth Division, Link's name had been legendary. He had never thought he would see the man in person, let alone be in the same room as him. Yet here he was, face to face with the most infamous traitor in the division's history.
But something was off.
The files had described Link as an ordinary agent, albeit an incredibly skilled one. There was no mention of supernatural strength or speed. And yet, here he was, having knocked back the phantom in red with a single strike, a feat few could accomplish. This wasn't the man Ivan had read about.
Ivan raised his machine gun, training it on Link. "Are you Link's phantom?" he asked, suspicion in his voice. The strength this man displayed was almost inhuman, and Ivan couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the real Link but some twisted, infected version of him.
Link's phantom had looked exactly like him in the past, even fooling the division's surveillance systems. But this power, the speed—this didn't match any phantom Ivan had encountered before.
Link's eyes fixed on Ivan, calm but piercing. "Detective Ivan Petrov," he said, his voice cold, yet familiar.
"You know me?" Ivan's grip on his weapon tightened, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Of course. Your style, your approach to missions—impressive," Link replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"Is that so?" Ivan scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Then you must know I'm not much for talking. I prefer action."
Before the last word left his mouth, Ivan opened fire, squeezing the trigger of his machine gun. He'd timed his words to catch Link off guard, hoping that by shooting mid-sentence, he'd disrupt any counterattack.
The bullets hit their target. A barrage of rounds pelted Link's chest, their impacts loud and violent in the confined space of the lair. But to Ivan's horror, Link didn't go down. He barely moved. The bullets flattened against his body, falling harmlessly to the floor with a metallic clatter. Only the force of the impacts rocked Link slightly, but not enough to slow him down.
What... no way. Ivan's thoughts raced. Bullets were useless? He had fought all kinds of enemies, from infected to phantoms, but even they felt the impact of gunfire. Whether by the shock of the hit or by the force of penetration, they were affected. But Link? He was a different beast altogether.
Before Ivan could recover from the shock, Link moved.
One moment he was standing a dozen feet away, the next, he was right in front of Ivan. The sheer speed of his movement was terrifying, faster than anything Ivan had ever seen. His body reacted on instinct—he crossed his arms, and his weapon shifted into shield mode just as Link's fist came crashing down.
The impact was like a sledgehammer. Ivan felt the force radiate through his shield, through his arms, and into his chest. His bones rattled under the pressure. His entire body lifted off the ground, sent flying backward like a ragdoll. He smashed into the far wall with a bone-jarring crash, the wind knocked out of him.
The other agents in the room immediately reacted, raising their weapons and opening fire. But Link moved like a phantom, his body a blur as he dodged bullet after bullet. His speed was unnerving. Every shot either missed or was deflected off his impossibly tough body, the bullets bouncing uselessly to the ground. Only the sound of shell casings hitting the floor filled the air.
Before any of them could react, Link was on them. In one swift motion, he knocked three agents off their feet, sending them flying through the air. They landed hard, blood dripping from their mouths, their bodies convulsing from the shock of the blows. Even through their combat armor, the force of Link's attacks was more than enough to incapacitate them.
Link had cut through their formation with the precision of a surgeon. He'd positioned himself perfectly, ensuring that every time the agents raised their guns to fire, they'd have to aim near their teammates, creating hesitation and doubt in their minds. It was as though he had anticipated every move they'd make.
Ivan watched in disbelief. This isn't just strength. It's tactics. He's thinking five steps ahead.
Link's superior combat awareness was nothing short of terrifying. Even as the agents attempted to regroup, he was always one step ahead. Close-quarters combat was their only option now, but against someone like Link, that was a losing battle.
Once, Link had been the pride of the Ninth Division. His hand-to-hand combat skills were unrivaled, and even in his current form, it was clear that his abilities had only grown more dangerous. His strikes were precise, lethal, and delivered with brutal efficiency.
One agent, more experienced than the others, managed to block an incoming strike, but the defense was futile. Link's fist collided with the man's forearm, and the sickening sound of bone shattering echoed through the room. The agent was thrown across the room, crashing into a wall, his arm hanging limp and broken.
