Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XLIII: Target

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a tense standoff. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her muscles trembling from the exertion. She could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, a moment of vulnerability that quickly vanished. His expression hardened, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze that sent a shiver down her spine.

The intensity of the moment was palpable, the air thick with tension. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his eyes boring into hers as if trying to gauge her resolve. Her heart raced, but she refused to back down. She had come too far to let fear control her now.

Cross's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Impressive," he said, his voice low and measured. "But this is only the beginning."

Before she could react, he lunged at her with a speed that took her breath away.

“Accckkk!”

She barely had time to raise her arms in defense as he closed the distance between them, his movements a blur of precision and power. The force of his attack sent her stumbling backward, her feet struggling to find purchase on the cold, hard floor.

Suddenly, Cross paused, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her with a piercing gaze.

"Do you know me too well already?" he asked, his voice cold and unwavering. "Do you think you understand the depths of my divinities and what I'm capable of?"

She was taken aback by the question, unsure of how to respond. She shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. " Divinities? I-I don't know," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I don't know everything about you."

His gaze intensified, his expression growing more serious.

"Then let this be your lesson," he said. "You must know everything about your opponent. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their habits. You must anticipate their moves and understand their motivations. Only then will you be truly prepared to face them."

It made sense. To defeat her enemies, she needed to understand them completely. She needed to be able to predict their actions and counter them effectively.

He continued, his tone unwavering. "Your father, the man you seek to kill, is no different. You must learn everything about him. His patterns, his routines, his strengths, and his vulnerabilities. Only then will you be able to anticipate his moves and know when to strike."

The weight of his words settled over her, and she felt a renewed sense of determination. This was more than just physical training. It was about understanding her enemies, about being prepared for any eventuality. She had to know her opponent as well as she knew herself.

Cross stepped back, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. His gaze remained intense, his expression unwavering.

"You have two weeks," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "Two weeks to learn everything you can about me and your father. Study our strengths, our weaknesses, our habits. Understand our motivations and anticipate our moves. Only then will you be truly prepared to face your target."

This became a test of her resolve and her ability to gather information and analyze her opponents. She nodded, her breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion.

His eyes bore into hers, as if trying to gauge her commitment.

"Failure is not an option," he continued. "If you cannot accomplish this task within the given time, and you do not outsmart me, you will have to give up on this silly plan of yours. Use every resource at your disposal. Leave no stone unturned."

She nodded. "I won't fail," she said, her voice filled with determination.

He regarded her for a moment longer. It could be possible, he thought. After all, this was the third time that she had been successful in the challenge he laid out for her. She surprised him at every turn, and she didn’t even try to give up. Just how much resentment was pent up within her that she was unwavering and resolve to kill her father?

As night fell, the mansion was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the windows. Cross moved silently through the shadows; his presence almost ghostly. He donned his mask, the familiar weight settling over his face, transforming him into the vigilante that struck fear into the hearts of criminals.

His target tonight was a notorious human trafficker who had been terrorizing the city for years. Vlad Labaha—the man was known for his ruthlessness and his ability to evade capture, but he had tracked him down, his every move calculated and precise. Dr. Dunong had been instrumental in gathering information about the major trafficker, using his vast network of contacts and resources to pinpoint the target's location and routines.

Labaha was a key figure in a vast human trafficking network in the city of Intramuros, responsible for the a*******n and exploitation of countless innocent lives. He orchestrated the transport and sale of men, women, and children into forced labor, p**********n, and other forms of modern-day s*****y. His operations were extensive, spanning multiple cities and involving numerous accomplices and enforcers.

He slipped through the city streets, his movements fluid and silent. The mask concealed his identity, but it also gave him a sense of detachment, allowing him to focus solely on the task at hand. He was a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding.

As he approached the trafficker’s hideout, Cross surveyed the area with a keen eye, noting the positions of the guards and the layout of the building. The hideout was located in a secluded industrial area on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by abandoned warehouses and overgrown vegetation. The building itself was a dilapidated structure, its windows boarded up and its exterior covered in graffiti. It was the perfect place for illicit activities to go unnoticed.

