Chapter 36

The world was a blur of pain and confusion as Johnny Cage's consciousness flickered back to life. His entire body throbbed with agony, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He groaned, his voice hoarse and weak. Blood matted his hair and smeared across his torn clothes, and every nerve in his body screamed in agony. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, their usual vibrant brown dulled with exhaustion, the world around him spinning and blurry.

Johnny barely registered the sound of heavy breathing above him until he realized he was moving—not of his own accord, but because he was being dragged. His mind scrambled to piece together the fragments of memory: the fight, the helicopter spiraling out of control, the crash. Where was he?

He turned his head slightly, wincing at the sharp pain in his neck. The person dragging him came into view, and his heart sank.

Haroshi.

The man was just as bloodied and broken as Johnny, his once pristine suit torn and stained with dirt and crimson. His face bore cuts and bruises, one eye swollen nearly shut, but the cruel determination in his remaining good eye sent a chill through Johnny.

"You're heavier than I thought," Haroshi muttered, adjusting his grip under Johnny's arms. He noticed Johnny stirring and smirked, his voice dripping with venom. "Finally awake, are we? Good. I was starting to think you'd given up already."

Johnny groaned again, trying to shift his body, but he couldn't muster the strength. Every muscle screamed in protest; his limbs felt like lead, and his ribs burned with every shallow breath. "W-where…" he managed to croak, his voice barely audible. "Kenshi…"

Haroshi didn't stop or even falter. "Shut up," he snapped, his voice low and filled with venom. "You don't get to ask questions."

Johnny winced at the sharp pain in his side, his ribs no doubt shattered from the crash. He tried to move, to wrench himself free from Haroshi's grasp, but his body wouldn't obey. "What… are you…"

Haroshi stopped, bending down to sneer at Johnny's bloodied face. "You're pathetic. You think you've won? That I'd let you and that blind fool destroy everything I built?"

Johnny's vision blurred further, but he could still see the fury burning in Haroshi's eyes. He tried again to move, his muscles straining against their exhaustion. "Kensh... where is he?"

Haroshi chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You're still worried about him? That's adorable. Don't worry—you'll never see him again. In fact, no one will see you again."

Johnny's heart sank at Haroshi's words, and a wave of panic washed over him. His breathing quickened, sharp pain stabbing through his chest with each breath. "What… do you… want?" he forced out.

Haroshi's grip tightened as he resumed dragging Johnny, his steps slow and laborious. "What I want?" he echoed. "I want you to suffer. To feel the kind of helplessness you made me feel. And when I'm done with you, you'll wish you'd died in that crash."

Johnny's head lolled to the side, his vision dimming as unconsciousness began to take hold. He fought to stay awake, to resist the pull of darkness. "You won't… get away with this…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Haroshi scoffed, pausing to adjust his grip on Johnny. "Who's going to stop me? You?" He laughed bitterly. "You can't even move. Face it, Cage—you've lost. Everything."

Johnny's mind was a haze of pain and despair. He thought of Kenshi, of the battle they had just fought, of everything they had endured to get this far. He couldn't let it end like this.

But his strength was gone. His body refused to obey him. The world around him grew darker, his eyelids heavy. Haroshi's voice became a distant echo, his words laced with malice.

"No one will see you again, Cage," Haroshi hissed, his voice the last thing Johnny heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Kenshi's world was an abyss of pain and darkness, his blindfolded eyes seeing nothing, but his spirit flickered as voices began to seep into his consciousness.

"Wake up, Kenshi."

The voices were calm yet insistent, echoing in the depths of his mind. They were the voices of his ancestors, a comforting yet commanding presence that stirred his battered body.

"Wake up, Kenshi Takahashi. Haroshi is escaping."

Kenshi groaned, his body feeling like it had been crushed under the weight of a mountain. His head throbbed, and every muscle screamed in protest as he tried to move. Slowly, painfully, he stirred, pushing against the rubble that pinned him.

"Johnny," he rasped, his voice hoarse and barely audible. He tried to focus through the fog in his mind. "Where is Johnny?"

The voices of his ancestors, usually calm, now carried urgency. "Haroshi has taken him. He is alive, but not for long if you do not act."

