### Chapter 16 – The Blood Pact

  The basement was a pressure cooker of fear and mistrust. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of sweat and paranoia.

  Fifteen men stood in a loose circle, their eyes flicking nervously between each other. Every heartbeat pounded with the same unspoken question: *Who’s next?* Aizawa ran a hand through his graying hair, exhaling sharply, his calm facade cracking under the weight of the situation.

  “This is bullshit,” hiroshi growled, his fingers gripping the edge of a rusted metal table so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We’re not gonna sit here and wait to die like rats.”

  Ryuji, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his forearm, stood beside Aizawa, his arms crossed tightly. “Then what do you suggest, genius?” His voice was sharp, laced with frustration.

  Before Hiroshi could snap back, Aizawa’s phone buzzed on the table, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. Every man froze, their eyes locking onto the glowing screen. Aizawa picked it up, his jaw tightening as he read the new message aloud:

  “KILL THE SECURITY. FOR EVERY ONE YOU KILL, TWO OF YOU WILL BE SPARED.”

  Sho, a wiry man with nervous eyes, leaned over Aizawa’s shoulder to read the message. He let out a shaky chuckle, his voice trembling. “So that’s the game now? We do the killing, and some of us get to live? That’s messed up.”

  Hiroshi scoffed, yanking a pistol from his waistband. “Fine by me. Those fuckers were never on our side anyway.” His eyes gleamed with a reckless energy, like he was itching for a fight.

  Aizawa hesitated, his hand hovering over his own gun. This wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was manipulation, a sick game designed to twist their minds and turn them into pawns.

  He gathered the guns from the basement.

  His grip tightened on the gun, the cold metal grounding him. “Alright, listen up!” he barked, his voice commanding the room. “If we’re doing this, we do it together. No one goes rogue.”

  The room erupted into chaotic motion. Guns were loaded with sharp clicks, knives were tucked into belts, and the fifteen men prepared for war.

  Their movements were fueled by desperation, each one knowing that hesitation could mean death. The air buzzed with adrenaline as they steeled themselves for what was coming.

  ---

  ### 1:50 PM – The First Shot

  Aizawa led his group through the dim corridors of the hideout, their footsteps muffled but purposeful. The men’s adrenaline was through the roof, their breaths shallow and quick. Hiroshi, at the front, moved like a predator, his pistol gleaming in the faint light. As they reached the exit, he crouched low, peering out at the guards. “On my mark…” he whispered, his voice steady despite the chaos in his eyes.

  He raised his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  *BANG!*

  The sound shattered the calm. A security guard dropped instantly, a red stain blooming across his chest as blood splattered onto the pavement. His cigarette rolled away, still burning.

  “SHIT!” one of the other guards yelled, scrambling to unholster his weapon. The security team snapped into action, but they were too slow. Aizawa’s men rushed out like a pack of wild dogs, their desperation making them fearless.

  The courtyard exploded into chaos. Gunfire echoed off the concrete walls, a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. Bullets whizzed through the air, kicking up dust and shattering glass.

  ---

  ### 1:55 PM – The Battle

  The security team was trained, but they weren’t prepared for an ambush like this. Aizawa’s men fought with the ferocity of cornered animals, their survival on the line. Every shot, every swing, was fueled by the knowledge that this was their only chance.

  Ryuji charged forward, his massive frame barreling into a guard. He tackled the man to the ground, slamming his skull against the concrete with a sickening crack. Before the guard could recover, Ryuji fired two shots into his chest, the sound muffled by the chaos around them. Blood pooled beneath the body, dark and glistening.

  Hiroshi was in his element, a wild grin splitting his face as he fired at another guard. His bullet clipped the man’s leg, sending him sprawling with a scream. Kenta stalked over, his boots heavy on the pavement.

  The guard tried to crawl away, clutching his bleeding leg, but Hiroshi didn’t hesitate. He stomped down on the man’s throat, the crunch of cartilage echoing in the air. The guard’s screams cut off, his body going limp.

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  Sho, meanwhile, was no fighter. He hid behind a stack of crates, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. His hands shook as he clutched his gun, his breaths coming in short gasps.

  He wasn’t cut out for this, but when he saw a security officer aiming at Ryuji’s back, something snapped inside him. On instinct, he raised his gun, his trembling finger pulling the trigger.

  *BANG!*

  The guard collapsed, a clean shot through his chest. Sho stared, wide-eyed, his hands still shaking. “Holy fuck… I did it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the gunfire. He felt sick, the weight of what he’d done crashing over him.

  Daichi, a younger man with wild eyes, was panicking. He fired his gun wildly, bullets spraying everywhere but hitting nothing. “Shit! SHIT! I can’t—” he screamed, his voice cracking.

  Before he could finish, a bullet tore through his throat. He stumbled, clutching at the wound as blood poured between his fingers. He fell to his knees, gasping, choking, before collapsing face-first into the dirt.

  The fight was brutal, a whirlwind of blood and violence that lasted five agonizing minutes. When it was over, the courtyard was silent, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

  Bodies littered the ground, security guards and criminals alike. Blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement, pooling around the bodies like dark mirrors.

  The last security guard was still alive, crawling away, coughing up blood with every movement. Aizawa approached him slowly, his boots crunching on the gravel. The guard looked up, his eyes wide with fear, one hand reaching out as if begging for mercy.

  “No witnesses,” Aizawa muttered, his voice cold. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

  *BANG!*

  The guard’s body jerked once, then went still.

