Skull did exactly as he said he would. Detaching himself from the main command group, he was silently on the move.
From the shadows of the perimeter, he could clearly see the chaotic bottleneck that had formed at the main entrance. The enraged members of the Gilt Rats and the Black Hounds were still frantically trying to cram right through the relatively small, ruined doorway of the compound. They were practically stepping over their own wounded in a blind frenzy to get inside.
Because of the architectural choke point, the invaders were severely limited in the sheer amount of people that could actually push into the immediate area to fight against the defenders.
Which was exactly why barely a few thugs could actually make it all the way to the heavy glass doors of the Fortis reception lobby. And even when those few exhausted stragglers finally did manage to push through the doors, the disciplined Bloodline members waiting inside would swarm them and give them a brutal beating fairly easily, tossing them back out into the dirt.
What Skull also astutely noticed, analyzing the flow of the battle, was the strict discipline of the defenders. The Bloodline members stationed inside the reception area of the building absolutely weren’t breaking rank. They weren’t arrogantly coming out of the lobby and joining the massive, bloody fight in the front courtyard. They were strictly staying in their designated defensive positions, anchored to the interior.
’That’s actually quite good. Incredibly diligent of them,’ Skull thought, his cold eyes tracking the movements behind the shattered glass. ’By holding the interior choke point, they can safely recover their energy and stamina, and strictly focus on just taking down those few idiots that actually manage to squeeze through the meat grinder outside.’
He tilted his masked head, calculating. ’Street thugs don’t naturally possess that level of military restraint. There must be someone highly intelligent sitting above it all, watching the cameras, and feeding them direct tactical orders. Right?’
Suddenly, the periphery of his vision caught movement. One of the frontline Bloodline members, high on adrenaline, rushed directly at him. The defender raised what appeared to be a long, rusted iron pipe, swinging it wildly at Skull’s head.
Skull didn’t flinch. He didn’t even raise his hands. In one incredibly smooth, liquid motion, he merely swayed his head an inch to the side, letting the heavy iron pipe violently whistle past his ear. Simultaneously, he shifted his foot forward, placing it exactly where his attacker’s center of gravity was shifting.
The imperceptible trip caused the charging person to instantly lose their footing and fall face-first to the hard concrete floor.
Before the dazed Bloodline member could even attempt to push himself back up, he had already been violently kicked right in the head and trampled by the swarming Black Hound grunts pushing from behind.
’Yeah. Look at them all. On both sides, these idiots are just hot-headed fools that are getting blinded and excited by the raw violence of the fight,’ Skull analyzed, casually stepping over a pool of blood. ’There is zero individual strategy here. So, someone must be giving the squad captains direct orders.’
As he calmly looked around the chaotic courtyard, cutting through the noise and the gore, that’s when Skull could finally see it clearly. Sprinkled carefully within the defensive group holding the line, there were specific individuals—squad captains—that had heavy, military-grade walkie-talkies strapped to their tactical vests.
It was perfect for the situation. It allowed for rapid, encrypted instructions to be told and coordinated while they were actively fighting for their lives.
Skull began walking through the absolute carnage of the battlefield. It was almost like a morbid, elegant dance. There was little to no trouble that was coming his way, largely because he wasn’t just walking in a predictable straight line.
It was almost as if he could perfectly predict the exact outcome of all the dozens of micro-fights happening around him. He knew exactly where a wild kick or a desperate punch would land. He could instantly calculate if there would be a winner or a loser of a nearby struggle before the final blow was struck, and if those specific fighters even had the spatial capacity to pay any attention to him slipping past them. He was a ghost walking through a graveyard.
When he finally glided up to the blind spot of one of the Fortis men wearing a walkie-talkie, he struck. He casually kicked the back of the man’s knee, perfectly striking the nerve cluster, causing the captain to violently jolt and fall hard to his knees. Without missing a beat, Skull swung his leather-clad arm in a tight, skillful arc, hitting the side of the man’s head and knocking the person completely unconscious before he could even shout for help.
