Chapter 76: Kurushimi Brothers vs Jason, the Venomous Hybrid

  The air hung heavy with a sense of foreboding as the Kurushimi brothers stepped onto the battlefield once again. Their opponent this time was Jason, a nightmarish amalgamation of cyborg engineering, serpent-like agility, and demonic blood. His elongated limbs moved with a reptilian grace, his cybernetic augmentations gleaming under the pale moonlight. Fangs dripped with a toxic substance so potent it could corrode steel, and his eyes glowed with a hellish red hue. Jason was a monster in every sense of the word—a hybrid of human, machine, and demon, wielding powers that twisted the very essence of nature.

  Jason hissed, his voice low and venomous. “You Kurushimi brothers think you’re unstoppable. Let me show you what true power looks like.”

  The Battle Begins: A Brutal Confrontation

  The battlefield had long been set—a desolate arena of scorched earth and shattered stone, where the air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the bitter scent of death. Dark clouds churned overhead as if mirroring the turmoil below. In the distance, the silhouettes of ruined buildings bore silent witness to past carnage, and the ground trembled underfoot with the echoes of previous wars. Today, that same earth would bear the mark of a new, savage confrontation.

  Before the brothers could even exchange wary glances, Jason—a hybrid of man and demon, his very presence a twisted fusion of technology and infernal power—struck first. With a speed that blurred the boundaries of human perception, he lunged forward like a predator from the abyss. His cybernetic arm whirred with mechanical precision as a salvo of toxic needles burst forth, streaking through the air like venomous shards of glass aimed directly at the Kurushimi brothers.

  Martin Kurushimi, the stoic and unyielding leader, was the first to react. Time seemed to slow as he melted into shadows, teleporting away in a burst of inky darkness. In his place, the toxic needles found only scorched earth, hissing upon impact and leaving behind smoldering scars on the barren ground. In the very next heartbeat, Martin reappeared behind Jason—a ghostly figure with eyes burning with lethal purpose. With a single, thunderous swing of his fist, imbued with the raw power of his Shadow Blessing, Martin unleashed a blow that carried the force of a collapsing star. The impact was so devastating that Jason’s body was thrown violently across the scarred landscape.

  But Jason was not so easily undone. His serpentine form coiled mid-air—a grotesque, sinuous body of muscle and demonic sinew that absorbed the shock with a sickening, elastic resilience. As he landed gracefully despite the force, his long, prehensile tail whipped out like a deadly scythe. With a flourish of brutality, the tail sliced through the air, its blade-like tip dripping with venom potent enough to dissolve flesh and bone. In that split second, Krishna Kurushimi surged forward like a wild beast unleashed, intercepting the slashing tail with bare, calloused hands.

  The venom, a caustic mixture of alchemical toxins and infernal ichor, sizzled and frothed as it met Krishna’s enhanced skin. Pain lanced through him, but his eyes burned with feral determination. With an ear-splitting roar, Krishna twisted the tail violently—an act so brutal it snapped the limb like brittle wood, sending shards of demonic sinew and metal flying into the air.

  Jason’s roar of pain was raw and unearthly, echoing across the ruined landscape. Yet, as if drawing strength from his own suffering, the hybrid’s demonic blood surged through his body, rapidly regenerating the shattered limb. His glowing eyes narrowed in fury. In a moment that defied natural law, Jason opened his mouth wide and expelled a massive cloud of toxic gas—a swirling, emerald miasma that sought to choke and suffocate his foes.

  The toxic cloud was an insidious force that advanced like a living nightmare. It clung to the air, an almost tangible force that distorted vision and sent a chill of dread down the spines of even the hardiest warriors. The Kurushimi brothers, seasoned in the arts of death and survival, did not falter. In unison, they scattered into the shadows, teleporting away with blurring movements that left only the echo of their departure. Their strategic retreat was not out of fear but a calculated repositioning—each brother seeking an advantageous angle against an adversary whose regenerative powers, though formidable, were not infinite.

  High above the chaos, perched upon a shattered wall, Temna Kurushimi observed every movement with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. His mind worked like a finely tuned machine, analyzing the flow of the battle and noting every weakness in Jason’s relentless assault. He recognized that the hybrid’s demonic blood, while granting him near-miraculous regeneration, demanded an unending supply of energy. The more damage Jason suffered, the more sluggish and vulnerable his recovery would become.

