### Volume 2: Upper World

  **Chapter 11: No More Mercy**

  Sky moved like the world had slowed just for him.

  Mara was already against the wall—back pressed to cracked brick, Mist Sword raised in a defensive line, void eye glowing faint in the rain. He was breathing steady, but Sky saw the flicker: the old hunter’s ribs still smarting from the earlier kick, the black veins on his neck pulsing a little faster than usual.

  Sky didn’t hesitate.

  He crossed his fingers—blue-red energy snapped into place around his body.

  “Frame Bind.”

  Time frames locked in. Mara’s movements lagged—every swing, every shift, stretched like molasses. Sky became a blur inside the frames, closing the gap in what felt like a single heartbeat.

  He was on Mara before the sword could finish its arc.

  Fist came up—Echo Fist, full stack.

  The first punch landed square on Mara’s chest—crunch of bone, delayed echo exploding half a second later, ribs flexing inward. Mara grunted, head snapping back against the wall.

  Sky didn’t stop.

  He unloaded.

  One hundred. Two hundred punches—each one faster than the last, Echo Fist stacking so the echoes overlapped into a continuous storm of delayed detonations. Chest, gut, shoulders, jaw—every hit landed with a wet thud, followed by the crack of internal damage blooming like fireworks inside Mara’s body. Blood sprayed from Mara’s mouth after the fiftieth, then again after the hundredth. The wall behind him cracked wider with every impact, brick dust raining down.

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  Mara’s Mist Sword dropped—too slow to block in the frames.

  Sky stepped back, breathing hard, knuckles raw and bleeding. Mara slid down the wall, sword clattering beside him, chest heaving, black veins bulging like they were trying to burst through skin.

  Sky pulled the knife—his mom’s knife—flipped it reverse grip.

  He stepped forward again.

  Stabbed Mara’s right arm—clean through the bicep, pinning muscle to brick. Mara hissed, but didn’t cry out.

  Sky leaned in close, voice low, shaking with something between rage and exhaustion.

  “I don’t care anymore.”

  He twisted the knife just enough to make Mara’s arm go limp.

  “I understand what it means to be in this school—Jones Academy. Or to have this job. It’s to save people.”

  Sky pulled the knife free. Blood poured down Mara’s sleeve, mixing with rain.

  “But people don’t want to save you.”

  Sky backed up one step.

  Blood welled in his palm—thick, dark.

  “Blood Gun.”

  He fired.

  The orb punched straight through Mara’s chest—same spot Reiji had hit him before, but this time no reflection. The bullet tore through lung and sternum, exiting out the back in a spray of red mist. Mara’s eyes widened—shock, not pain.

  He slid further down the wall, sword slipping from numb fingers.

  Sky stood over him, knife dripping.

  Meanwhile—

  In the shattered department store, mirrors everywhere reflecting broken light and broken shadows.

  Max burst from hiding—shadows flaring like wings.

  He kicked Yami square in the face—boot connecting with jaw, sending the shadow-eater staggering back two steps.

  Yami recovered fast—rift-step shadow, vanishing and reappearing five feet away. His sword flashed—Void Edge, a whip of darkness that cut Max across the chest. Blood sprayed, shirt tearing open in a clean diagonal line.

  Max staggered, hand pressed to the wound.

  But he was smiling—wide, feral, blood on his teeth.

  Yami tilted his head. “You’re smiling.”

  Max laughed—short, ragged.

  “Yeah.”

  He clapped once.

  **Blood Pipe.**

  Red lines shot from every cut on his body—compressed blood-energy pipes whipping through the air like harpoons. They ricocheted off mirrors, bouncing at impossible angles, filling the room with a web of crimson.

  Yami dashed back—shadows swirling—but the pipes followed, relentless.

  One hit his thigh—pierced clean through muscle.

  Another grazed his shoulder.

  Yami grunted, blood dripping.

  Max’s veins glowed red—black heart mark pulsing brighter.

  He was part of the Blood Clan.

  Infinity blood.

  No matter how much he lost, more came—endless, like a river that never ran dry.

  He clapped again.

  The pipes thickened—now ropes, now chains of blood.

  Yami’s eyes narrowed.

  He raised his sword.

  The chapter ended.

  To be continued…