Right after the body slumped to the floor, Skull smoothly unclipped the walkie-talkie from the tactical vest, plucked the coiled earpiece from the unconscious man’s ear, and calmly placed it into his own.
"It’s always best to stay perfectly calm in a chaotic situation like this," Skull muttered quietly to himself, listening to the static of the encrypted channel. "No one out here has even thought about doing this because they are entirely worried about fighting whoever is standing directly in front of them, rather than looking at the bigger picture of it all."
He adjusted his leather jacket. "And now... to get inside."
Skull continued to walk gracefully through the battlefield toward the lobby doors. But with how intensely chaotic the crush of bodies was near the entrance, even a ghost like him couldn’t completely avoid engaging in the physical fight.
But true to his nature, he simply chose the absolute path of least resistance.
As another armored defender went to aggressively punch him, Skull stepped slightly off the center line, letting the fist fly past, and then firmly grabbed the man’s extended arm. Placing his leg seamlessly between his attacker’s stance, he somewhat twisted the person so they were acting as a human shield in front of him. Then, with a calculated thrust, he kicked the back of the man’s spine, forcing him to crash violently into several of the other defenders holding the door. The collision created a gaping, momentary hole in the defensive line, allowing Skull to casually step right over them and keep going forward.
And this was exactly when his chilling movements had finally caught Stephen’s eye.
’That man... I can tell just at a single glance. He’s incredibly dangerous. Really, really dangerous!’ Stephen thought, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck as he watched the masked figure effortlessly dismantle a squad without breaking stride. ’His aura isn’t loud or overwhelmingly obvious like it is with Jett. He just blends in with the death around him. Is that why no one’s really trying to stop him? I have to intercept him right now! I have to stop him from getting inside the building!’
Abandoning his current position, Stephen aggressively kicked off the concrete, channeling his Vow into his legs. He started sprinting desperately toward the back of the leather-clad enforcer, since Skull had already slipped past the front line.
Right then, Stephen heard the terrifying whistle of something heavy and incredibly fast displacing the air right behind him. He instinctively snapped his head back and could see a thick, rusted iron pipe hurtling through the air directly at his skull like a javelin.
Stephen quickly ducked, dropping his center of gravity. The heavy iron pipe flew mere inches over his head, violently hitting one of the other Bloodline members standing nearby, causing their armored body to flip backward and fall heavily to the ground.
"Do you honestly, truly think you have the liberty of not paying attention to me, kid?!" Jett roared, his voice echoing over the battlefield.
Stephen looked up. Jett was still standing there, holding onto the crumpled car door like it was some type of medieval tower shield. But now, with his free hand, he had forcefully snatched a heavy steel baseball bat right out of the hands of one of the nearby people, not even caring if he had violently ripped it from a Gilt Rat member or a Bloodline defender.
Stephen gritted his teeth. He was pinned. If he turned his back on Jett to chase the masked man, the giant would crush him instantly.
So, Stephen could do absolutely nothing. He watched in helpless frustration as Skull casually stepped over the threshold and walked right into the Fortis reception room.
As the glass doors slid shut behind him, the remaining Bloodline defenders inside the lobby immediately turned, raising their weapons to look at the lone intruder.
"Ah... it’s actually very nice and air-conditioned in here," Skull said aloud, his voice muffled by the bone-white mask as he ignored the armed men completely. "You guys really don’t cheap out on the utilities. You must have quite a bit of money backing you."
As he casually looked around the pristine, modern lobby, his cold eyes found exactly what he was looking for. He stared directly up into the glowing red lens of the main security camera mounted high in the corner of the room.
Then, he slowly pulled the stolen walkie-talkie from his leather pocket and pressed the transmission button.
Looking dead into the camera lens, speaking directly to the hidden tactician watching him from above, Skull delivered his chilling message.
"I’m coming for you."