  “Focus on wearing him down!” Temna’s voice rang out, cold and commanding, slicing through the cacophony of battle. “His regeneration isn’t infinite! Hit him harder and faster!”

  At his words, Takashi Kurushimi—ever the wild card—smirked with a devil-may-care grin. His cocky demeanor belied a razor-sharp focus that was honed over years of relentless combat. “Roger that. Let’s see how much this snake can take,” he taunted, a challenge whispered to the very wind.

  In a daring move, Takashi teleported directly in front of Jason, his body a mere blur of lethal intent. With a feint that mimicked a punch, he baited the hybrid, drawing his attention momentarily away from his brothers. Jason’s demonic instincts flared, and he lashed out with a venom-coated blade—a deadly extension from his cybernetic arm that glinted with malevolent intent. But Takashi was too swift; with a fluid, almost mocking dodge, he evaded the strike and countered with a brutal kick aimed squarely at Jason’s midsection.

  The force of Takashi’s attack was cataclysmic. It collided with Jason’s flesh and metal in a sickening explosion of impact, staggering the hybrid momentarily. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, Martin reappeared—a shadow incarnate—and pounded Jason with a series of devastating, relentless blows. Each strike, powered by the mystic energies of the Shadow Blessing, cracked through Jason’s cybernetic armor like a hammer against brittle stone, leaving gaping wounds and exposing vulnerable circuits beneath.

  Krishna, unyielding in his ferocity, joined the onslaught. His chaotic, unpredictable fighting style was a whirlwind of brutality that overwhelmed Jason’s defenses. Every punch, every kick, disrupted the hybrid’s regenerative flow, forcing his demonic blood to work overtime to mend shattered flesh and ruptured metal. With each successive blow, it became clear that Jason’s regeneration, while impressive, had limits—and the Kurushimi brothers were determined to push him past them.

  Yet, the battle was far from one-sided. With a guttural, otherworldly roar that reverberated off the ruined walls, Jason drew upon the depths of his demonic heritage. He slammed both hands into the ground with savage force, the impact sending tremors through the earth. In response, a wave of poison-infused spikes erupted violently from the fractured soil. These spikes, razor-sharp and glistening with a deadly toxin, shot out in every direction like the vengeful fingers of a monstrous god.

  The sudden eruption forced the brothers into a frantic scramble for survival. Teleporting and dodging became a matter of instinct. Yet not all were able to escape unscathed—one jagged spike grazed Temna’s shoulder, sinking venom deep into his bloodstream. A burst of pain surged through him, but he clenched his jaw, determined not to let the injury slow him down. Ignoring the searing agony, he quickly recalibrated his tactics, drawing a throwing knife from his arsenal. The blade, shimmering with an ominous glow as it was infused with shadow energy, became an instrument of ruthless precision in his hand.

  With a single, fluid motion, Temna hurled the knife at Jason. Time seemed to slow as the blade arced through the air—a streak of impending doom aimed at the hybrid’s exposed cybernetic core. It found its mark with brutal accuracy, embedding itself deep within Jason’s chest. Sparks erupted from the wound as the shadow energy radiating from the knife disrupted Jason’s internal systems, sending a cascade of erratic signals through his network of circuits and demonic tissues. For the first time, the relentless regeneration faltered—a crack in the armor of an otherwise invincible adversary.

  Jason’s glowing eyes widened in shock and pain as the damage took hold. The hybrid let out a ferocious howl—a sound that mingled agony and fury, echoing like the wails of a tormented soul. His movements grew erratic, a dance of desperation as he tried to muster the energy to continue the fight. Yet, the relentless barrage from the Kurushimi brothers showed no mercy. Every strike, every blow, compounded the damage and sapped the energy that fueled his regenerative process.

  The conflict escalated into a whirlwind of brutality and chaos. The battlefield transformed into a swirling maelstrom of shadow and toxic light, where every collision of fists and blades sent shockwaves through the very fabric of existence. Martin and Krishna became a synchronized force of destruction—a one-two punch of shadow-infused power that hammered Jason relentlessly. Martin’s strikes, each delivered with the precision of a master tactician, sent ripples of dark energy cascading from his fists. Every impact resonated with the weight of countless battles fought in the void between life and death.

  Krishna’s contributions were no less savage. His fists and feet became instruments of chaos, each blow landing with a sickening thud against Jason’s armor, each kick sending splinters of cybernetic debris flying like cursed shrapnel. Jason, once a proud hybrid of infernal might, now found himself on the defensive, his movements hampered by the compounded effects of the relentless assault.