The trafficker had chosen this location for its isolation and the ease with which it could be defended. The perimeter was secured with a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, and there were several guards patrolling the grounds. Cross observed their movements, noting the patterns and timing of their patrols. He could see that they were armed and alert, but their training was no match for his skills.

Labaha's hideout was a hub for his illegal activities. Inside, young women and children were held in cramped, squalid conditions, waiting to be transported to their grim fates. The trafficker's office was filled with documents detailing transactions, ledgers with the names of his victims, and communication equipment used to coordinate the operations.

Cross moved with the shadows as his blanket, his every step deliberate and controlled. He slipped through the darkness, avoiding the pools of light cast by the flickering street lamps.

“Gah!” “Ohw!”

The guards were no match for him, their attempts to stop him futile. With a swift, fluid motion, he incapacitated the first guard, his movements a blur of precision and power. The second guard barely had time to react before he was taken down, his body crumpling to the ground.

As Cross approached the main entrance of the building, he extended his hand slightly, using his ability to manipulate objects to unlock the heavy steel door without a sound. The door swung open, and he slipped inside, moving silently through the dimly lit corridors. The interior of the hideout was a maze of narrow hallways and cluttered rooms, filled with crates and boxes of contraband.

He could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from deeper within the building. He followed the sound, his movements fluid and silent. He reached a large room at the center of the hideout, where Labaha and his associates were gathered around a table covered in maps and documents.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on the walls. He observed the traffickers, their attention focused on their plans, unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows. He took a deep breath, his muscles tensing as he prepared to strike.

With lightning speed, he launched himself into the room, catching the traffickers off guard. Labaha's associates barely had time to react before Cross was upon them, his movements a blur of precision and power.

Thud! c***k!

The first associate went down with a swift, powerful punch to the jaw, his body collapsing to the ground. The second associate lunged at him with a knife, but he easily sidestepped the attack, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it with a bone-crunching force. The knife clattered to the floor as the associate cried out in pain.

Bang! Bang!

“Son of a b***h!”

Labaha pulled out a gun and fired two shots at Cross, but he was already in motion, his reflexes sharp and his movements fluid. He dodged the bullets, closing the distance between them with lightning speed. With a slight flick of his wrist, he redirected the gun away from him.

With a swift, powerful kick, he knocked the gun out of Labaha's hand, sending it skidding across the floor. Labaha stumbled backward, his eyes wide with fear.

“You monster! Get away from me!” The trafficker tried to ward him off.

To the vigilante, nonetheless, the words that came out of his mouth sounded ironic.

He advanced on him, his expression hidden behind the mask, but his eyes burning with a cold decisiveness. Labaha's associates lay incapacitated on the floor, their attempts to fight back futile.

He tried to flee, but Cross was faster. He grabbed the trafficker by the collar and slammed him against the wall, the impact reverberating through the room.

“Gaaahh!” Labaha's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to free himself, but Cross's grip was like iron.

“What do you want? I have money and women! I’ll give them to you!”

"You’ve been lucky for a while," Cross said, his voice low and menacing. "But your reign ends tonight."

Labaha was filled with fear and desperation, but there was no escape. Cross had him cornered. The trafficker saw how his red pupils expanded and spread over his irises. Before he knew it, his eyes had turned the same color.

He just watched him turn manic and hysterical. He appeared like a headless chicken. It was then that out of the blue he collected an available gun on the floor and pointed it at his right temple.

Bang!

That was the last scene of his entire life.

As he stood there, the room filled with the aftermath of the battle, he felt a sense of satisfaction. Justice had been served, and another criminal had bitten the dust with lead on his head.

With a sense of grim satisfaction, Cross turned and made his way towards the exit.

Outside, the night was still and quiet, the moon casting a pale glow over the abandoned industrial area. Cross slipped through the shadows, his presence almost ghostly. He moved with the precision of a predator, avoiding the pools of light cast by the flickering street lamps.