The Devil's Footwork
1042 Words
In the blink of an eye, Li Yu closed the gap between himself and the two soldiers ahead, moving at a speed almost too fast for the n***d eye to follow.
Even he hadn't expected this burst of acceleration—let alone his enemies.
He crashed into the first man with bone-cracking force. The soldier's chestplate caved inward as Li Yu spun, seized him by the head, and swung him around like a shield, intercepting the hail of bullets streaking toward him.
"Seven! Seven, what the hell are you doing?!"
"Ah— Captain!"
Screams ripped through the comms channel.
"Six! Seven!"
The captain's frantic calls met only static.
"Sorry," Li Yu murmured beside the dying man's helmet. Then his back muscles tensed; a sharp twist and c***k!—the man's neck snapped, his head spinning away through the mist.
By now, the gray smoke was finally thinning. The nearby ruins came into view—still hazy at a distance, but clearer than before.
Another squad in gray-white armor wasn't far off. They reacted quickly, rifles rising as a torrent of bullets flooded the air.
Li Yu kept his human shield raised. The heavy armor made a perfect barrier, blotting out his silhouette entirely.
They were close—too close. Li Yu's eyes gleamed. He meant to repeat his trick, but one of the soldiers suddenly rushed him.
"Die!" the man shouted—but the helmet's processor dulled the sound, and Li Yu heard nothing.
A cluster of black grenades popped from the man's hands—he meant to take Li Yu with him.
The grenades were almost on top of him. Li Yu yanked the corpse back, curled behind it, hunching down. Two layers—his back and the corpse—would have to suffice.
A blazing explosion erupted. Fire and shrapnel tore outward. This wasn't a standard grenade—the flames burned crimson-hot, molten metal spattering like liquid sunlight.
The blast shredded the grenadier's own armor. His chestplate split; his helmet cracked, revealing a face half-melted, a ruin of blackened flesh and char.
The concussion flung Li Yu's improvised shield aside, sending him hurtling backward as if struck by a train. Pain flared down his spine, far worse than any hit he'd taken before.
He smashed into a heap of refuse. Flames guttered out, leaving silence in their wake.
The blast had thinned the smoke even more—shadows now visible within the gray haze.
"Captain, Three and Four are down. Six and Seven—no response."
Two armored silhouettes stepped out. One was massive, his weapon glowing faintly blue, his right arm encased in a brutal exoskeletal gauntlet—silver alloy, thick and jagged, radiating menace.
The comms went quiet. The captain hadn't expected such losses from what was supposed to be a simple extermination.
Ghost Squad – Vulture Unit.Only two left.
"Damn it…" He stopped mid-curse. Who was there to blame?
The target? Dead—or so he'd thought. His superiors? Unthinkable. Himself? Never.
"Check the body," he ordered at last. "I'll report to Command."
It was the last order he would give. The moment the words left his mouth, the garbage mound erupted in a burst of flame.
Ratatatatatat!
Bullets pinged off armor in a metallic storm, cutting the channel to dead silence.
"He's still alive!" the captain roared. Both men dove for cover. Even with armor that thick, they weren't about to stand in the open and be chewed apart.
From the wreckage strode Li Yu, submachine g*n in hand, muzzle flashing like a heartbeat.
Firelight reflected off his face—cold, expressionless.
His ribs were scorched black, the flesh charred nearly to ash. Yet as he walked, the burned skin cracked and sloughed away. Beneath it, new flesh bloomed, knitting itself back together.
The captain's scanner caught it all. His stomach turned.
A gene warrior?! The intelligence reports never mentioned that. This was no scavenger.
His pupils shrank. He opened a secure channel and transmitted at once:
"Operation Shotgun failed. Target One confirmed gene-enhanced. Intel compromised. Fatty Three unreliable!"
Betrayed. They'd been fed lies.
"Captain! Move!"
The warning came too late. Unit Two had already surged forward, one hand on his SMG, the other gripping a grenade—trying to buy time for his commander.
"No!" the captain shouted, but the explosion of movement had already begun.
Li Yu rolled across the ground, eyes cold. The same trick wouldn't work on him twice.
In his hand gleamed a makeshift spear—a length of twisted rebar, sharpened to a wicked point, thick as two thumbs.
He had no firearm precision, but after a year under Old Lu, his throwing arm was lethal within ten meters.
Muscles bulged, veins standing out like cords. The pink new flesh along his ribs tore open again, bleeding freely. Every fiber of strength in his body surged at once—beyond human.
The rebar flew.
It struck the soldier's throat dead-on. The impact hurled the man several meters backward before he crashed beside the captain.
Blood geysered from the wound. His body spasmed; his hand unclenched—grenades rolled free.
The captain's pupils shrank. He swore and bolted—too late.
Fire bloomed. The explosion roared like thunder, the shockwave sweeping out in a searing gust that turned the battlefield into a sea of fire.
The captain was flung aside but survived—the alloy plates held. He hit the ground hard, then forced himself upright, weapon raised.
Across the burning ruin stood Li Yu. The man's presence radiated raw danger, primal and suffocating.
"Die!"
The captain gritted his teeth and squeezed the trigger—
—but Li Yu ducked low, weight sinking, body swaying side to side like a phantom. His steps were light, shifting, unpredictable—a devil's dance.
The captain tracked him, firing in bursts, but Li Yu never slowed. In less than three seconds, the distance between them vanished to less than a meter.
"Not a single hit? Impossible!"
He was an elite—trained, hardened. Even with mediocre gear, his aim should have been true.
The thought barely formed before he saw it—blood seeping down Li Yu's torso, bullets embedded in his flesh, caught by muscle alone.
Not one had missed.Not one had pierced.
- Writer