  Meanwhile, Takashi’s acrobatic maneuvers added a dynamic element of unpredictability to the fray. Teleporting with inhuman speed, he shifted seamlessly from one vantage point to another, delivering rapid strikes to Jason’s vulnerable joints and pressure points. His eyes sparkled with a manic glee as he exploited every opening, his attacks calculated to disable and debilitate. His blows weren’t just physical—they were psychological, each taunt and challenge eroding the hybrid’s will to fight.

  As the battle raged on, the very ground beneath them became a canvas of carnage. Puddles of toxic blood and oil mingled with dark, shadowy residues left by Martin’s teleportation. The clashing of metal and flesh produced a symphony of destruction—a guttural chorus of roars, shouts, and the occasional, agonized scream. The air was thick with the tang of burnt circuitry and the acrid stench of demonic venom.

  Even as Jason’s regeneration fought valiantly to mend his wounds, the brutal onslaught inflicted cumulative damage that his infernal blood struggled to repair. His cybernetic arm, already battered and scarred by the relentless strikes, began to malfunction intermittently, its toxic fluid seeping through fractures like dark, cursed ichor. Each burst of light and shadow that erupted from Martin’s fists further destabilized Jason’s core, fracturing the delicate balance of energy that fueled his demonic abilities.

  In a moment of desperate counterattack, Jason roared—a sound that split the air like a whip. Summoning the residual energies of his corrupted power, he slammed both hands into the earth once more. The ground trembled as before, and a second wave of poison-tipped spikes erupted with terrifying speed. This time, however, the assault was even more ferocious—each spike honed to a razor’s edge, each burst of venom more potent than the last. The air shimmered with the speed of the projectiles as they surged outward, forcing the Kurushimi brothers into a frenetic dance of teleportation and evasion.

  Yet even as the spikes impaled the earth around them, the brothers refused to relent. Martin’s voice, low and menacing, boomed through the tumult, “No retreat! We are the darkness that devours the light!” His words, laced with the cold conviction of a man who has seen the depths of despair and emerged victorious, rallied his brothers to redouble their efforts.

  Krishna, eyes ablaze with fury, charged headlong into the path of a barrage of spikes, his body moving with a grace that belied the savage impact of each near-miss. His skin bore the marks of each grazing strike—a patchwork of scars that testified to battles long fought. Each scar, each bruise, only fueled his determination. With a roar that mingled pain and ferocity, he spun and slashed at the encroaching spikes, his fists and feet a blur of lethal precision.

  Takashi, ever the opportunist, appeared behind Jason as if emerging from the very shadows that Martin controlled. With lightning speed, he delivered a series of calculated strikes to the hybrid’s exposed joints. The brutal impacts caused Jason’s cybernetic limbs to splinter and buckle, each blow resonating like the crack of a whip. The sound of snapping metal echoed through the battlefield—a grim reminder that even the mightiest can fall when pounded by unyielding force.

  Temna, though injured, continued to contribute with surgical precision. His rifle, a sleek instrument of death, fired shot after shot with unerring accuracy. Each bullet found its target—piercing through exposed panels, shattering internal circuits, and further destabilizing the fragile equilibrium of Jason’s regenerative power. His eyes, cold and calculating, never wavered as he delivered volley after volley, each shot a testament to his mastery over chaos.

  As the combat wore on, the battle reached a fever pitch. The sky above darkened further, as if mourning the carnage unfolding below. Jason’s once formidable presence was now reduced to a tormented husk of anger and pain—a creature fighting a losing battle against an unyielding tide of brutal force. His eyes, once burning with unholy light, now flickered with the dim glow of a dying ember. His demonic blood, the source of his unholy regeneration, had been pushed to its limits by the unrelenting barrage of the Kurushimi onslaught.

  In a final, desperate gambit, Jason gathered the remnants of his shattered strength. With a guttural cry that resonated with the anguish of a thousand souls, he thrust his arms forward, summoning a devastating burst of energy from deep within his corrupted core. This last-ditch assault was a maelstrom of toxic energy, a swirling vortex of venom and demonic fury that erupted outward in all directions. The force of the explosion was cataclysmic, a wave of raw power that threatened to obliterate everything in its path.