Another agent, attempting to flank Link, was met with a kick so powerful that his chest caved in. He flew backward, smashing into the wall with enough force to crack the concrete. Two more agents attacked in tandem, their knives flashing in the dim light as they aimed for Link's sides. But with almost casual ease, Link deflected both blades, redirecting their attacks into each other. One agent slashed his partner's arm, while the other stabbed a thigh, leaving both men writhing in pain.
In mere moments, the entire squad was incapacitated. Link moved like a ghost, too fast for the human eye to follow. Every strike was delivered with precision and lethal intent, each one sending an agent to the ground.
His strength was staggering. His speed was blinding. His mind was a tactical weapon in itself.
"After all this time, and you've made no progress," Link muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "The Ninth Division has always been disappointing."
Boom!
The sudden roar of a shotgun interrupted his monologue. A blast of kinetic energy slammed into Link's side, causing him to stumble ever so slightly. The force of the impact made him sway back a half-step.
Ivan stood across the room, smoke still rising from the barrel of the shotgun. His expression was grim, his eyes locked on Link.
"Good aim," Link said, his voice calm as ever. He stood still for a moment, seemingly unaffected by the blast.
Before Ivan could fire again, Link darted forward, his movements so fast it seemed like he was gliding. In an instant, he was upon Ivan, too close for another shot. Ivan knew well that at this range, firearms were useless. He had to fight up close.
In a flash, Ivan's arm transformed into a knife, and with a fluid motion, he slashed at Link's midsection.
Let's see how you handle this. Ivan thought, remembering Link's reputation for hand-to-hand combat.
But Link didn't dodge. Instead, his hand shot out and grabbed Ivan's forearm, stopping the blade in its tracks. The grip was impossibly strong. Ivan's muscles tensed as he struggled to pull his arm free, but Link's strength was far superior.
With a sickening twist, Link redirected the blade, forcing Ivan's own weapon toward his abdomen. Ivan felt the blade slice into his side, just below his ribs, narrowly missing vital organs.
Ivan grunted in pain, stumbling back as he yanked the blade from his flesh, blood seeping through his fingers. He staggered, eyes wide with disbelief. How can he be this strong?
Before Ivan could gather his thoughts, the room shifted. A flash of red light caught his attention as the phantom in red, who had been observing from the sidelines, finally made her move. Silent and graceful, she floated behind Link, her skeletal fingers extending from beneath her cloak, reaching for his neck like the claws of death itself.
But even without turning, Link sensed her. His arm shot out with blinding speed, his hand closing around the phantom's throat with terrifying precision. He lifted her effortlessly off the ground, her weightless form flailing in his grasp. The phantom's red robes fluttered like a fallen leaf, powerless in his grip.
In a single, powerful motion, Link delivered a brutal side kick to the phantom's midsection. The force was so immense that the phantom's body was launched across the room, crashing into the far wall with a thunderous bang. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across the concrete, and the phantom slumped to the ground, unmoving.
Ivan could barely process what he had just witnessed. Every movement Link made was devastating, efficient, and precise. This wasn't a fight—it was a massacre.
Ivan stumbled back, clutching his wound as he tried to regain his balance. His mind raced. What kind of monster is this?
Link turned his gaze back to Ivan, calm and unrelenting. His eyes seemed devoid of any emotion, yet they burned with a cold intensity that sent a shiver down Ivan's spine. This was not the man from the files. This was not the hero-turned-traitor Ivan had read about. This was something else—something far more dangerous.
Ivan gritted his teeth, pulling the blade from his side as blood seeped through his combat suit. His thoughts were frantic, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear: they couldn't beat him, not like this, not with their current tactics or equipment.
Link was more than just a highly skilled agent. Whatever he had become since his disappearance, he had transcended the limits of any ordinary human, infected, or phantom they had ever encountered.
We need a new plan, Ivan thought. Something drastic.
Just as he was about to issue orders to the remaining agents, the room plunged into darkness.
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