A Tyrant In Dc

The warehouse loomed like a decayed colossus, its metal walls groaning under the weight of secrets and death. Allen stepped into the cavernous expanse, his boots crunching over scattered debris. His chest heaved with fatigue, each breath scraping against the raw edges of his injuries. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandages on his shoulder and thigh, his movements stiff as though the pain sought to lock his joints in rebellion.

LEVEL: 4

EXP: 784/1000

HP: 63/175 (Severely Injured)

TP: 20

The system's numbers floated in his vision like a cruel reminder of his mortality. He blinked them away, his focus drawn to the towering figure standing at the center of the warehouse.

The boss.

The man was an aberration of humanity. Seven feet nine inches, his frame a grotesque monument to muscle. Veins like cables slithered beneath his skin, his arms bulging with a strength that seemed to defy natural law. His face was a mask of cold malice, eyes like chips of ice fixed on Allen with predatory intent. Around him, the remaining goons formed a semi-circle, their weapons trained on Allen.

"So you're the little rat that's been causing me problems," the boss rumbled, his voice a deep timbre that reverberated through the warehouse.

Allen's grip tightened around the knife in his hand, his knuckles white against the handle. He kept his stance low, calculating. He needed to survive this, not win gloriously.

"Yeah," Allen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, masking the pain clawing at his body. "You're welcome for the attention. Figured a guy like you could use some excitement."

The boss didn't laugh. His lips curled into a sneer instead.

"Kill him," he commanded, motioning to the goons.

The first wave rushed him. Four men, armed with pipes and knives, came at him from different angles. Allen's mind slowed to a razor-sharp focus as adrenaline coursed through him. He ducked under the first swing, driving his knife into the man's gut and twisting. The goon's scream was drowned out by the chaos. Allen shoved him into the path of the next attacker, using the human shield to buy himself a moment.

A pipe glanced off Allen's back, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his already aching body. He gritted his teeth, spinning around to slice the attacker's thigh. The man crumpled with a howl, clutching his leg as Allen turned to face the others.

One of the goons lunged with a knife. Allen sidestepped, grabbing the man's wrist and slamming his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose. Blood sprayed as the goon stumbled back, and Allen finished him with a swift slash across the throat.

EXP GAINED: 5

Another rushed him from behind, swinging a bat with wild ferocity. Allen ducked, the weapon sailing over his head. He drove his shoulder into the attacker's chest, knocking him off balance. Before the man could recover, Allen plunged his knife into his chest, the blade sliding between ribs with brutal efficiency.

EXP GAINED: 7

The fighting was relentless. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through his battered body, but he pushed through, fueled by sheer will and the cold necessity of survival. He couldn't afford mercy. Not here.

More goons spilled into the fray, their faces twisted with a mix of rage and fear. Allen's gaze flicked toward the boss, who remained motionless, watching the carnage with an unsettling calm. The man's strategy was clear: let his men wear Allen down before finishing him off.

"Smart," Allen muttered, wiping blood—his or theirs, he couldn't tell anymore—from his face. "But I'm smarter."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the bombs he'd scavenged. The small, crude device was his ace, and he prayed it would work. He pulled the pin and lobbed it toward a cluster of goons. The explosion wasn't deafening, but it was effective. Shrapnel tore through the air, taking down three men instantly and leaving another clutching his shredded arm.

EXP GAINED: 15

The remaining goons hesitated, fear flickering in their eyes. Allen didn't give them a chance to regroup. He charged, using the chaos to his advantage. His knife flashed, slashing through flesh and fabric. Another man fell, then another.

EXP GAINED: 10

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring at the edges. He stumbled, his leg buckling under him. The boss's voice cut through the din.

"Pathetic," he said, shaking his head. "You're running on fumes, kid. Give up."

Allen laughed bitterly, forcing himself upright.

"Sorry," he rasped. "I'm too deep in to quit."

The boss's expression darkened. He took a step forward, his massive frame dwarfing Allen.

"Fine," the boss said. "I'll end this myself."

The ground seemed to quake with each step as the boss closed the distance. Allen's instincts screamed at him to run, but his body refused to comply. He fumbled for his second bomb, his fingers slick with blood. Before he could throw it, pain exploded in his side.

A knife. One of the surviving goons had stabbed him. Allen's body locked up, his breath catching in his throat. He turned, shoving the man away and slashing blindly. The knife connected, and the goon fell with a gurgle.

EXP GAINED: 6

But the damage was done. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his clothes. The boss took advantage of his distraction, closing the distance in a few massive strides. Allen barely had time to react before a massive fist connected with his chest, sending him flying. He crashed into a stack of crates, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"You're done," the boss said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Allen's vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges. His hand brushed against the gun still clutched in his grasp. Summoning the reserves of his strength, he pulled the trigger and aimed it at the boss. The effect was closer this time, the effect slamming into Allen eyes and driving him further into hope.

"Round two," he muttered.

TO BE CONTINUED.