  For a moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath. The battlefield was engulfed in a blinding, sickly green light, and for a heartbeat, it appeared as if the very fabric of reality might tear asunder. The Kurushimi brothers, standing united amidst the chaos, braced themselves against the onslaught. Their Shadow Blessings flared to life, shrouding them in an aura of darkness that deflected much of the lethal energy. Yet even these formidable protections were tested to their limits by the sheer magnitude of Jason’s final attack.

  Martin’s fists pounded forward with renewed determination, his strikes now a blur of dark, unstoppable force. Each punch was delivered with the certainty of fate—an inevitability that no amount of regeneration or demonic power could counter. Krishna’s savage blows continued to rain down, each hit disrupting Jason’s attempt to harness his remaining energy. Takashi moved like a wraith, his teleportation a mere flicker of light as he delivered punishing kicks and brutal jabs to every exposed weak point. And Temna, his rifle still blazing, focused every ounce of his will on the one vulnerable spot Jason could not regenerate fast enough: the cybernetic core now exposed and weakened by his previous injuries.

  In that climactic moment, with the toxic explosion raging around him, Jason’s demonic defiance crumbled. The combined fury of the Kurushimi brothers became an unstoppable force, a relentless tide of shadow and violence that overwhelmed him. One by one, blow after brutal blow shattered his remaining defenses. Sparks flew as metal met metal, flesh was rent asunder, and the unholy blood that once pulsed with dark vitality now turned to a viscous, blackened ooze—symbolic of a power finally broken.

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  With a final, earth-shattering collision, Takashi’s strike found its mark—piercing through the hybrid’s cybernetic core with devastating precision. The impact was cataclysmic. Jason let out a final, ear-splitting roar—a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that echoed across the battlefield, mingling with the anguished cries of the dying earth beneath their feet.

  As the toxic energy subsided and the dust began to settle, silence descended over the battlefield—a heavy, oppressive silence punctuated only by the ragged breaths of the Kurushimi brothers. There, amid a landscape transformed into a grotesque tableau of shattered metal and spilled demonic blood, lay Jason—a once-mighty hybrid now reduced to a twisted, lifeless heap. His cybernetic limbs were shattered beyond repair, his demonic blood congealed into dark puddles that seeped into the scorched earth. The remnants of his power smoldered weakly, a dying glow in the face of overwhelming annihilation.

  The Kurushimi brothers stood amidst the ruin, their forms etched in darkness and victory. Their faces bore the marks of battle—scars, bruises, and the haunted glint of those who have stared into the abyss and emerged victorious. Yet in their eyes burned a fierce, unyielding determination—a promise that no enemy, however monstrous or formidable, could ever break their spirit.

  Martin surveyed the carnage with a steely gaze, the shadows around him whispering the tales of countless battles fought and won. Krishna’s gaze was fixed on the ruined form of Jason, his mind already calculating the toll of every strike and every sacrifice made in the heat of combat. Takashi’s grin, though battered by the realities of war, held a spark of mischief—an acknowledgment that the thrill of the fight was as intoxicating as the victory itself. And Temna, ever the strategist, catalogued every detail, every moment of weakness exploited, ensuring that the lessons learned in this brutal encounter would be etched into the annals of their legacy.

  In the waning light of the dying day, as the shadows lengthened and the echoes of battle faded into the night, the Kurushimi brothers gathered around their fallen adversary. The air was heavy with the stench of burnt metal, spilled venom, and the lingering bitterness of sacrifice. They had emerged victorious—not through brute force alone, but through a combination of strategy, unyielding brutality, and an indomitable will to prevail.

  In the midst of the devastation, Martin spoke in a voice that was both cold and resolute, “Let this be a lesson to all who dare challenge our might. We are not mere assassins—we are the harbingers of death, the executors of a brutal justice that leaves no room for mercy.”

  Krishna’s fists, still stained with the remnants of toxic blood and shadow energy, tightened as he added, “Today, we showed that even the most fearsome adversaries, with their regenerative powers and demonic might, can be shattered by the sheer force of our resolve. Every scar, every broken bone, is a testament to our unyielding strength.”

  Takashi, always the irreverent soul in the midst of darkness, chuckled lowly, “That snake thought he was untouchable. Guess we proved that even demons have their limits.” His voice, though laced with dark humor, carried the weight of a warrior who had stared death in the face and emerged victorious.

  Temna’s eyes, cold and calculating, met those of his brothers as he whispered, “The battle is won today, but the war is far from over. Every enemy we face, every challenge that rises from the shadows, will be met with the same brutal force. We will carve our legacy into the flesh of this world, and none shall stand in our way.”