Kenshi froze, his breath catching in his throat. The image of Johnny, battered and bloody but defiant, flashed in his mind. The thought of him in Haroshi's grasp reignited a flicker of strength within him. Slowly, he tested his limbs, the pain radiating through his body with every slight movement.

"He… took him?" Kenshi muttered, his voice filled with both dread and anger.

"Yes, and he is slipping further away with each moment you waste. Get up, Kenshi. You must save him."

Kenshi pushed himself to his hands and knees, his arms trembling under the strain. His ribs felt cracked, his legs weak, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. As soon as he stood, his balance wavered, and he collapsed back to the ground, gasping in pain.

The ancestors' voices were relentless. "You cannot fail. You have endured worse. Get up, Kenshi!"

Drawing a shaky breath, Kenshi tried again. This time, he planted his feet firmly beneath him, gritting his teeth as he forced himself upright. His entire body screamed in protest, but he stood, swaying slightly.

"Johnny..." Kenshi whispered, his voice filled with resolve.

Through his heightened senses, Kenshi felt the faintest trace of movement in the air, a subtle disturbance. Then, he noticed it—drops of blood on the ground, leading into the forest that bordered the crash site. A broken twig lay nearby, freshly snapped.

It was a trail.

Kenshi's heart clenched as he realized what it meant. Johnny was alive, but injured—possibly dying. Haroshi wouldn't be merciful, not after everything.

He took a tentative step, his body still trembling. Pain lanced through him, nearly buckling his knees, but he caught himself against a tree.

"Follow the trail, Kenshi. It will lead you to him. Do not falter. Do not stop."

With every step, his ancestors' voices guided him, urging him forward when his body threatened to give out. The trail of blood was faint but steady, leading deeper into the woods. Despite the pain, Kenshi's senses sharpened, and he focused on every sound, scent, and shift in the air.

The forest was eerily silent except for the crunch of leaves beneath his feet and his ragged breathing. Each step was a battle, each movement a test of his resolve.

"You won't… take him… from me," Kenshi growled through gritted teeth. His pace quickened, determination driving him forward.

He stumbled over roots and uneven ground, his balance wavering with every stride, but he refused to fall again. His ancestors' voices grew more vigorous, bolstering his will.

"Do not let your pain stop you. Johnny needs you. Haroshi must pay for what he has done."

The trail led him to a small clearing, where the blood became more sporadic. Kenshi knelt, his fingers brushing the ground. He could feel the faint vibrations of footsteps—heavy, dragging, heading north.

He stood again, gripping Sento tightly. His entire body burned, but the thought of Johnny in Haroshi's clutches was all the fuel he needed.

Kenshi staggered forward, his steps growing stronger despite the pain. Haroshi was ahead, and so was Johnny. He wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He owed Johnny that much—and more.

Kenshi staggered through the dense forest, his senses stretched to their limit. Every faint sound, every vibration in the air, he analyzed carefully as he followed the trail of blood and disturbed foliage. The closer he got, the stronger the energy signature of Haroshi grew. Then, through the blur of pain and exhaustion, Kenshi spotted them.

Haroshi was dragging Johnny Cage's limp form across the uneven ground. Johnny's head lolled to the side, his hair matted with blood, his skin pale from the loss of it. His usually vibrant energy felt dim, flickering like a dying flame. Kenshi's heart clenched at the sight of his husband, so battered and broken, barely clinging to life.

"Haroshi!" Kenshi shouted, his voice raw with anger and desperation.

Haroshi froze mid-step, his back stiffening at the sound. Slowly, he turned his head, a wicked smile spreading across his bloodied face. His grip on Johnny tightened, as if daring Kenshi to make a move.

"Well, well," Haroshi said, his voice laced with mockery. "The blind warrior rises again. You're like a cockroach, Kenshi—impossible to kill."

Kenshi stepped forward, his body trembling with both exhaustion and fury. He pointed Sento at Haroshi, his voice cold and commanding. "Let him go, Haroshi. This ends now."

Haroshi's laugh echoed through the clearing, harsh and grating. "Let him go?" he said, shaking his head as though the idea were absurd. "Oh, Kenshi, you don't understand, do you? You can't end this. You've lost. The Yakuza will never be destroyed."

