Max hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket. His next target was Murakami—one of the oldest and deadliest members of the Hand. Unlike Gao, who specialized in deception and control, Murakami was a warrior through and through. His specialty? Killing people like Max.
"Midtown, huh?" Max muttered to himself as he stepped onto the dimly lit streets. "Guess I'll be making a house call."
The city was alive with its usual chaos—traffic horns, distant sirens, and the ever-present hum of people moving about their lives, completely unaware of the war happening in the shadows. Max moved swiftly, his mind focused on the battle ahead.
Murakami wouldn't be easy.
If Gao was the Hand's most cunning strategist, and Reid was their life energy specialist, then Murakami was their executioner. A master swordsman and a relentless assassin, he was known for his sheer brutality.
Max smirked. Should be fun.
An old, abandoned dojo sat in the heart of Midtown, nestled between modern high-rises like a forgotten relic. But Max knew better—it wasn't abandoned. It was a fortress.
The place was dark, save for the soft glow of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The scent of incense mixed with the metallic tang of blood. Max could hear the faint shuffle of movement inside—footsteps, controlled breathing, the subtle shift of fabric.
They were expecting him.
Good.
With silent steps, Max entered. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the attack came.
Four Hand ninjas dropped from the rafters, blades gleaming. Max barely tilted his head as one sword sliced through the air where his throat had been a second ago.
Before the attacker could recover, Max caught his wrist and twisted—snap. The ninja crumpled to the floor.
The others surged forward, but Max was already in motion. He moved like a ghost, weaving through their strikes effortlessly. A dagger flashed toward his ribs—he caught it mid-air and drove it into its owner's throat.
Another came from behind. Max ducked, spun, and slammed his elbow into the ninja's chest, sending him flying into a wooden pillar.
The last one hesitated.
Max simply stared.
The ninja tried to run.
Max threw the dagger still in his hand. It lodged between the ninja's shoulder blades. He collapsed without a sound.
The room was silent again, save for the faint sound of dripping blood.
"Sloppy," Max muttered as he wiped his hands.
Then, slow applause echoed from the back of the dojo.
Murakami.
He stepped out from the shadows, his form tall and imposing. Dressed in traditional samurai armor, he carried a katana that seemed to hum with power.
"You are impressive," Murakami said, his voice smooth yet deadly. "Most would have died before reaching me."
Max rolled his shoulders. "Most aren't me."
Murakami smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You killed Madam Gao and Reid. I assume you're here to do the same to me?"
"Something like that," Max admitted. "Unless you want to make this easy and tell me why Kingpin put a hit on me."
Murakami chuckled. "If you think killing me will stop the Hand, you're a fool. We are eternal."
Max sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone who thinks they're immortal says that. Then they die."
Murakami's eyes gleamed. "Then let's see if you can kill a ghost."
In a flash, he was on Max.
Murakami moved like lightning, his katana slicing through the air with terrifying precision. However, in Max's eyes, it was as if he were running at him in super slow motion.
Max watched him approach and thought, I've grown too strong.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Max made a coin-throwing motion. The tossed cent tore through the air at unbelievable speed, piercing Murakami's leg in an instant.
Murakami let out a sharp grunt as the coin tore through his leg like a bullet, sending him stumbling mid-charge. His katana wavered, and for the first time, hesitation flickered in his eyes.
Max didn't move. He simply watched, his expression cold and unreadable.
"You felt that, didn't you?" Max said casually, tilting his head. "Your body registered the pain before your mind even processed the attack."
Murakami gritted his teeth, steadying himself despite the blood trickling from his wound. "You… monster," he spat.
Max smirked. "Coming from a man who's spent decades killing in the shadows? That's rich."
Murakami inhaled sharply, then exhaled, shifting his stance. He ignored the pain and raised his katana once more. "Even if you've surpassed me in speed… you lack discipline."
Max chuckled. "You think discipline will save you?"
Without warning, Murakami blurred forward, using his injured leg as a pivot to strike from an unexpected angle. His blade shimmered, enhanced with chi, aiming straight for Max's neck.
But Max was already gone.
Murakami's eyes widened as his blade sliced through empty air. Before he could react, an unbearable pain shot through his arm. He looked down just in time to see his forearm—severed cleanly—spinning through the air.
Max stood behind him, hand still raised from the effortless counterattack. "Discipline didn't help, huh?"
Murakami fell to one knee, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm used to be. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"You… you shouldn't exist," he murmured.
Max kneeled beside him, gripping his hair and forcing him to look into his eyes. "You and your kind have been playing in the shadows for centuries, thinking you're untouchable." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But shadows mean nothing when someone like me walks in."
Murakami's face twisted in pain, but there was no fear—only acceptance. "You think cutting down the Fingers will kill the Hand?" He let out a weak chuckle. "We are eternal."
Max sighed. "You all say that."
With a swift motion, he drove a blade through Murakami's throat.
The ninja's body twitched before going limp.
Max stood up, shaking the blood off his hand. Three Fingers down.
Now, only two remained.
Max didn't waste a second. With Murakami dead, only two Fingers of the Hand remained, and he had no intention of giving them time to regroup.
Slipping into the shadows, he made his way through the city undetected. The neon glow of New York flickered against the rain-slicked streets, but his mind was already locked onto his next targets.
Though both of them are oveseas its not a problem for him who can cover that much distance with a single step.
***
Support me at
patreon.com/boring_world
It's 22 chaps ahead