Two days after Bingo's disappearance..
Havoc strode through the dimly lit hallway of her apartment complex, his unease growing with every step. He'd been calling her phone for the past forty-eight hours, leaving voicemails, shooting texts—nothing. No response. That wasn't like her. His concern simmered under the surface, but he wasn't about to admit he was worried. Not yet.
Stopping in front of her door, he rapped his knuckles against it firmly.
"Knives!" he called out, his voice steady. He waited, ears straining for any hint of movement inside. Nothing. He knocked again, this time louder. "Knives, you okay in there? I've been calling you for ages!"
Still nothing. His gut twisted, a bad feeling creeping in. He knocked once more, and this time, the door creaked open under the pressure of his fist. He froze mid-word.
"…Knives?"
The door swung open slowly, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. An icy instinct clawed at him: something was horribly wrong.
Drawing his revolver, Havoc pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. Bingo's apartment appeared almost normal at first glance—too normal. But as his sharp eyes scanned the room, the details began to surface. In the living room, there were faint signs of a struggle—scattered cushions, a lamp knocked slightly askew. His gaze fell to the floor, where a faint trail of blood led into the hallway.
"Oh man…" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the revolver as he followed the trail cautiously. It wasn't much, just faint smears leading toward her bedroom, but it was enough to make his fur bristle. Near the hallway, a pocket knife lay abandoned on the floor. He stooped slightly, examining it. The blade was clean, unused.
The faint hum of vibration broke the silence, coming from her bedroom. His ears perked, and he advanced toward the noise, his steps careful and deliberate. The sound grew louder as he reached her room. Pushing the door open, he spotted her work phone buzzing on the bed, the screen flashing with an incoming call.
"Sevyn." The name on the screen gave him pause.
Havoc hesitated for only a moment before snatching up the phone and answering it.
"Knives? Knives?" a woman's frantic voice blared through the receiver, her tone sharp with panic. "Oh my god, Knives, you HAVE to speak to me right now! Are you okay?!"
Havoc remained silent, caught off guard by the urgency in her voice.
"Knives, SAY SOMETHING!"
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even. "Knives isn't here, ma'am."
There was a beat of stunned silence before the woman erupted. "Who—who the HELL are you?! Are YOU the reason Knives is gone?! I swear to god, if you did something to her, I'm gonna find you and kill you myself, you—"
"Lady, RELAX!" Havoc barked, his patience thinning. "I'm a friend, alright? I came here because I haven't heard from her either, and now I find her place like this? She's gone. Missing. And frankly, I'm not pleased with what I've found."
The woman on the other end exhaled sharply, her panic simmering down but not entirely gone. "…Who are you?"
"Havoc," he said curtly. "I've been helping Knives deal with the Black Widows. And who are you?"
There was a brief pause before she replied. "…Sevyn. I'm a friend of hers. She told me about you once." Her voice softened, though the worry was still evident. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping, I'm just… scared. I haven't heard from her, and it's not like her to just disappear like this."
Havoc sighed, lowering the revolver as he glanced around the room. "You sound like a worried mother," he muttered dryly.
"Well, maybe I am.." Sevyn replied, the edge in her voice returning. "But right now, we don't have time for pleasantries. If Knives is missing, we need to act. I've been trying to figure out her last moves, but I'm coming up empty. If you're here, we should work together to find her."
Havoc frowned. "I don't usually collaborate out of the blue, Sevyn," he said, his voice measured. "But… desperate times call for desperate measures." He glanced down at the faint trail of blood on the floor. "I've got a bad feeling about all of this."
"Join the club." Sevyn replied grimly. "Whatever's happened to her, we need to find her before it's too late."
"Agreed," Havoc said, his jaw tightening. "Let's figure this out, and fast. Maybe we could meet up somewhere to discuss this.. look I'm just as shaken up as you are." He looked on her bed and saw another phone, her personal phone.. blowing up too. "..And I'm pretty sure we aren't the only ones worried either.."
and he was right.
Judo, and Bluey were both worried sick about Bingo.. and as was Lila, although she didn't have a clue about Bingo's assassin lifestyle.
This was all a mess.
…..
Present day, Bingo
Bingo lay on the freezing stone floor for what felt like hours, methodically sawing away at the thick rope binding her wrists. The sharp edge of her claw worked against the fibers in an unrelenting rhythm, her movements steady and deliberate. She stopped only when she had to—when the men came in to torture her, mock her, or deliver another round of pain. Each time, she endured their brutality in silence, retreating back into herself, her face a blank, unreadable mask. Then, once they left, she resumed the task with the same cold focus.
Her right arm was slashed and bleeding from their earlier torment, but she didn't even flinch. The warm rivulets of blood running down her skin were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Pain no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except the rope, the slow grinding of her claw against its unyielding thickness.
She moved mechanically, her mind void of emotion, her thoughts honed into a single mantra: Cut. Cut. Cut.
Then—
Snap.
The rope broke.
Her wrists were free.
Bingo sat up slowly, her movements deliberate and measured, as if her body were running on autopilot. She held up her trembling hands, staring at them with a detached sort of awe. She flexed her fingers experimentally, the motion feeling strange after hours of restriction. Blood smeared her palms, but she paid it no mind. Her gaze dropped to her bound ankles next.
Feet. Next.
Her dark amber eyes scanned the dimly lit room, stopping when they landed on a shard of broken glass lying just a few feet away. One of the men had smashed a beer bottle over her head earlier. She remembered the feeling of it breaking, the sting of the alcohol mixing with the blood on her scalp. Now, that jagged shard would serve her better.
Dragging herself forward, Bingo reached out and grabbed the glass. She adjusted it in her hand, the sharp edge biting into her palm as she began to cut through the rope on her feet. Her actions were slow and deliberate, almost mechanical. The blade of glass carved into the fibers inch by inch, the sound of its scrape filling the silence of the room.
And then—
Snap.
Her feet were free.
Bingo sat there for a moment, her breathing steady and even as she flexed her toes and fingers. She tested every joint and muscle, ensuring they were still functional. Once she confirmed she had full movement, she shifted, planting her feet firmly on the ground.
Her blank gaze swept over the room, scanning every detail. She didn't feel relief. She didn't feel triumph. What she felt didn't matter—it had no place here. All that mattered was what came next.
She was free now.
And that was all she needed.
Bingo stood, her sharp amber eyes scanning the dim, suffocating room. It was bleak and bare, with only the remnants of her blood on the floor and walls to break the monotony. Her gaze flicked toward the door as voices echoed faintly from the hallway.
"Oi! I'm gonna have my round with this Heeler bitch, alright?" A male voice slurred, thick with alcohol and arrogance.
Bingo's right ear twitched. She moved immediately, dropping to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her body sprawled lifelessly, wrists tucked behind her back, ankles pressed together, mimicking her previous restrained state. She closed her eyes halfway, her breathing slowed to a shallow rhythm, the perfect portrait of submission.
The door creaked open, and the heavy footfalls of a brute of a coyote filled the room as he staggered inside. The stench of sweat, booze, and bile clung to him like a second skin. He shut the door behind him with a thud and grinned, his yellowed teeth bared like a predator cornering its prey.
"Heh… y'know.." he muttered, his voice dripping with smugness, "I know we're supposed to kill you and all, but I can't help noticing how pretty you are…"
Bingo didn't react. Her dull, half-lidded eyes flicked up to him briefly before turning away, her body shifting just enough to play the part of someone too broken to resist. Her silence seemed to embolden him.
The coyote crouched down, lowering himself onto her like a leering shadow. His calloused hand reached out, rough fingers cupping her chin and forcing her gaze upward. His breath, rancid and hot, fanned across her face as he grinned down at her.
"Maybe…" he whispered, his voice thick with twisted delight. "Maybe I can indulge myself... Nobody's gonna know anyway." His words slithered into the air like poison, each syllable dripping with malice.
His hand trailed from her chin to her neck, his fingers pressing against her skin just enough to make her feel his strength. "Y'know," he chuckled darkly, "I think I owe you an apology for earlier… bashin' that bottle over your head like I did. But this?" His hand traveled lower, invading her space, brushing over her bruised chest before groping her with disgusting intent. His grin widened as his fingers dug into her flesh. "I ain't sorry for this.."