Kenshi's grip on Sento tightened, his knuckles white against the hilt. "The Yakuza is nothing without you, and I will end you here. Release Johnny, and I may let you die with a shred of dignity."

Haroshi tilted his head back and laughed again, the sound tinged with madness. "Dignity?" he spat, his grin widening. "You think you've won anything? Look at you, barely able to stand. And your precious Johnny…" He gestured to the limp body he was holding. "He's already half-dead. Do you really think you can save him?"

As if on cue, Johnny stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes fluttered open, their usual spark dulled by pain and exhaustion. "Kensh…?" he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Kenshi's breath hitched. "I'm here, Johnny," he said firmly, his focus unwavering on Haroshi. "Stay with me."

Johnny winced, his body jerking slightly as the movement reopened the wound in his abdomen. Blood seeped through his tattered shirt, dripping onto the ground. Kenshi's heart sank at the sight, his anger flaring even brighter.

Johnny's head lolled against Haroshi's arm, and a wet, guttural sound escaped his throat. Then he coughed a deep, ragged cough, spraying blood across Haroshi's sleeve. Haroshi froze momentarily, looking down at the red stain spreading across his arm, then at Johnny's pale, trembling form.

"Well, would you look at that," Haroshi sneered, his voice almost amused. "Still fighting, even now." He turned Johnny slightly, gripping him under the jaw to force his head up. Blood trickled from the corner of Johnny's mouth, and his eyelids fluttered weakly.

Haroshi's grin twisted into something more sinister. "Ah, poor Johnny," he mused, almost mockingly. "Bleeding out, barely able to breathe. It's pathetic, really. And yet, you still came for him. Such loyalty. Such… stupidity."

Haroshi's gaze flicked to the wound at Johnny's temple, the dried blood caking his skin there. He smirked cruelly. "That bullet wound of yours, Johnathan," he said, his voice a low drawl. "It's a miracle you're even alive. People don't survive a shot like that, especially from me. But you continue to impress me, Johnathan."

Johnny didn't respond, his body limp in Haroshi's grasp. His breaths were shallow, each one rattling like it might be his last. Haroshi's smirk widened, and his grip tightened painfully on Johnny's neck and arm.

With a flourish, Haroshi pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming even in the dim light. He pressed it against Johnny's throat, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

Kenshi's body tensed, his muscles coiling like a spring. "Don't," he growled, his voice low and deadly. "Let him go, Haroshi, or I swear I'll make you regret every breath you've ever taken."

Haroshi's grin widened. "You're in no position to make demands, Kenshi," he said, his voice laced with glee. "You've lost. Admit it. Watch as I take everything from you, just like I planned."

Johnny's brown eyes fluttered open again, his gaze unfocused but filled with defiance. "Kenshi… don't… listen to him," he muttered, his voice weak but firm. "He's… nothing."

The words fueled Kenshi's resolve. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, Sento gleaming in his hand. "You want to fight me, Haroshi? Then fight me. Leave him out of this."

Haroshi tilted his head, considering Kenshi's words. Then he smirked, pressing the knife just a little harder against Johnny's throat. "Oh, I'll fight you, Kenshi," he said, his tone dripping with malice. "But not until you've watched him die."

Time seemed to slow as Kenshi saw Haroshi's intent in his eyes. Without hesitation, he surged forward, Sento slicing through the air. Haroshi snarled, dragging Johnny's body in front of him as a shield. Kenshi stopped short, his blade hovering inches from Johnny's face.

"Drop the knife, Haroshi," Kenshi said, his voice low and steady despite the storm raging inside him.

Haroshi sneered, pressing the blade against Johnny's neck again. "Or what?" he taunted. "You'll kill me? Go ahead, Kenshi. Do it. But you'll lose him in the process."

Kenshi's grip on Sento tightened, his mind racing for a way to save Johnny without risking his life. His ancestors' voices echoed in his mind, their guidance clear and unyielding.

"Trust yourself, Kenshi. You have the strength. End this."

Drawing a deep breath, Kenshi steadied himself. He would not let Haroshi win—not now, not ever.