  As night fully descended, the remnants of the battle became mere silhouettes in the darkness—a grim reminder of the brutal encounter that had taken place. The battlefield, now eerily quiet, bore the marks of savage violence: scorched earth, broken metal, and pools of toxic ichor that reflected the dim light of the moon like dark, unholy mirrors. The Kurushimi brothers, having fulfilled their duty as SAAHO’s most formidable enforcers, vanished into the night, their forms merging with the shadows as they prepared for the next inevitable confrontation.

  Their brutal victory over Jason was more than just a display of physical might—it was a statement to the world of criminals and demonic adversaries alike. In a realm where SAAHO operated as legal assassins—meting out a ruthless form of justice on those who had strayed too far into darkness—the Kurushimi family had solidified their reputation as the ultimate arbiters of death. Their actions spoke of an unyielding commitment to a brutal code where mercy was a luxury that could not be afforded, and every enemy was destined to be annihilated.

  In the days that followed, whispers of the brutal confrontation spread like wildfire across the underworld. Criminals, syndicate leaders, and even rival assassins spoke in hushed tones about the night when Jason’s demonic reign was shattered by the relentless fury of the Kurushimi brothers. Stories of the battle grew into legend—tales of a clash so savage and unyielding that even the most hardened warriors trembled at the mere mention of the name Jason, and revered the unstoppable force of the Kurushimi legacy.

  In dimly lit bars and secret hideouts scattered across the dark corners of South America, rumors abounded. Some claimed that the toxic explosion during Jason’s final assault had created a rift in the fabric of reality—a portal through which even darker forces might one day emerge. Others whispered that the shattered pieces of his cybernetic armor were imbued with the cursed energies of his demonic blood, waiting for the day when they could be reassembled to birth a new horror. Yet, for the Kurushimi brothers, such legends only served to reinforce their resolve. Their brutal victory was not a moment of celebration, but a grim reminder of the endless cycle of violence that defined their existence.

  In the aftermath of the battle, as the night deepened and the first pale light of dawn threatened to break through the gloom, each Kurushimi brother retreated to their own thoughts. Martin, ever the vigilant leader, meditated in the solitude of a hidden sanctum, his mind replaying every detail of the fight. He saw not only the strength of their unity but also the price that had been paid in blood and agony. Every scar was a silent testament to their commitment—a brutal reminder that in their world, power was won through pain, sacrifice, and relentless determination.

  Krishna, still nursing the wounds inflicted by the spikes and brutal blows, sharpened his focus for the battles to come. His eyes, reflecting the scars of the conflict, burned with a fervor that promised retribution against any who would dare defy their might. He vowed silently that the venom of his enemies would be repaid in kind—a promise etched in every ferocious strike he would deliver in the future.

  Takashi, ever the trickster and opportunist, reveled in the chaos and violence of the fight. Yet, beneath his irreverent exterior, he understood the gravity of what had transpired. The thrill of combat, the rush of adrenaline, and the satisfaction of a brutal victory were intertwined with a deep-seated awareness that the shadows they commanded were a double-edged sword—capable of delivering both retribution and ruin.

  And Temna, the strategist whose mind was as lethal as his weaponry, catalogued every nuance of Jason’s movements and every reaction the hybrid had shown under pressure. In the meticulous details of the fight, he found lessons that would refine their techniques, making them even deadlier for the next encounter. His determination was unwavering, for he knew that every battle, no matter how brutal, was a stepping stone toward an even greater legacy—a legacy carved into the annals of SAAHO and the dark corridors of the underworld.

  As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, the Kurushimi brothers faded into the awakening city—shadows among shadows, the silent harbingers of death and justice. Their brutal confrontation with Jason had cemented a new chapter in their saga—a chapter defined not only by sheer violence and ferocity but by the unyielding spirit of warriors who understood that in a world ruled by chaos, only the strongest, the most ruthless, and the most determined could survive.

  Their legacy would be carried forward into every ensuing battle—a legacy written in blood, tempered by fire, and etched into the very soul of those who dared to challenge the order of SAAHO. In the hearts of criminals and underworld lords alike, the name Kurushimi would forever evoke a potent mix of fear, respect, and the chilling knowledge that no force, no matter how demonic or technologically advanced, could withstand the brutal onslaught of a united family of executioners.