Bingo's body stiffened, just barely, but it was enough. Her blank expression didn't falter, her dull eyes locked on some distant, invisible point. Yet inside, the cold fury began to boil, seeping through her veins like molten ice.
The coyote's hand lingered too long, his touch both repulsive and unnervingly casual, like she was nothing more than a discarded object for him to use. His fingers pressed harder, testing her reaction, a twisted smirk spreading across his face as if he'd already won.
But he didn't notice the faint twitch of her fingers. He didn't notice her eyes sharpening for a fleeting moment.
Suddenly, with precise, mechanical efficiency, Bingo's left hand shot forward like a striking viper. Her claws slashed through the air with brutal force, carving into the coyote's throat.
The sound was wet and sharp, a gurgling gasp escaping his lips as his grin twisted into a grotesque mask of shock. Blood sprayed from the wound, warm and metallic, splattering across Bingo's face and dripping onto the cold stone floor.
She didn't flinch. Her face remained blank, emotionless, as if the act itself was as mundane as breathing. Her eyes, dull yet piercing, stared into the coyote's widening gaze, watching as life drained from his body.
The coyote clawed weakly at his throat, choking on his own blood, his weight slumping forward. Bingo shoved him off with little effort, letting his body crumple to the floor in a lifeless heap.
She sat up slowly, methodically wiping her face with the back of her hand, smearing the blood further but not caring. Her breathing was calm, her movements precise.
Bingo stared at the coyote's lifeless body for a long moment, her blank expression unchanging. Her amber eyes flickered down to the growing pool of blood seeping into the cracks of the cold floor, but she didn't seem fazed. Slowly, she rose to her feet, gripping the body under the arms and dragging it toward the shadows of a dark corner. The sound of his dead weight scraping against the floor was unnervingly loud in the stillness of the room.
Once he was hidden, she crouched beside him and began searching his pockets with calm, methodical movements. Her hands dipped into his jacket and pants, but all she found were useless items—cigarettes, condoms, and a wallet. No keys. No weapon. Nothing of value.
Her lips tightened into a faint line. She couldn't leave yet. She would have to wait for someone else to come in.
With a quiet exhale, Bingo slid down to the floor beside the corpse, lying close to the body to absorb whatever lingering warmth it still had. She curled slightly, her bloodied arms crossed over her chest as her dull gaze fixed on the ceiling. Time passed slowly in the cold, suffocating room. Her breathing remained steady, her body still and composed, conserving her energy for what was to come.
And soon, it came.
"Oi, mate! You done having fun with that Heeler girl yet? Pierce wants a word with ya!" A gruff, impatient voice echoed from the hall. Bingo didn't move, her eyes flicking to the door as it creaked open. A black-furred mutt stepped inside, his broad shoulders brushing the frame as he scanned the room.
His eyes landed on the corner where the coyote's body lay, seemingly spooning Bingo. The mutt snorted, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Ah, you cheeky devil. Passed out already, huh?" He stepped closer, shaking his head. "Oi! Get your drunk ass up, mate—Pierce ain't gonna wait all day!"
As he approached, his grin faltered. Something wasn't right. His sharp eyes darted over the coyote's unnaturally still form, then to Bingo, whose wide, unblinking eyes stared back at him from the shadowed corner.
"Wait… what the fu—"
Bingo moved like a coiled spring, lunging at him with silent ferocity. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she drove him backward, forcing him off balance. The mutt stumbled, crashing to the floor with a muffled grunt.
"Get off me!" he hissed, his voice low but frantic as he tried to shove her away.
Bingo didn't speak. Her hands shot to his throat, fingers pressing down with terrifying strength. He clawed at her wrists, his nails scraping her skin as his eyes widened in panic.
"Shh…" Bingo whispered, leaning close. Her voice was soft, almost tender, but her eyes were hollow, devoid of any humanity. "Just.. let… go.."
The mutt thrashed beneath her, his boots scuffing against the floor as he tried to buck her off. But Bingo's grip was unyielding, her strength far greater than his. She held him down with precision, her knees pinning his arms as her fingers squeezed tighter and tighter.
His struggles grew weaker, his breaths coming in desperate, choking gasps. Bloodshot eyes locked with hers, silently pleading for mercy that would never come.
Bingo didn't blink, didn't flinch. Her hands remained steady, her cold gaze unrelenting as the life drained from his body.
Finally, his arms fell limp, his chest stilled. Bingo held her grip a moment longer, ensuring he was gone before releasing him and sitting back. She tilted her head, studying his lifeless face with a detached curiosity.
Reaching down, she began to search his pockets. This time, she found what she was looking for—a set of keys. Quietly, she stood and turned toward the door, leaving the two bodies behind in silence.
Bingo moved forward like a machine, her steps slow and deliberate. Her body wobbled briefly, her legs unsteady after hours of captivity, but she caught herself, straightened, and pressed on. Her movements were eerily calm, almost robotic, as if the pain coursing through her body didn't register. She barely noticed the blood drying on her arms, the aching stiffness in her muscles. None of it mattered.
She glanced around, her amber eyes scanning the dimly lit basement with detached precision. The room was cold and damp, cluttered with crates, tools, and scraps of metal that cast jagged shadows on the walls. She guessed the building was large, though its size was irrelevant to her.
Only two names occupied the silent void in her mind: Axel and Pierce. They were all that mattered.
With the stolen keys in hand, Bingo approached the heavy door that had once sealed her in. Her movements were unhurried, her grip on the keys steady as she slid one into the lock. The metallic click echoed faintly in the silence. She opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, leaving the room and its bodies behind.
Her steps were soundless as she advanced, her mind a blank slate, her face devoid of emotion. The faint hum of distant music reached her ears, followed by bursts of laughter and muffled voices. Somewhere above her, the men who had taken her—who had hurt her—were celebrating.
She came to a flight of stairs, the cracked concrete steps leading upward to the main area of the building. The music grew louder as she climbed, the bass reverberating faintly through the walls. She paused at the top, her hand brushing the edge of the door that separated her from the chaos above.
She slowly opened the door.. this led to a big hallway to.. what seemed like a mansion. Most of the fellas were in the living room enjoying the party. Nobody was in the hallway, Bingo was the only one standing out. There was a door right across from the basement door.. so, she took a shot and went inside of it.
Inside the room, a wiry terrier stood near the dresser, tugging on a fresh shirt. He glanced up briefly, assuming one of his buddies had wandered in.
"Hey, man, why don't ya knock before you come in, eh? I could've been ass-naked if you—" His words trailed off mid-sentence, his eyes locking on the figure standing at the door.
Bingo stood motionless, her bloodied form painted in streaks of dried red and dirt, her dull, lifeless eyes boring into him. She closed the door behind her slowly, the faint click of the lock sliding into place echoing in the tense silence.
"What the…" His voice faltered, his confidence draining as he registered the predator standing before him. "Hey, listen, I don't know how the hell you—"
Her silence unnerved him more than any threat could. His hand slid behind him, fumbling against the dresser for anything—a knife, a bottle, anything to defend himself. But her eyes never left him, her unblinking stare rooting him to the spot.
"Stay the fuck away from me!" he barked, panic rising in his voice as he edged around the dresser, inching toward the bed. His breathing quickened as Bingo began to move.
She stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the floor. Her movements were fluid, calculated, and eerily calm. Her eyes assessed him like a machine processing a problem—dissecting his every twitch, his every attempt to find an escape.
"I mean it! Don't—" His words turned into a strangled gasp as Bingo lunged.
She crossed the room in a blur, her speed unnatural, and slammed into him with the force of a freight train. He stumbled backward onto the bed, her weight pinning him down. His hands scrambled to push her off, clawing at her shoulders, but she moved with precision, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply. The sickening crack of bones snapping filled the air as he howled in pain.
Bingo didn't flinch. She used her momentum to flip him onto his back, straddling him with terrifying ease. His good hand flailed, reaching for her face, but she caught it mid-swing and smashed it against the edge of the bedframe. Blood splattered as his knuckles split open.
