Shards of Memory [English - Under Revision]

Chapter 13: Fight

Third Person's

The boys exchanged a look, then sprinted toward the gate. Rusted chains wrapped it tight. Seth raised his pistol, fired point-blank, and the lock snapped apart with a metallic crack. Jrish slipped his head in first, scanning.

"It's clear," he whispered.

They eased the gate open, hinges screaming with rust. Blaise led them forward, the others fanning out behind him. The staircase inside groaned under their boots, wood sagging like bones ready to break. White pressed his ear to the door at the landing, straining for sound.

"Nothing," he said.

Blaise motioned. The door creaked open. The stench hit them first—mold, piss, old blood. Shadows clung to the corners. Trash littered the floor. Their eyes tracked up to a staircase winding toward the attic.

But before they could climb, a crash split the silence. A side door burst open and more than twenty men spilled into the hall. Blades flashed. A steel pipe clanged against the wall. Their faces twisted from shock to bloodlust.

Sacha smirked, twirling his chain around his hand. "I know we're handsome, but don't stare too long. We don't swing your way."

"Cocky little sh*ts!" one thug spat, charging.

The house erupted into violence.

Seth

A chair hurtled at Seth. He ducked, rolled, and whipped his chain low. It coiled around a man's ankle. Seth yanked hard. The guy's skull cracked against the concrete floor. Before the thug could rise, Seth looped the chain around his throat, tightening until the fight drained from his body. Seth stood, chain dripping with dust and spit. He scanned the others.

"Who's next? Don't be shy. I've got time."

Two rushed him—one with a knife. Seth grinned like he was at a carnival.

Brent

Across the hall, Brent squared off with a broad-shouldered man who leered. "Hey beautiful, why fight? We could have some fun instead."

The smirk froze when Brent's boot buried into his gut, folding him.

"You think I'm a girl?!" Brent's bat slammed into his temple. The man collapsed, nose shattered flat. Brent spat on the floor. "Even if I was, I'd never waste time on trash like you."

Another came from behind with a plank of wood. Brent ducked and swung his bat into his spine. The crack echoed. The thug crumpled, coughing blood.

Chase

Chase wiped blood from his lip, glaring at the man who had just clipped his jaw.

"This isn't for babies like you," the thug sneered.

Chase's eyes went flat. He lashed his chain around the man's leg and swung him hard into the wall. Plaster cracked, dust raining down. Two more hesitated, staring. Chase growled, looped his chain tighter around the first man's throat, and yanked until his body went limp. He dropped him like trash, then kicked the second thug square in the face.

"You wanna play dragon?" Chase hissed. "I'll show you fire."

Tim

"Tim! Behind you!" Sacha shouted.

Tim spun just in time, blocking a pipe swing with his forearm. Pain lanced, but he ignored it. He hooked the guy's knee, dropping him, then rammed his own knee into the man's nose. Blood gushed instantly.

He flashed Sacha a thumbs-up. Sacha only smirked and cracked another skull with his chain.

Sacha

One thug tried to follow Blaise's group up the stairs. Sacha intercepted, dodging wild swings until he had his angle. His boot shot forward, straight into the man's groin. The thug howled, knees buckling.

"Sterile for life," Sacha muttered, slamming his chain across the guy's back and leaving him twitching.

He glanced around. At least twenty still breathing. He grinned. "Twenty against five? Sounds fair enough." Then he waded back into the chaos.

Dalyn

Dalyn traded blows with two men at once. A fist clipped his jaw, rattling teeth, but he snarled and drove his spiked gloves upward—uppercut, gut punch, cross to the cheek. Metal tore skin, blood spraying.

His knuckles burned, but he didn't stop. One man sagged to the floor unconscious. The other wavered, then bolted. Dalyn let him run. He had only one thought: Skylane. If I fail again, I'll never forgive myself.

Kingsley

Kingsley danced on his feet, dodging jabs. He let his opponents tire themselves out. Sweat poured down their brows.

Now.

He swung his steel pipe low, smashing one thug's shins. The man crumpled with a scream. Kingsley kicked him in the jaw, sending teeth flying. Another came in sloppy, exhausted. Kingsley slammed a roundhouse into his ribs, then leveled his pipe across his face. Blood spattered the wall.

The third rushed him. Kingsley dropped his pipe, kicked it up, and the steel bar smashed straight into the guy's mouth. Silence followed.

Jrish

Near the stairs, Jrish fought three at once. A knife grazed his shoulder, hot blood seeping, but he ignored it. When one lunged, Jrish crouched low. The man toppled down the stairs, head bouncing with sick thuds.

Another came wild. Jrish slipped every swing, patient as a predator. "My turn," he murmured, then cracked his bat into the man's skull. Once. Twice. He went down twitching.

The last brandished a knife. Jrish kicked it from his hand, twisted his arm behind him, and brought the bat down hard. "Rest in peace. Amen."

White

White, the smallest, dodged around bigger men with brutal speed. He darted in, ribs, throat, groin—his fists snapping like pistons.

Then a giant blocked his path. "What now, shorty? Scared?"

White smirked, backing into a side corridor. His wrist brushed a steel door handle. He had an idea.

"Scared? You couldn't scare a fly."

The big man charged. At the last second, White yanked the door open. Momentum carried the giant straight into the wall behind it with bone-cracking force. Blood painted the plaster.

White shook his head. "Idiot." Then he darted back into the melee.

Harice

Harice swung his bat like it was a dance prop, spinning, striking. He dropped men one after another until a chair splintered across his back. He roared in pain, whirling to see the smirking bastard who'd hit him.

Harice leapt, both boots slamming into the man's chest, sending him sprawling. He scooped his bat from the floor and cracked it across his jaw for good measure.

"Keep the rhythm," he muttered, already moving for the next fight.

Brent, Seth, Chase, Tim, Sacha, Dalyn, Kingsley, Jrish, White, Harice

The eleven fought like wolves in a slaughterhouse. Pipes, chains, bats, fists—it was chaos, brutal and dirty. Skin split. Walls cracked. Bodies hit the ground and didn't rise.

They were outnumbered, bruised, bleeding, but they pushed forward, step by step, holding the line so Blaise and Ryder could climb without interruption.

Blaise & Ryder

At the base of the attic stairs, White leaned close. "End of the hall, last door. Skylane's up there. You two go. We'll cover you."

Blaise and Ryder nodded. Together, they slipped past the brawl, boots pounding the steps. Every second mattered.

As the others kept the tide at bay with blood and steel, Blaise's fists clenched. Please, Skylane. Hold on. I'm here.