  The day’s brutality had passed, but its echoes would resound through time. The fallen Jason lay as a grim monument to the cost of defiance. The battlefield, now a scar upon the land, bore witness to the merciless fury of the Kurushimi—a fury that would only grow with every passing conflict. In that silence, broken only by the soft rustling of wind through broken structures and the distant murmur of a waking city, there was an unspoken promise: that the cycle of brutality would continue, that each victory would be measured in the spilled blood of those who dared challenge the darkness.

  And so, as the sun rose high over a blood-stained landscape, the Kurushimi brothers vanished into the recesses of the urban sprawl, their silhouettes melding with the shadows of towering ruins. Their hearts, steeled by the relentless brutality of the fight, carried the weight of every lost soul and every shattered enemy. In that night of chaos and carnage, they had not merely defeated an adversary—they had redefined what it meant to wage war in a world where legal assassins, like the relentless force of SAAHO, dispensed a brutal justice that left no room for mercy.

  Victory and Reflection

  The Kurushimi brothers stood together, their bodies battered but victorious. Jason had been a formidable opponent, but their bond and the power of the Shadow Blessings had carried them through.

  “This was just the beginning,” Martin said, his voice low and resolute.

  Krishna smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Good. I was starting to get bored.”

  Temna nodded, his calm demeanor betraying a hint of satisfaction. “We’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”

  Takashi chuckled, brushing dust off his shoulder. “Bring it on. We’re just getting started.”

  The brothers turned and walked away, leaving the battlefield behind. The war was far from over, but they knew that together, they were unstoppable.

  The Kurushimi Brothers Reflect on Michael Hawks #2 SAAHO assasin

  The battlefield was quiet now, save for the distant sound of sirens. The Kurushimi brothers sat in a loose circle, their backs resting against the remnants of the battlefield’s shattered terrain. Their breathing was heavy, the adrenaline from their fight with Jason still coursing through their veins. Shadows danced faintly around them, a lingering reminder of the power bestowed upon them by the Shadow Blessings.

  Yet despite their victory, a heavy silence hung over the group.

  “Jason was tough,” Krishna muttered, breaking the quiet. His voice was laced with frustration. “But why the hell did it take all four of us to take him down? We’re supposed to be the best, aren’t we?”

  Martin leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “We are the best,” he said firmly, though his tone carried a hint of self-doubt. “But even so, this fight shouldn’t have pushed us this far. Jason was powerful, but he wasn’t supposed to be insurmountable.”

  Takashi, sitting cross-legged, picked at the edge of his blood-stained glove. “It’s because we’re comparing ourselves,” he said, his usual cocky tone subdued. “To Michael.”

  The name hung in the air like a specter. Michael Hawks, the #2 SAAHO assassin—legendary for his brutal efficiency, unmatched skill, and terrifying ability to defeat seemingly unstoppable foes. The man who had once taken down Doku, a foe far stronger than Jason, armed with nothing but two 21-inch hunting knives and a single Glock 17.

  “He didn’t even need a team,” Temna said softly, his gaze distant. “Doku was leagues above Jason. And Michael handled him alone. No backup, no blessings—just raw skill and determination.”

  Krishna’s jaw tightened. “It makes us look weak, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice low. “We’ve got the Shadow Blessings, all this power, and still… it took all four of us to win.”

  Martin shook his head. “Michael was something else. Comparing ourselves to him isn’t fair. He was in a league of his own, even among the titans of SAAHO. Doku was a monster, but Michael didn’t just beat him—he made it look easy.”

  Takashi snorted bitterly. “He’s like a damn myth at this point. The stories about him make him sound invincible. You know what they say: Michael didn’t just fight his enemies; he dismantled them.”

  A faint smile crossed Krishna’s lips. “I remember hearing that when Doku went into his berserk form, he could punch through solid steel and shrug off bullets like they were nothing. And Michael still took him down with a couple of knives and a Glock. The guy’s insane.”

  Temna sighed, adjusting the bandage on his shoulder where Jason’s venomous spike had grazed him. “I wonder if we’ll ever get to that level. No tricks, no blessings—just skill and sheer willpower.”

  The sirens grew closer, the ambulance finally approaching the battlefield. But the brothers remained seated, lost in their thoughts.

  “Michael wasn’t just strong,” Martin said after a moment. “He was relentless. Every fight was personal to him, every kill a message. He didn’t rely on power or blessings. He relied on himself. That’s what made him so dangerous.”