"No! Please—" His plea was cut off as her hands shot to his throat, her fingers digging into his windpipe. His legs kicked wildly, his heels pounding against the floor in desperation.
"Shh…" she murmured coldly, her voice devoid of warmth, her face expressionless as her thumbs pressed deeper into his neck.
His eyes bulged, his face turning a blotchy red as he struggled for air. His hands flailed weakly, trying to claw at her arms, but his strength was draining quickly.
Bingo leaned in closer, her grip tightening with mechanical precision. Her gaze bore into his as his movements slowed, his limbs twitching feebly. She didn't blink, didn't hesitate, even as the last flicker of life drained from his eyes.
When his body finally stilled, she held her grip for a few seconds longer, ensuring the job was done. Then, she released him, his lifeless form collapsing onto the mattress beneath her.
Bingo stood slowly, her hands still slick with the blood of the terrier she had just killed. She didn't bother glancing at his lifeless body, her empty, doll-like expression unchanging. Instead, she sifted through the dresser methodically, her movements calm and deliberate, as if her mind was already calculating her next move. Her fingers curled around a small knife, its blade dull but serviceable. She tucked it into the waistband of her underwear, the cold steel pressing against her skin.
Outside, voices erupted in panic, growing louder with every passing second.
"HOLY SHIT, THAT GIRL IS GONE!" one of the men shouted, his voice echoing through the halls.
"Damn it! She killed two blokes down there!" another yelled. "She could be anywhere!"
"Tell Axel and Pierce immediately," a deeper voice barked, commanding authority. "Scatter and find this bitch. Kill her on sight! She's weak. No way she can take all of us at once!"
Bingo rolled her neck slowly, the subtle crack of her joints audible in the stillness of the room. Weak? They had no idea who they were dealing with. Her dull eyes flicked toward the door, the shouts outside sharpening her focus. She considered her options—go out in a blaze of carnage or hunt them silently, one by one, like prey.
Her choice was clear.
Moving like a shadow, Bingo unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to peer into the hallway. She could hear heavy boots stomping across the hardwood floors, the echoing clamor suggesting the mansion was crawling with goons. Bingo slipped out, keeping her movements controlled and silent.
The dimly lit hallway stretched ahead, with voices coming from the far end. She pressed her back against the wall, her sharp ears twitching as two men rounded the corner, deep in conversation.
"She couldn't have gone far," one muttered.
"Yeah, well, if she's still in the basement, she's as good as dead," the other replied with a cruel laugh.
The first man didn't get to laugh. Bingo lunged out of the shadows with predatory speed, clamping a hand over his mouth as her knife plunged into his throat. The dull blade tore through flesh with sickening resistance, but she didn't flinch. She dragged his body back into the shadows as he gurgled his last breath, his partner spinning around too late to react.
"What the—"
Bingo dropped the first man's body and closed the distance to the second, slamming him against the wall. Her elbow drove into his windpipe, silencing his scream before her blade sank into his chest with a wet crunch. His struggles weakened, his eyes glazing over as she lowered him to the floor soundlessly.
She exhaled slowly, her calm unnerving even to herself. Two down.
Bingo moved deeper into the mansion, sticking to the shadows as the music and laughter from the main room grew louder. She crept past a side room where a man sat with his back to her, rifling through a box of ammunition. Without hesitation, she slipped behind him and snapped his neck with a quick, brutal twist.
The body slumped forward, but the noise drew the attention of another man nearby.
"Hey, Dave, you okay?" the voice called out, footsteps approaching fast.
Bingo crouched low, positioning herself behind the door. As the man entered, she kicked the door shut behind him and pounced. He let out a strangled shout, but her hands were already around his throat, silencing him with ruthless efficiency.
She was halfway through dragging his body into the corner when the commotion outside spiked.
"She's upstairs!" someone yelled.
Her cover was blown.
Boots thundered as several men charged toward her location. Bingo dropped the body and stepped into the hallway, her bloodied knife glinting in the dim light. Her mechanical calm didn't falter as a group of five goons rounded the corner, their expressions a mix of fear and rage.
"There she is! Take her down!"
They rushed her all at once, a chaotic mass of fists and weapons. Bingo met them head-on, her movements a blur of efficiency. She ducked under a swinging bat, driving her knife into the attacker's abdomen before ripping it free. The next man swung at her with a crowbar, but she sidestepped, slamming her knee into his ribs and grabbing the weapon mid-swing.
She wielded the crowbar with deadly precision, using it to parry a knife attack before cracking it against another man's temple. Blood sprayed, and he dropped like a stone. The remaining two hesitated, clearly reevaluating their odds.
Bingo's cold gaze locked onto them. Her chest rose and fell steadily, not a hint of fatigue or emotion crossing her face.
The way she moved.. was like a puppet. She didn't show any signs of stopping despite her being injured and her body sore. She didn't think of her physical limitations.. she only acted on pure killing instinct.
They charged anyway, fear giving way to desperation. Bingo met their assault with unrelenting brutality, her movements precise and calculated. The hallway became a battlefield, the walls splattered with fresh blood as the last of her attackers fell.
She stood amidst the carnage, her breathing calm and controlled. The shouts of more goons echoed from deeper within the mansion…
…
"Yes, Scarlet. I have Knives here.. Caught her a few days back in Melbourne." Pierce said, his voice oozing smug confidence as he leaned back in the leather chair behind the desk.
The study on the second floor was large, lined with tall bookshelves and dimly lit by a warm orange lamp. Pierce, the cocky ringleader, seemed utterly at ease, as if the chaos brewing downstairs was a world away. Axel, however, was not. Standing stiffly against the wall, arms crossed, his body radiated impatience.
The voice on the other end of the line was sharp and cold, carrying the weight of authority. Scarlet Fang. Second-in-command of the Black Widows and a force to be reckoned with.
"You captured Knives? Hmm… I don't know if I should believe you, Pierce." Scarlet said, her tone skeptical, as though she could see right through his bravado even from miles away.
"Oh, but I did." Pierce replied, grinning as if Scarlet could see his smugness through the phone. "Been torturing her for days now. I was thinking about finally killing her today, just to wrap this up."
A pause hung in the air before Scarlet's voice cut through, deliberate and commanding. "If what you're saying is true, don't kill her yet. I want to be there when it happens.. Look, I'll be out that way in a few hours. I need to see this for myself."
Pierce's grin widened. He drummed his fingers lazily on the desk, savoring her words. "Alright, you've got it. She stays alive until you get here."
"Good. Don't disappoint me, Pierce."
The call ended with a click, leaving the room in silence for a moment. Pierce sighed contentedly, leaning further back in his chair like a man who had already won.
Axel, however, looked less relaxed. "So Scarlet Fang is coming here?" he asked, his voice low and tense.
"Yup." Pierce replied, almost gleeful. "We just have to keep Knives alive until then. In fact, it's been a while since we've checked on her. You reckon we—"
Pierce's phone buzzed again, cutting him off mid-sentence. He picked it up, his expression turning from mild annoyance to surprise as he answered. "Talk."
The voice on the other end was frantic, nearly drowned out by the sounds of chaos.
"THAT GIRL IS OUT! SHE'S DOWN HERE KILLING US—AH! AGHHHHFHH!" The words dissolved into gurgling, wet and choking, the unmistakable sound of blood flooding a throat.
Pierce's eyes widened, but his expression quickly morphed into something more amused than alarmed. Axel, on the other hand, snarled, his teeth bared in frustration as he pushed off the wall.
"I'm going down there," Axel growled, striding toward the door. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice dripped with fury. "I'll mess her up good!"
Pierce watched him leave, his smirk returning as he hung up the phone. For a moment, he sat in stillness, the muffled sounds of distant screams and the chaos below bleeding through the thick walls.
"Well, I'll be damned.." he muttered to himself, the smirk twisting into something darker. He knew what this meant—Knives wasn't just a problem to be solved anymore. She was a storm. One way or another, the endgame was coming.
