Page 220 of Celestial Combat

Akihiko turned.

And everything shattered.

The machine gun roared – brutal, deafening. Glass exploded around us like lightning cracking a crystal sky. Bottles burst, light bulbs flared and died. A storm of bullets tore through the air, through the bar, the couches, the art on the walls.

Zane and I ducked behind the nearest couch. I hit the ground hard, heart racing. My ears rang. We both drew our weapons in one fluid, practiced motion – his pistol, my blade.

Smoke drifted like ghosts over the lounge.

“You really thought I wouldn’t recognize a Su?!” Akihiko sneered, stepping forward with the weapon still smoking. His voice cut through the chaos like silk dragged over a blade.

I froze for a fraction of a second – just long enough for the weight of those words to press into my chest like a mark.He knew who I was.

The moment I saw the side door swing open, I knew it was far from over.

Yakuza soldiers spilled into the VIP lounge like shadows uncoiling. Their suits crisp, eyes sharp, and each one held a katana drawn with reverence and deadly intent.

I didn’t hesitate.

One shared look with Zane followed by a nod and we both shot off in different directions.

There was a display stand behind the velvet rope near the far wall – decorative, sure, but the blade looked real enough. I leapt over the couch, glass crunching under my boots, and grabbed it with both hands. It came free with a satisfying whisper of steel, heavy and perfectly balanced in my grip.

The first soldier came at me without a word. I ducked under the arc of his blade, slid low across the polished floor, and drove my heel into his ribs. He staggered, and I swung the katana up, parrying the next strike from a second attacker. The blades met with a sharp metallic shriek that rattled in my bones.

It was chaos and clarity all at once.

Every movement around me slowed into rhythm – strike, block, twist. I didn’t think, I reacted. I spun into a wide arc, slicing low then high, the blade catching one across the thigh, another across the forearm. Blood sprayed in a delicate arc against the glowing wall panels.

One rushed me from the side – too close for the katana. I dropped it, pivoted, and slammed my elbow into his jaw. We went down hard. I caught his wrist, twisted, felt the snap, and took his blade instead.

Another tried to flank me. I kicked the overturned coffee table at him. It wasn’t elegant, but it worked.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Zane on Akihiko.

The Yakuza boss aimed again, but Zane was faster. He hurled a lowball glass across the room – it shattered against Akihiko’s hand with a sharp crack, making him drop the weapon.

In the same breath, Zane slammed his face into the bar with enough force to rattle the shelves.

“Try again,” Zane growled, pinning Akihiko down with a forearm against his throat.

I disarmed the last attacker with a twisting disarm and a brutal knee to his gut. Blood splattered. He hit the ground hard and didn’t get up.

Silence returned, thick and humming.

Breathless, I looked around the ruined VIP room – smashed glass, blood-streaked floors, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

I looked at Zane, remembering his words from when he was first given the job to be my bodyguard.

‘Once someone gets it in their mind to kill you, there’s nowhere on this Earth where you could hide.’

Akihiko laid flat against the polished countertop, his face red and furious. Zane’s arm pressed heavy across his throat, his voice low and fierce as volcanic ash.

“I know it was you who killed my mother,” Zane spat, the words a blade in the dim light. “Is it true I’m your son?”

Akihiko erupted with fury. “You’re not my son! You’re a bastard!”

He spat into the puddle of liquor pooling on the floor.

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