  Krishna leaned back, staring up at the sky. “I want that,” he said quietly. “Not just the strength, but the mindset. To be able to face someone like Doku and win—not because of luck or advantages, but because I’m better.”

  Takashi smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Guess we’ve got a long way to go, huh?”

  Martin stood, brushing the dust off his coat. “We all do. But we’re Kurushimi. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s getting better.”

  The others nodded, one by one, their resolve hardening. Michael Hawks was a legend, but legends weren’t untouchable. The Kurushimi brothers would continue to grow, honing their skills and pushing their limits until they, too, could stand among the greatest.

  As the ambulance arrived and medics began tending to their wounds, the brothers exchanged a silent promise: one day, they would surpass even the likes of Michael Hawks

  Krishna's voice cut through the air like a blade, low and heavy with disbelief. The words he spoke seemed to hang in the space around them, resonating with a weight that made even the air feel still.

  "He didn't even use the rage toxin."

  The brothers exchanged quiet glances, the significance of Krishna's words sinking in slowly, like a heavy stone dropping into a quiet pond, its ripples spreading across their thoughts.

  Krishna clenched his fists, frustration and awe mingling in his tone. "I’ve seen what the rage toxin does to me—what it turns me into. It amplifies everything I am, makes me more powerful, more lethal. I’ve seen how it turns even the strongest enemies into nothing more than prey for me. Yet, Michael… Michael didn’t need any of it. He didn’t rely on something like that to fuel his fight."

  He looked down at his hands, the veins running underneath the skin still twitching with the remnants of the battle, the surge of power that came from his own rage toxin having already started to fade. But the memory of what it did to him—and what it could do to others—was always there, a constant reminder of the brutal edge he wielded when under its influence.

  "He fought Doku without any enhancements, no poisons, no magic. Just his mind, his body, and the sheer will to win." Krishna’s voice softened for a moment, a mix of admiration and frustration there. "If he can take down someone like Doku, who’s stronger than all of us combined, without any of those crutches… then what does that make us?"

  Temna, who had been staring off into the distance, spoke up quietly. "It means he’s not just a warrior… he’s something more. Michael didn't need the extra power because he had complete control over himself. No matter how many enemies he faced, no matter how strong they were, he could take them down because he understood the fight on a deeper level. It was never about the strength he had—it was about the strength of his mind, of his purpose."

  Martin stood silently, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing in thought. He had heard the stories about Michael Hawks, but hearing Krishna’s words now made everything seem different. More real. "I think Krishna’s right. It’s not just about power or strength. Michael had something more—discipline, control, a clarity that none of us have reached yet."

  Krishna gritted his teeth. "That’s what burns me up. I know what I’m capable of. When I take that rage toxin, I become a monster. But with it, I don’t think. I act, I destroy, I fight. And that’s why I need it to stand on equal ground with people like Doku, with people like Jason. But Michael didn’t need to lose himself like that. He did it all by choice, with clear-headed precision."

  Takashi let out a low whistle. "Man’s a freak. How the hell do you get to that level? I’ve got all the tricks in my arsenal—my speed, my unpredictability, and I can even teleport. But none of it holds a candle to what Michael did."

  The silence stretched out for a moment, as each of the brothers fell into their own thoughts. It was strange, this feeling of inadequacy in the face of a legend like Michael Hawks. They had all been at the top of their game, fighting and defeating countless enemies. Yet, comparing themselves to Michael only revealed how much further they had to go.

  Finally, Krishna stood up, a grim resolve settling over him. “If Michael can do it without all the things we rely on—without the rage toxin, without special powers or enhancements—then we have no excuse.” He looked at each of his brothers. “It’s time we stopped making excuses. We’ll reach that level. We’ll surpass it.”

  Martin nodded slowly. “We’ll need to push ourselves harder than ever before. No shortcuts, no crutches. Just us. Our minds. Our strength. We’ll take down anyone, no matter how strong, with our own power and nothing else.”

  Temna stood up with them, his eyes glinting with determination. “And when we do, we’ll be the ones they talk about in legends.”

  Takashi grinned, though it was laced with an edge of seriousness. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to see what it feels like to be that unstoppable.”

  With that, the Kurushimi brothers turned their focus forward, no longer comparing themselves to the legend of Michael Hawks, but instead, pushing themselves to become legends in their own right. They had been given the gift of power, but now, it was time to turn that power into something more—something undeniable.

  They were no longer just the Kurushimi brothers. They were going to be more. They were going to become untouchable.