He reached for his pistol on the desk, standing up with the deliberate calm of a man who had decided he'd play his part, no matter how bloody the outcome.
…
Knives stood in the carnage of the living room, her blood-soaked form looking more like a creature of myth than a woman. Blood slicked the floor, pooling around lifeless bodies. The air reeked of iron, and the only sound was the faint dripping of blood from her dulled knife. Her grey tank top clung to her, smeared with streaks of crimson, while her black underwear revealed a body carved for battle. But it wasn't her physique that made her terrifying—it was her eyes. Lifeless, void of humanity, they stared straight ahead, unblinking. She wasn't Knives anymore.
She was death incarnate.
The door burst open, and five men barreled into the room, armed with bats, knives, and crowbars. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her, standing in the center of the massacre, a chilling embodiment of death.
"She's just one bitch!" one of them shouted, trying to rally the others. "Take her out!"
Knives didn't wait. She surged forward, faster than any of them could react.
The first man swung a crowbar at her head, but she ducked under it with surgical precision, coming up behind him. Before he could turn, her knife flashed across his throat, slicing deep. Blood sprayed from the wound as he dropped to his knees, gurgling, before collapsing face-first onto the floor.
The second man lunged at her with a bat, but she sidestepped, her free hand grabbing the back of his neck. With a single, savage twist, his neck snapped with a sickening crack. She let his limp body fall, already moving to the next target.
The third man tried to slash at her with a knife, but Knives caught his wrist mid-swing, her grip like iron. She drove her dull blade into his chest, twisting it with brutal force as he screamed. She yanked the blade free, shoving him backward as blood gushed from the wound, his body slumping against a shattered chair.
The remaining two hesitated, their confidence faltering as they realized what they were up against.
"Come on, she's.. she's just one woman!" one of them shouted, though his voice quivered with fear.
Knives tilted her head, her empty gaze locking onto him. Without a word, she closed the distance between them in seconds.
The man swung a bat at her, but she sidestepped and drove her knee into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, she grabbed his head and slammed it into the edge of a broken table, shattering his skull. Blood dripped from the jagged wood as his body crumpled to the floor.
The last man dropped his weapon, backing away with wide, terrified eyes. "S-stay back!" he stammered, tripping over a fallen body.
Knives didn't stay back. She stepped forward, her knife flipping in her hand. The man turned to run, but she was faster. She grabbed him by the back of the head, yanking him backward, and slit his throat in one clean motion. He dropped instantly, his lifeblood pooling beneath him.
The room fell silent, save for the sound of blood dripping from her knife. Knives stood in the center of the carnage, her breathing steady, her eyes unblinking.
Heavy footsteps thudded down the staircase. Knives turned her head toward the sound, her grip on the knife tightening.
Axel.
The Koolie entered the room, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the scene with a mixture of fury and disbelief. His broad, muscular frame seemed to consume the air in the blood-soaked room. The patchwork of gray and black on his coat bristled as if his anger were a tangible force. A combat knife spun idly in his hand, his grip tight but casual as he descended the last step, boots crunching against broken glass and gore.
"Well, well," Axel muttered, his deep voice thick with disdain. "So you've finally crawled out of your cage and decided to redecorate the house. A bit dramatic, don't you think?" He stepped further into the living room, glancing at the bodies strewn across the floor. Blood dripped from furniture and walls, the metallic stench heavy in the air.
Knives stood in the middle of it all, unmoving. Her dull, unblinking eyes tracked him like a predator assessing its next prey. She said nothing.
Axel sneered, gesturing lazily at the carnage with his knife. "So this is how you took out Archer and Nyx? Slit their throats and left them to rot like trash? Figures. That's all you know how to do—kill and destroy.."
Knives tilted her head slightly, her silence more cutting than any retort.
"Monster.." Axel snarled, his grip tightening on his knife as he squared his shoulders. His voice dropped into a growl. "Pierce wanted you alive for Scarlet, but I'm not waiting for her. I'll carve you up myself."
He lunged without warning, his explosive strength propelling him forward like a missile. His knife came down in a vicious arc, aiming to split her shoulder.
Knives moved.
She stepped to the side with a dancer's grace, her blade flashing up to meet his. The clash of steel rang out, and Axel's strike glanced off her knife, skimming past her ribs as she pivoted out of his reach.
Axel grinned, feral and wild. "Sloppy..." He came at her again, this time with a flurry of powerful slashes and jabs, each blow aimed to overwhelm.
Knives ducked low, weaving under his strikes with surgical precision. Where Axel was raw power and fury, she was calculated and fluid. She parried his next strike, deflecting his knife and stepping inside his guard. Her blade sliced across his side, drawing blood.
Axel snarled and lashed out with his free hand, a closed-fist punch that connected with her jaw and sent her stumbling back. She barely avoided tripping over a broken coffee table, steadying herself as she wiped blood from the corner of her mouth.
"Not too shabby.." Axel said, circling her like a predator. "Concerning how well you're able to move.. despite your injuries.." He lunged again, his strikes coming harder and faster now, each one designed to break her defenses.
Knives met him head-on, her knife moving with a surgeon's precision as she blocked and countered. She ducked under a horizontal slash, using the momentum to slash at his thigh. Axel growled in pain but didn't slow down, swinging his knife in a downward arc.
She sidestepped at the last second, catching his arm and twisting it violently. The knife clattered to the floor, but Axel didn't flinch. He drove his knee into her stomach, forcing her back with sheer brute force, he quickly grabbed his knife again.
Knives staggered, but only for a moment. Her expression didn't change. Calm. Unflinching. She readjusted herself unnaturally, rolling her neck.
Axel grabbed a shattered chair leg from the ground, using it as an improvised weapon. He charged her, swinging it like a bat. Knives ducked, the wind from the swing ruffling her hair. She surged forward, her blade aimed at his ribs.
Axel caught her wrist mid-strike, his grip like a vice. "Gotcha!"
Before he could follow up, she dropped the knife, caught it with her other hand, and drove it into his shoulder. Axel roared in pain but used his free hand to shove her back, blood streaming from the wound.
The two circled each other again, both breathing hard. Axel's grin was gone now, replaced by a grim determination. "You got a cut on me.. but that doesn't mean a damn thing.."
Knives didn't respond. She adjusted her grip on her blade, her stance low and ready.
Before Axel could press forward, Knives was already in motion, her body a blur of speed and precision. She feinted to the left, her sudden movement drawing Axel's knife in the wrong direction. In an instant, she leaped into the air, her legs tucking in before snapping out, delivering a spinning kick to his chest. The impact sent him stumbling back, crashing into the edge of a blood-streaked couch.
Knives landed with feline grace, crouched low, her knife glinting in the dim light. She was already moving before Axel could recover, closing the distance between them in a flash. She ducked under a wild swing of his knife and used the momentum to propel herself upward, slamming her knee into his jaw with brutal force.
Axel staggered, his head snapping back as he growled through gritted teeth. "Damn it!" he barked, swinging again with unrelenting fury.
But Knives was untouchable. She twisted her body, her movements fluid and impossible to predict. She dodged his next swing with a backflip, her feet barely grazing the floor before she launched herself forward again. This time, she vaulted over him, planting one hand on his shoulder for leverage. As she flipped over his head, her knife flashed, slicing a deep gash across his upper back.
Axel roared in pain, spinning around, his face twisted in rage. Blood dripped freely from his wounds, staining the floor beneath him. "DAMN IT!"
Knives didn't reply. She never did. Her silence was more unnerving than any taunt could have been. She advanced on him again, her movements like a deadly dance, her steps light and deliberate.
Axel lunged at her with everything he had, his knife carving a vicious arc through the air. But Knives sidestepped with a pirouette, her agility almost mocking him. Before he could recover, she ducked low, sweeping his legs out from under him with a sharp kick.
He hit the ground hard, grunting in frustration, but before he could rise, Knives was already on top of him. She moved with surgical precision, straddling him as she drove her knife toward his chest. Axel caught her wrist at the last second, holding her blade inches away from his heart.