  ---

  ### 1:57 PM – Aftermath

  The courtyard was a graveyard, the silence deafening after the chaos. The surviving criminals stood among the corpses, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. Blood stained their clothes, their hands, their faces. Fifteen men had entered the fight. Only ten remained.

  Hiroshi wiped the blood from his cheek, laughing breathlessly, the sound jagged and unhinged. “Fucking hell… That was insane.” His grin was wide, but his eyes were wild, the adrenaline still pumping through him.

  Sho collapsed to his knees, staring at his blood-smeared hands. “I… I killed someone,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He looked like he might vomit, his whole body shaking as the reality sank in.

  Ryuji rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he surveyed the carnage. “The security’s dead. That means some of us are safe, right?” His voice was hopeful, but there was an edge of doubt.

  Aizawa’s phone buzzed again, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. He pulled it out, his hands steady despite the blood coating them. The message was short, chilling: “WELL DONE. TEN REMAIN.”

  He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Whoever was controlling this—mastermind, the faceless puppet master—was watching. Enjoying this. Every move, every death, was part of their twisted game. And it wasn’t over yet.

  The men stood in silence, the weight of their actions pressing down on them. They’d done what was asked, but at what cost? Five of their own were dead, their bodies scattered among the guards. The promise of survival felt hollow, a cruel trick.

  The message to kill the security team changed everything. It wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about betrayal, about turning them into monsters. Kenta’s eagerness to kill worried Aizawa. The man was unhinged, too quick to embrace the violence.

  Sho’s nervous laughter and Ryuji’s grim determination showed they were all breaking in different ways. Aizawa knew he had to keep them together, but it was like herding wolves.

  The battle itself was a blur of blood and chaos. The security team never stood a chance. Aizawa’s men fought like they had nothing to lose, their desperation making them ruthless.

  Ryuji’s brutal efficiency, Hiroshi s savage glee, Sho’s reluctant shot—each man revealed something about himself in those five minutes. Daichi’s death was a gut punch, a reminder that even the fighters weren’t safe. The courtyard became a slaughterhouse, the ground slick with blood.

  ---

  ### 2:00 PM – Rei’s Throne

  Across the street, in the abandoned building opposite the hideout, Rei Tsukumo stood in his makeshift command center. The room was a ruin—cracked walls, shattered windows, and a floor littered with debris—but to Rei, it was a throne room. Dust floated lazily through slanted beams of sunlight, the stale air heavy with silence. At the center of it all was Rei, standing tall, his eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding across the street.

  In his mind, the game was reaching its climax. *“Now… only one test remains,”* he thought, his gaze sharpening. His heartbeat stayed steady, no adrenaline, just cold anticipation. *“This ability… is insane. Unreal.”* He marveled at his power, the ability to kill with words alone. *“Words, spoken or written. Once they’re read… it’s over.”*

  Rei stepped toward a broken window, peeking through the splintered boards. Across the street, the hideout was a hive of panic and disorder.

  Aizawa’s men were still reeling from the battle, their faces pale, their hands stained with blood. Rei’s lips curved into a faint smile. They were breaking, just as he’d planned.

  *“For a person… it must have some serious consequences,”* he mused, his smile fading. *“This ability shouldn’t even exist. Not in this world.”* His expression hardened, a flicker of caution crossing his mind. *“I should use this only when absolutely necessary. A death scenario. If I’m on the verge of losing.”*

  He pressed a hand against the rough, cracked wall, his fingers tracing its jagged surface. *“But these men… these criminals… They are perfect test subjects.”* His thoughts were cold, clinical. *“I’ve already killed many.”* There was no guilt, no hesitation. *“It doesn’t matter. They deserved it.”*

  Rei walked to his desk—a slab of concrete covered with wires and gadgets.

  His phone lay there, its screen dark but pulsing with potential. He sat down, leaning back in his throne, his mind racing. *“This is perfect,”* he thought. *“This final test will allow me to measure the true power of this ability.”*

  He tapped a finger against his knee, a soft hum escaping his lips. *“I will push myself—predict their reactions, test their psychology, trigger their emotions. This is more than a game. It’s data collection.”* His objectives were clear:

  - *Predict emotional triggers.*

  - *Understand psychological thresholds.*

  - *Increase mental precision under pressure.*

  -* Ensure justice remains in this world .*

  - *To Release the girls from the torment of the criminals *

  *“Yes. This is an opportunity to grow stronger,”* he thought, his eyes narrowing. But a flicker of doubt crept in. *“Have I made any mistakes so far?”*

  He closed his eyes, his mind like a machine, rewinding every move, every message, every death. The unconscious guard, the phone messages, the executions—no traces, no fingerprints, no spoken words. Only written commands, untraceable, unprovable. *“None,”* he concluded. *“Good.”*

  Rei opened his eyes, a cold gleam flickering in them. He stood, the air around him seeming to tighten, as if the room itself sensed what was coming. *“Now… for the last test,”* he thought, a smirk forming on his lips.

  A pause. Then, a dark, chilling laugh broke the silence, echoing off the hollow walls. “Hahahahahahah…” The sound was low, menacing, a predator savoring the hunt.

  In the distance, another scream echoed faintly from the hideout. Rei’s smirk widened. *Perfect.*

  ---

  Afterward, the survivors were shells of themselves. Kenta’s manic laughter grated on Aizawa’s nerves, a sign the man was losing it. Sho’s breakdown was quieter but no less troubling—he wasn’t built for this. Ryuji’s attempt at optimism felt forced, a desperate grasp for hope. Aizawa’s own calm was a mask, hiding the storm inside him. The message—“TEN REMAIN”—was a taunt, proof that mastermind ( rei ) was watching, savoring their pain.