Their eyes locked, his filled with rage and desperation, hers cold and unfeeling. "You're not… gonna kill me.. not like this..!" Axel growled through clenched teeth, his strength holding her back.
Knives tilted her head a little bit.. her dull eyes peering into his soul. Axel growled and finally got Knives off of him, standing up again.
I've.. lost a lotta blood. Axel thought to himself, huffing. Shit!
Axel stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving as blood dripped from his wounds. His gray and black coat was slick with crimson, his muscles tense as he tried to stay upright. His eyes darted to Knives, who stood a few feet away, her stance low, knife in hand, and her face as empty as ever. The dullness in her gaze was more terrifying than any rage Axel had ever faced. She wasn't just a killer; she was a force of nature, unstoppable and unfeeling.
"You think this is it?" Axel growled, gripping his combat knife tighter despite the blood loss weakening his grip. "I'm still standing, Knives! And I'm still stronger than you!" He lunged at her, his movements fueled by desperation and raw power.
Knives sidestepped with ease, her movements almost lazy as she avoided his wild swing. She spun behind him and lashed out with her knife, slicing a shallow cut across the back of his leg. Axel grunted in pain but twisted around, aiming a brutal backhand at her.
She ducked, rolling under his swing, and sprang up behind him like a ghost. Her blade flashed, aiming for his side, but Axel was faster this time. He caught her wrist mid-strike and drove his knee into her stomach, sending her staggering back a step.
"Gotcha now-" he snarled, slashing his knife toward her throat.
But Knives recovered instantly, bending backward in an almost impossible display of agility to avoid the strike. The blade passed inches from her neck as she planted her hands on the ground and kicked upward, her feet slamming into his jaw. The impact sent him stumbling back into a blood-streaked wall, dazed but still on his feet.
Knives was relentless. She charged at him, her knife aimed straight for his chest. Axel raised his knife to block, the two blades clashing with a metallic screech. Sparks flew as they grappled, their faces mere inches apart. Axel's strength was overwhelming, pushing her back inch by inch, but Knives didn't falter.
With a sudden twist of her wrist, she disengaged, her knife sliding free of the lock. She spun to the side, her movements fluid and precise, and slashed at his ribs. Axel twisted his body just in time, the blade barely grazing him, but the maneuver left him open. Knives capitalized, darting forward and slicing a deep cut across his bicep.
"Agh!" Axel roared, clutching his arm as blood poured freely. He lashed out with a wild swing, aiming to knock her head clean off.
Knives ducked again, this time sliding between his legs. Before Axel could react, she kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to stagger forward. She spun around, planting a quick series of strikes against his exposed side: a slash to his ribs, a stab to his shoulder, and finally, a sharp kick to his lower back that sent him crashing to the floor.
Axel coughed, blood dripping from his mouth as he pushed himself up on trembling arms. "You… you fight like a damn demon.." he spat, his voice hoarse.
Knives tilted her head slightly, her cold eyes studying him. She stepped closer, her knife poised for the kill, her movements eerily calm. Axel growled, forcing himself to his feet with one final burst of strength. He lunged at her, his knife aimed directly at her heart.
Knives waited until the last possible second. Then, with an almost inhuman speed, she sidestepped, spun behind him, and…
SLASH
..she slashed her blade across his neck in one smooth motion.
Axel froze, his eyes wide with shock as blood sprayed from the deep gash. He dropped his knife, his hands flying to his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
Knives stood behind him, her blade dripping crimson. She didn't look at him as he dropped to his knees, his body swaying unsteadily. He gurgled, blood bubbling from his lips as he tried to speak, but the words never came.
Axel collapsed face-first onto the floor, the light fading from his piercing blue eyes. His body twitched once, then went still.
Knives wiped the blood from her blade with clinical precision, the fabric of Axel's shirt soaking up the crimson as she inspected the edge of her weapon, as if the task were nothing more than a routine. She stepped over his fallen body without a glance, her movements swift and efficient, not a hint of satisfaction or emotion showing in her detached expression. The carnage behind her was nothing but a backdrop as her focus sharpened once more. The hunt was far from over.
As Knives advanced deeper into the mansion, twelve men poured into the blood-streaked room. Their faces twisted with a mix of shock and forced bravado as their eyes darted to the carnage around them—the lifeless, mutilated bodies of their comrades, and the blood-soaked figure standing in the center of it all.
"Shit… Axel's dead!" one of them choked out, his voice cracking as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Oh, man…" another muttered, visibly trembling, his grip tightening on his weapon as if it could shield him from the inevitable.
"There's twelve of us!" a third stammered, stepping forward in an attempt to rally the group. "Twelve! And only one of her. There's no way we can lose… right?!" His voice wavered, betraying the cracks in his confidence. The others exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, grasping at the fragile hope that their numbers would be enough.
Knives didn't move. She didn't speak. She didn't even blink. Her bloodied figure stood in perfect stillness, eyes devoid of humanity, scanning the group like a predator calculating the best way to dismantle its prey. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, suffocating the courage of the men as they hesitated. Finally, one of them broke, roaring as he charged forward with a knife raised high.
It was a mistake.
Knives moved like a force of nature—silent, fluid, and merciless. Her blade flashed once, a streak of silver that sliced through his throat before he could finish his first step. Blood sprayed as his body crumpled to the floor, gurgling on his last breath. The group froze for a heartbeat, stunned by how quickly he fell. Then the panic set in.
"Get her!" one of them shouted, spurring the rest into action.
The room erupted into chaos, but Knives thrived in it. She flowed between them like water, her movements so quick they were almost impossible to track. One man swung a crowbar at her head, but she ducked beneath it, using the momentum to plunge her knife into his chest and twist. She didn't stop to watch him fall. Her foot connected with another man's knee, shattering it with a sickening crack, before slitting his throat in a single, precise motion.
A third lunged at her with a bat, but she sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his arm and snapping it at the joint. His scream was short-lived as her blade found his heart. She turned, blocking an incoming knife with her own before slamming the hilt into the attacker's temple, knocking him unconscious. Her movements were surgical, each action executed with deadly efficiency. Throats were cut, ribs were pierced, and necks were twisted until the sound of snapping bones echoed through the blood-drenched room.
In under a minute, it was over. The last man stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, his weapon shaking in his grip. Knives didn't give him a chance to plead or run. She moved in a blur, her knife slicing across his throat before he could even process her approach. His body collapsed, adding to the growing pool of blood soaking into the floorboards.
Knives stood amidst the slaughter, her breathing steady, her eyes as cold and unfeeling as they had been before. The silence returned, broken only by the steady drip of blood falling from her blade. The bodies around her were nothing more than evidence of her work—just another obstacle cleared in her path.
She glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. The air above seemed heavier, charged with the presence of the one person who remained. Pierce.
Knives turned and began her ascent. Her steps were slow but deliberate, each one leaving a crimson print on the wooden stairs. Her grip on the railing was firm, steadying her as she climbed, though her body bore the weight of the battle she had endured. Blood—none of it hers—clung to her fur, darkening her red coat until she was almost unrecognizable.
The mansion was eerily quiet now, the kind of silence that felt alive, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Knives didn't rush. She didn't need to. The predator in her knew there was no escape for her prey. Each step brought her closer to the final confrontation, her mind already sharpening, already planning.
Pierce was waiting. He was the last. And she would make sure he joined the others.
…
Pierce sat perched on the edge of his desk, the polished wood cool against his palm. His study was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the faint ticking of an antique clock mounted on the wall. The faint metallic scent of blood seemed to creep through the air, even though it hadn't reached this room yet. Pierce's mind raced, his yellow-furred fingers tapping idly on the desk's edge.
Axel didn't come back up…
He gritted his teeth.
She must've got him… Damn it!
A faint knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Pierce froze, his ears twitching at the sound. His chest tightened as his gaze shot to the door. He didn't need to ask who it was. He knew. Of course, it's her. Still, he scoffed, a smirk curling across his muzzle.
"The door's unlocked," he called, his voice calm but laced with tension.
Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing her. Bingo Heeler. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light behind her. Her eyes were devoid of life, cold and unfeeling. She looked less like a person and more like a shadow of death itself—methodical, emotionless, inevitable. The blood coating her fur made her seem even more monstrous, a reaper that as come to collect her overdue soul.
Pierce leaned back slightly, his smirk widening. "Well, well… Miss Heeler," he greeted, his tone laced with mockery. "Had fun downstairs? Enjoy the party?"
She didn't respond. Her silence was deafening, and it unsettled him in a way he didn't dare show.
The smirk faltered briefly before Pierce forced it back. His hand inched closer to the pistol resting casually on the desk beside him. "Ah, the silent treatment. You're no fun, Bingo.." he chided. "Not even going to give me the pleasure of hearing that witty little tongue of yours? No quips? No threats?"
Still, nothing. She stared at him, her gaze drilling into him with unnerving intensity. It wasn't anger, wasn't satisfaction—just cold calculation, as if she were already deciding how she would take him apart.
Pierce frowned now, his playful tone sharpening into something harder. He leaned forward, his fingers brushing the pistol's grip as his green eyes narrowed. "What snapped inside of you, huh? What made you like this?" he asked, voice quiet but tinged with curiosity—and perhaps a hint of fear. "You look like a puppet… but no one's holding your strings… What are you, Heeler?"
Silence again. Her lack of response was suffocating, and Pierce hated the way it gnawed at his nerves. He leaned back, forcing a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his fur. "Wow.. they don't make monsters like you anymore.." he mused, his voice softening to something almost admiring. "You're one of a kind, Bingo. A dying breed.."
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Her gaze stayed locked on him, her body eerily still as though she were carved from stone.
Pierce's smirk barely held as his fingers curled around the pistol's grip, his knuckles whitening. "So what are you waiting for, Grim Reaper? Let's finish this, yeah?" His voice was casual, but the edge of fear beneath it was unmistakable.
Bingo didn't respond, as usual. Her silence was more unnerving than any taunt could ever be. Instead, her hand shifted slightly, her grip tightening on her blood-stained blade. The air in the room felt thicker now, oppressive, and Pierce could swear the temperature had dropped.
He didn't wait. With a sharp breath, Pierce raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger.
BANG
The sound of the gunshot rang out like thunder, but what happened next made Pierce's stomach drop.
Bingo moved. Not like a person, not like any normal opponent. Her knife flashed, deflecting the bullet mid-air with a metallic ping. The speed of her reaction was unreal, and her body twisted like a predator in mid-pounce. In the span of a heartbeat, she zig-zagged toward him, her steps impossibly quick and erratic, making it impossible for him to predict where she would go next.
Did she just deflect that?! Pierce's thoughts raced, his heart pounding. His smirk was gone now, replaced with wide eyes and a cold sweat dripping down his temple. No way... No fucking way!
Desperation surged through him as he fired again, this time twice in quick succession. But it didn't matter. Bingo dodged the first shot with a sharp tilt of her body, the second ricocheting off the edge of her blade with another horrifyingly precise deflection. Her movements weren't just fast—they were calculated. No wasted motion, no hesitation, just a single-minded focus on closing the distance between them.
Pierce's eyes narrowed as he assessed her movements, and then, suddenly, his smirk returned. Tossing his gun aside with a sharp clatter, he straightened up, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, Heeler.." he said, his voice steady now, a flicker of genuine confidence lighting up his eyes. "Let's see how you handle someone who doesn't rely on bullets.."
He shifted into a combat stance, his weight balanced perfectly between his feet, his hands loose but ready. Pierce wasn't just a brawler—he was a highly trained martial artist, and every movement radiated precision and control. When Bingo closed the final gap, slashing toward his chest, he didn't flinch. Instead, he pivoted smoothly, sidestepping the attack with almost unnatural grace.
Bingo swung again, but Pierce caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it sharply. The knife wavered in her grasp, and before she could react, his free hand came up in a vicious palm strike to her sternum, sending her stumbling back a step. She barely had time to regain her footing before he advanced on her, a blur of motion. His leg shot out in a lightning-fast roundhouse kick, forcing her to duck low, only for him to follow up with an elbow strike aimed at her temple.
The hit grazed her, but it was enough to rattle her balance. Pierce was relentless, pressing his advantage with a series of rapid, precise strikes—kicks that targeted her ribs, fists that aimed for her head, and sharp knees designed to disrupt her footing. His strikes weren't just powerful; they were tactical, each one calculated to exploit an opening or force her into a defensive position.
Bingo retaliated, lashing out with her blade in a sharp arc aimed at his midsection. Pierce twisted away just in time, the knife slicing through the air inches from his body. He stepped into her space, catching her knife arm with both hands. With a sudden, brutal twist, he slammed his forearm against her wrist, forcing her to release her grip. The blade clattered to the floor, skidding out of reach.
A rare flicker of frustration crossed Bingo's face as she immediately shifted into hand-to-hand combat, using her mixed martial arts training to counter his assault. She drove her elbow toward his ribs, but Pierce blocked it effortlessly, retaliating with a sharp knee aimed at her abdomen. She twisted to avoid the blow, spinning into a low sweep that aimed to take out his legs. He jumped back just in time, his reflexes razor-sharp.
"Wow.." he taunted, a cocky grin spreading across his face.
Bingo didn't respond—she never did—but her movements grew sharper, more precise. She dodged his next strike by a hair's breadth, countering with a brutal uppercut that connected with his jaw. Pierce stumbled back slightly, shaking his head as a streak of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. But instead of faltering, he laughed—a low, dangerous sound.
"Finally,.. he muttered, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. "Let's make this interesting, yeah? Can't believe I'm having fun.."
He surged forward again, his attacks coming even faster now. His fists and legs moved like weapons, each strike honed with years of practice. A high kick aimed at her head transitioned seamlessly into a spinning back-fist strike when she dodged. He was unrelenting, forcing her to stay on the defensive as his strikes came from every angle.
But Bingo wasn't finished. She adjusted to his rhythm, blocking and parrying as best as she could, waiting for the right moment. When Pierce overextended on a kick aimed at her midsection, she ducked under his leg and closed the distance, delivering a brutal knee to his thigh that caused him to falter. Taking advantage, she drove her elbow into his ribs, the force of the strike making him grunt in pain.
Pierce staggered back, his confident smirk slipping for a moment. His breaths came heavier now, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "You're tougher than I gave you credit for," he admitted, rolling his shoulders as he reset his stance. "C'mon.."
Bingo didn't answer—she never did. Instead, her body shifted, lowering into a fluid, almost unnatural crouch. Her head tilted slightly, her blank, unblinking gaze locked onto him like a predator studying its prey. The way she moved was unnerving—puppet-like, as though her limbs were being guided by invisible strings. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort. She didn't seem tired, despite the intensity of the fight. If anything, her movements seemed to grow sharper, more deliberate, as if she were adapting with every second.
Pierce lunged forward, feinting with a jab before throwing a sharp elbow toward her temple. But Bingo was already moving. She leaned back at an impossible angle, her spine arching unnaturally as the strike grazed just above her. Before Pierce could recover, she snapped back upright and spun on her heel, delivering a whirlwind kick aimed directly at his chest.
The blow connected, the sheer force sending him stumbling back into the desk with a grunt. He winced but recovered quickly, shoving off the desk and retaliating with a sweeping low kick aimed at her legs. Bingo leapt into the air with ease, her body twisting mid-flight as she landed gracefully behind him, silent as a shadow.
Pierce turned quickly, but she was already moving again. Her agility was blinding. She darted around him in unpredictable zig-zag patterns, her body shifting and contorting like a puppet on strings. Every movement was precise, every step calculated to disorient him. Her footwork was unlike anything he'd ever seen, and it was throwing him off-balance.
"Shit.." he muttered under his breath, lashing out with a high kick aimed at her ribs. Bingo ducked, her body dipping so low it was almost inhuman. Before he could follow up, she spun into a sharp elbow strike aimed at his ribs, the speed of her movements making it nearly impossible to counter. He managed to block it with his forearm, but the force still sent him sliding back a step.
"You don't even fight like a person.." Pierce hissed, his breathing heavier now. "You're like some kind of freak—"
Before he could finish, Bingo was on him again. She twisted her body into a sharp cartwheel, her legs scything through the air in a blur. The unexpected maneuver caught Pierce off guard, and her foot slammed into his shoulder, throwing him off balance. He stumbled but managed to recover, gritting his teeth as he launched another flurry of attacks.
His fists and legs moved with precision, aiming for weak points—her head, her ribs, her knees. But Bingo slipped through his strikes with terrifying ease, bending and twisting her body in ways that defied logic. At one point, she leaned backward so far that her head nearly touched the ground, evading a punch that would've knocked her out cold. She used the momentum to flip herself upright again, landing a swift kick to Pierce's side that left him reeling.
Pierce growled, frustration mounting as he threw a desperate spinning back kick aimed at her chest. This time, Bingo caught his leg mid-strike, twisting it with brutal efficiency. Pierce yelped as he was forced to the ground, rolling away just in time to avoid the stomp she aimed at his head.
He scrambled to his feet, breathing hard, blood dripping from his lip where one of her earlier strikes had connected. For the first time, real fear flickered in his eyes. Bingo didn't just move like a fighter—she moved like something out of a nightmare, an unrelenting, unnatural force that couldn't be reasoned with. Her silence, her precision, her puppet-like grace—it all added to the growing realization that he wasn't just fighting a skilled opponent. He was fighting a monster.
Pierce clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand tall despite the ache in his body. "You're… insane," he spat, his voice tinged with both anger and fear. But Bingo didn't react. She simply tilted her head, her dull eyes studying him as though she were deciding the best way to finish him off.
And then she moved again, faster than before, her agility reaching an almost otherworldly level.
Pierce just huffed.. he knew that he was getting outmatched. He knew it was over.
Pierce's breathing was ragged as he staggered back, his arms raised in a defensive stance. His body ached from the relentless barrage of strikes, his confidence all but shattered. Still, he forced a smirk, his pride refusing to let him back down. "You're not normal..," he spat, wiping the blood from his mouth. "You're a goddamn monster.."
Bingo tilted her head again, her empty gaze fixed on him. There was no triumph in her expression, no malice—only that eerie, detached calm that had followed her through the entire fight. She stepped forward, her movements smooth and methodical, like a marionette gliding across the stage. Pierce's eyes darted to her knife, lying just a few feet away, but he knew he wouldn't reach it in time. Not with the way she moved. Not with the way she hunted.
Pierce let out a roar, charging her with all the strength he had left. His fists came flying, one after another, each strike desperate yet precise. He aimed for her face, her ribs, her knees—anywhere that might give him an edge. But Bingo weaved through his attacks effortlessly, her puppet-like agility allowing her to twist and contort out of harm's way.
In a flash, she closed the distance, slipping under one of his punches and driving her knee into his stomach. Pierce let out a gasp, the air leaving his lungs as he staggered backward. Before he could recover, Bingo grabbed his arm, twisting it sharply. A sickening snap echoed through the room as his forearm bent at an unnatural angle. Pierce screamed, the pain searing through his body, but Bingo wasn't done.
With a fluid motion, she stepped behind him, grabbing his other arm. Pierce struggled, but her grip was unyielding, like iron. She yanked his arm upward, and with another horrifying crack, the bone broke. Pierce let out a guttural cry, collapsing to his knees. His arms hung limply at his sides, useless and shattered.
He looked up at her, his vision blurring with tears of pain. "You… you really are a monster," he choked out, his voice trembling. "No soul… no mercy… nothing… I'm… almost jealous.."
Bingo didn't respond. She turned away from him momentarily, her gaze falling on her knife lying nearby. She walked toward it, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the fight had never fazed her. Pierce could only watch, helpless and broken, as she picked up the blade. The blood-stained steel glinted in the dim light, its edge sharp and unforgiving.
Bingo turned back to him, her expression still blank. Pierce chuckled weakly, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and bitter amusement. "You know… I've faced killers before," he rasped. "But you… you're something else entirely. You're not a person, Heeler… you're death."
Bingo stepped closer, her footsteps echoing in the room. She crouched down in front of him, her cold eyes locking onto his. For a brief moment, there was silence—just the sound of Pierce's ragged breathing and the distant drip of blood from the chaos below. Then, with one swift motion, she dragged the blade across his throat.
SLHHHH
Pierce's eyes widened as blood spilled from the wound, his final breath gurgling in his throat. He collapsed onto the floor, his smirk fading into nothingness as the life drained from his body. His last thought was of her face—expressionless, monstrous, and utterly inhuman.
Bingo stood over Pierce's lifeless body, her knife dripping with his blood. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, her breathing calm despite the carnage around her. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her gaze blank, as if trying to feel something—anything—but the void remained.
Her eyes drifted to his desk. Silently, she stepped over the corpses littering the floor and opened one of the drawers. Inside, a cigar rested in pristine condition alongside a lighter. She took both without hesitation, sitting down in the chair he once occupied. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she brought the cigar to her lips, the flame flickering as she lit it. She inhaled deeply, letting the bitter smoke fill her lungs before exhaling in a controlled stream.
It was over.
The mansion was silent now, except for the faint crackling of the cigar and the subtle creaks of the old building settling. Bingo sat there for several minutes, her mind blank. The bodies sprawled throughout the mansion didn't bother her; they were just part of the aftermath. She wasn't numb to it, not exactly, but she was far past the point of reflection. This was her reality. It always had been.
When she finished the cigar, she crushed the end into the ashtray on the desk and rose from the chair. Her movements were heavy, her body aching from the brutal battle she had just endured. Blood—both hers and others'—stained her clothes, clinging to her fur in dried, crimson streaks. Each step sent a dull throb of pain through her muscles, but she didn't falter.
She made her way to the nearest bedroom, her steps echoing in the empty hallway. Pushing the door open, she found a large, opulent room, the kind meant to project wealth and power. It didn't matter to her. All she cared about was the attached bathroom. She stripped off her blood-soaked clothing, the fabric peeling away painfully from her wounds. Her body bore the marks of the night—gashes, bruises, and the sting of countless cuts.
The shower knobs squeaked as she turned them, the water sputtering to life before cascading down in a steady stream. Stepping into the shower, she let the warmth envelop her, the water rinsing away the blood and grime. It stung as it flowed over her open wounds, making her wince, but she stood there silently, allowing the pain to wash over her. The water at her feet swirled red, a stark reminder of the lives she had taken.
She leaned forward, resting her palms against the cool tile wall, her head bowed under the stream. Her shoulders ached, her knees threatened to buckle, and her hands trembled ever so slightly, but she stayed standing. The warmth of the water felt foreign, almost undeserved.
As the water continued to run, she stared at the pink-tinged rivulets running down the drain. There was no escaping it—the blood always clung to her, even when it was gone. She was aware of what she was. She didn't need anyone else to tell her. A monster. A killer.
Her jaw tightened as she straightened up, turning off the water. The silence returned, heavier now, as she stepped out of the shower. Wrapping herself in a towel, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a moment, she hesitated, her reflection staring back at her. The hollow eyes. The faint scars scattered across her face. The weariness etched into every line of her expression.
She turned away. There was no point in looking.
Bingo walked over to the cabinets, her movements slow but deliberate. Pulling them open, she searched until she found a roll of bandage wrap and a bottle of cleaning alcohol. She set them down on the counter, her fingers trembling slightly as she unscrewed the cap of the alcohol. The sharp scent stung her nose, but she didn't flinch.
Pouring the liquid onto a clean rag, she began disinfecting the wounds on her right arm. The alcohol burned as it met the raw, torn flesh, making her jaw tighten and her breath hitch. She could still feel the phantom ache from the torture she had endured, the memory of it etched into her skin. Her hand was steady, though, as she cleaned each gash with meticulous care.
Once satisfied, she unraveled the bandage wrap and carefully began covering her arm. The white material wound around her limb, layer after layer until her arm resembled that of a mummy. When she was finished, she flexed her fingers experimentally. It would do for now.
Exhaling softly, she left the bathroom and crossed into the bedroom. The dresser caught her eye, and she rifled through its contents until she found some loose, oversized clothing. A plain gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It wasn't much, but it was clean, and that was enough. She slipped into the clothes, wincing as the fabric brushed against her injuries, but the discomfort barely registered. She was used to pain.
Once dressed, Bingo made her way downstairs, her steps echoing in the mansion's eerie silence. The living room was littered with bodies, the aftermath of her work. She didn't look at them; there was no point. Instead, she headed straight to the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, she found a large jug of water sitting on the top shelf. Grabbing it, she twisted off the cap and brought it to her lips, tilting it back and drinking greedily. The cool liquid rushed down her throat, soothing the raw dryness that had plagued her since the fight. She drank until she couldn't anymore, the jug nearly empty by the time she set it back down.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she left the kitchen and returned to the living room. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Axel's lifeless body. Walking over to him, she crouched down and began patting him down. Her hands searched his pockets until they closed around a set of car keys. Bingo pulled them free, the metal jingling faintly in her grasp.
Without a word, she straightened and headed for the front door. The mansion's stillness pressed down on her as she stepped outside, the cool night air hitting her skin. The driveway stretched out before her, lined with expensive cars. She clicked the keys, and the sharp beep of a black truck confirmed her choice.
Bingo walked over to the vehicle, her movements deliberate despite the ache in her muscles. Climbing into the driver's seat, she closed the door behind her and inserted the key into the ignition. The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the oppressive silence.
She sat there for a moment, her hands resting on the steering wheel. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching her reflection. She looked rough—her fur disheveled, her face drawn, dark circles under her eyes, and faint streaks of dried blood still visible despite the shower.
"…Time to head home," she murmured, her voice low and raspy.
Shifting the truck into reverse, she backed out of the driveway and onto the road. The mansion faded into the distance as she drove, her mind racing. She had no phone, no wallet, no files—nothing to guide her back to Melbourne. She was lost.
But she'd find her way back. One way or another. She always did.
…
Hours later…
A sleek black sedan pulled into the driveway of the mansion, its engine purring softly before shutting off. The door opened and out stepped a female Shiba Inu. Her long, dark hair flowed down to the middle of her back, swaying slightly with her movements. Dressed in a tailored gray business suit and low black heels, she exuded an air of composed authority.
She ascended the stone steps of the grand estate, her steps deliberate and measured. Upon reaching the massive double doors, she raised a hand and knocked precisely four times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
On the final knock, the door creaked open, its hinges groaning under the weight of the silence inside. Scarlet Fang paused, her sharp brown eyes narrowing as the faint, metallic tang of blood wafted into her nose.
"Blood?" she muttered under her breath. She pushed the door open further and stepped inside, the faint echo of her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Her gaze swept the interior. "Pierce? Axel?" she called, her voice calm yet carrying a sharp edge of command.
The house answered her with silence. Scarlet's nose twitched as the scent grew stronger, heavier, almost suffocating. She ventured further, turning the corner into the living room—and stopped in her tracks. Her expression didn't change, but her sharp eyes took in every detail of the grisly sight before her.
Blood was everywhere—splattered on the walls, streaked across the furniture, pooled on the pristine floors. The room was littered with bodies, sprawled in grotesque positions like broken dolls. Scarlet's gaze moved methodically as she counted.
"Twenty-eight.." she murmured, the number punctuated by a subtle shake of her head. "Those idiots… they underestimated her."
She stepped lightly through the blood-soaked scene, her movements precise and deliberate, as if she didn't want the carnage to touch her. She knelt down beside one of the bodies, her long fingers turning it over. Her gaze met Axel's lifeless eyes, his throat slashed cleanly. The wound was precise, a perfect execution.
Scarlet studied the cut for a moment, tilting her head slightly. "Quick, efficient, clean.." she muttered. "Knives really did a number on you, didn't she?"
She rose smoothly, her sharp gaze drifting across the room once more. The kills were a work of art—brutal, yet precise. Every strike was deliberate, every movement calculated. Scarlet couldn't help but admire the skill it took to dismantle so many enemies without leaving a single trace of hesitation.
"She's not just some reckless killer.." Scarlet mused aloud, her voice almost carrying a note of grudging respect. "She's a wolf… and you tried to cage her."
Shaking her head, she turned on her heel and made her way upstairs, her heels clicking softly on the steps. The air felt heavier as she approached the study, the door left ajar. Scarlet pushed it open and stepped inside.
Pierce lay crumpled on the floor, his arms twisted and broken, his body surrounded by a dark pool of blood. His expression was frozen in shock, his once-commanding presence reduced to nothing more than a lifeless shell. Scarlet stared at him for a moment, her gaze cool and unreadable.
"Idiots. Both of you. Fucking idiots.." she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to stave off a growing headache. She stepped further into the room, her eyes landing on a dull knife left on the desk. Picking it up, she examined the blade, still stained with Pierce's blood.
"The more you try to cage a wolf, the more feral it gets.." Scarlet muttered. "She's not just getting stronger… she's getting smarter. Who trained her?"
Her grip tightened briefly on the knife before she set it back down. Pulling out her phone, she tapped Phantom's number. The line rang once before he answered, his deep voice calm but cold.
"Speak, Scarlet."
"They're dead, Phantom," she said flatly, adjusting her glasses as she surveyed the room again. "Seems the reports were true.. They had Knives, but… of course, they underestimated her. Both Pierce and Axel are gone. And she killed twenty-eight of our own in the process."
There was silence on the other end of the line, followed by a long, measured sigh.
"I see… She really took out four of our own lieutenants. This isn't good, Scarlet. Not good at all. We may need to scatter."
Scarlet nodded as if he could see her. "I've been considering that myself. I'm heading back to Hakodate soon. There's business I need to take care of there, and Knives wouldn't dare follow me onto home turf.. She knows better."
"Good deal." Phantom said after a pause. "I'll speak with Umbra and Atlas. Tell them to make themselves scarce, shift their operations to familiar ground. We'll regain our footing with a home-field advantage."
"Understood." Scarlet replied. "I'll keep you updated." She ended the call and pocketed her phone, glancing back at Pierce's lifeless form.
Walking to the doorway, she paused, her gaze lingering on the bloody chaos Knives had left behind. A faint smirk tugged at her lips—not one of amusement, but of anticipation.
"I'll be waiting for you, Knives.." she muttered, her voice low. "Let's see how far those sharp fangs can take you."
With that, Scarlet descended the stairs, her composure unshaken as she navigated through the mansion's bloodstained remains. The air was thick with the lingering scent of iron, the silence broken only by the faint creak of the old wooden steps under her deliberate stride. Her sharp eyes flicked over the corpses one final time as she reached the front door.
Scarlet paused, glancing back at the chaotic scene. The once-grand mansion, now a mausoleum of Knives' wrath, was eerily still, as if even the walls dared not speak of what had occurred. Scarlet's fingers brushed a strand of her long hair behind her ear as she stepped out into the night, the cool air carrying with it a sense of foreboding.
As she reached her car, the sleek black sedan sat waiting under the dim glow of the mansion's outdoor lights. Scarlet slid into the driver's seat, shutting the door with a quiet click. She adjusted her rearview mirror, her reflection calm but her mind anything but.
She started the engine, its hum breaking the oppressive quiet, and drove down the winding driveway, leaving the scene of destruction behind. As the mansion faded into the distance, Scarlet's expression hardened, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.
"Knives…" she muttered, almost to herself, her tone a mixture of respect and quiet disdain. "You've proven yourself capable, but don't let it go to your head… Every blade dulls eventually."
Her car disappeared into the darkness of the night, the glow of the mansion's lights vanishing behind her like a fading memory. The hunt had begun, and Scarlet knew it would only be a matter of time before her path crossed with Knives' again.
But for now, she allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection, her mind racing with thoughts of strategy and revenge.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the winding roads of the city. In the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore hinted at the unforgiving nature of the world Scarlet thrived in—a world where only the sharpest fangs survived.
And Scarlet Fang had every intention of proving that hers were still the sharpest…
….