Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The night air was thick, heavy with the lingering stench of blood and death. The moon cast long shadows over the clearing, its pale glow barely cutting through the dense canopy above. The distant chirping of insects and the rustling of leaves in the breeze were the only sounds—until the crunch of approaching footsteps shattered the uneasy silence.

From the darkness, Night Raid emerged, their silhouettes sharp against the dim torchlight flickering from the rundown torture house. Their weapons were drawn, their eyes locked onto the two figures standing just outside the battered wooden doors.

Spy and Medic.

Spy stood poised, one hand tucked neatly behind his back, the other idly adjusting the cuff of his suit. His presence was unnervingly composed, as if this were nothing more than an evening stroll. Beside him, Medic's bloodstained coat swayed slightly in the breeze, his unsettling gaze flitting between the assassins with the curiosity of a scientist observing test subjects.

Then, without warning, the rest of the REDs arrived.

From the shadows. From the treetops. From the ruined structures surrounding the clearing—they appeared, their movements smooth, disciplined, practiced. They fanned out effortlessly, flanking the area like wolves preparing for the kill. Their sheer presence alone sent alarms screaming in the minds of Night Raid's seasoned killers.

Bulat stepped forward, his grip on Incursio tightening. His sharp eyes scanned the unfamiliar group, noting their relaxed yet battle-ready stances. Whoever these men were, they weren't just mercenaries—they were soldiers.

"You're not Imperial troops. Who the hell are you?"

Spy exhaled a quiet chuckle, rolling his shoulders as though the question amused him. His smirk remained fixed in place, but his eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

"Zat is a question I could ask you as well, mon ami."

Akame said nothing, but her grip on Murasame tightened ever so slightly. The legendary blade gleamed under the moonlight, waiting—demanding—to taste blood.

Nearby, Mine, Leone, and Lubbock exchanged glances. They had fought some of the Empire's deadliest enforcers, assassins, and monsters, yet something about these new arrivals felt different. Their movements were eerily precise, their confidence unsettling. This wasn't the arrogance of an elite soldier drunk on power—this was the confidence of killers who had survived war after war.

Then, one of them stepped forward.

A hulking man, clad in a tattered military jacket and a steel helmet, gripping a shovel like it was a prized weapon. He practically radiated madness, his broad grin almost as intense as the fire in his eyes.

"HA! A worthy fight! Let's see if you assassins can handle REAL warriors!"

The moment snapped.

A flicker of movement. A sudden shift in stance.

The tension snapped like a bowstring. Akame lunged, Murasame gleaming under the moonlight as it cut through the air, aiming straight for Spy's throat. A fatal strike—had he been a lesser man.

Spy sidestepped, fluid as a shadow, his coat billowing as he slipped just beyond the cursed blade's reach. The assassin's red eyes narrowed—she was fast, but he was elusive.

Akame wasted no time. Her feet barely touched the ground as she twisted mid-air, bringing her sword down in a second, even deadlier arc. Spy flicked his wrist, parrying with his butterfly knife in a burst of sparks. The force of the impact sent a tremor up his arm, but he grinned.

"Très rapide," he mused, smoothly retreating a step as Akame pressed forward. She wasn't one to let up. Her strikes came with lethal precision, each one aiming to end the fight instantly.

Spy weaved between them, each movement a calculated dance. He pivoted, cloak swishing as he feigned an opening—just long enough to vanish into thin air.

Akame's eyes darted around the battlefield. Cloaking. Her grip on Murasame tightened. She'd fought enough foes with tricks before. She spun on instinct, bringing her sword up just in time—CLANG!

A flash of silver—Spy's knife met her blade from behind. He had been precise, but so was she. Akame twisted, using the momentum to kick off the ground, narrowly avoiding the stab aimed at her spine. She landed in a crouch, her breath steady.

Spy chuckled, straightening his tie as he appraised her. "Ah, you are good. But zat much, I expected."

Akame didn't reply. There was no need for words. Only the next strike.

Spy flicked his wrist, knife ready. The game was on.

Leone lunged forward with a fierce grin, her golden mane whipping behind her as she closed the distance between herself and the hulking figure before her. Heavy, standing tall like an immovable fortress, watched her approach with a calm, almost amused expression. The moment she entered striking range, she threw a vicious punch straight into his gut. The force behind it was enough to shatter bones, but—

Thud.

Her fist met solid muscle, a wall of sheer power that barely gave way. Heavy didn't even flinch. Instead, a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped his throat as he raised a massive fist in response.

"Good punch," he rumbled, swinging a meaty arm down like a hammer.

Leone's instincts screamed at her to move. She barely sidestepped, feeling the air shudder as his strike crashed into the ground beside her, splintering the earth beneath his knuckles. Without hesitation, she latched onto his extended arm, using it as leverage to leap onto his back. With impressive agility, she wrapped her legs around his torso and locked an arm around his thick neck, straining with all her might to bring him down.

But Heavy didn't budge.

A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest as he reached up and grabbed her mid-air, his hands wrapping around her torso like a vice. Leone's eyes widened just before he heaved her off with sheer brute strength and flung her several feet through the air. She twisted mid-flight, landing on her feet with a rough skid, her boots carving lines into the dirt.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Leone wiped a smear of blood from the corner of her lip, golden eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Heh," she breathed, cracking her knuckles. "Finally! Someone who can take a hit!"

Heavy's lips curled into a grin as he raised his fists again. "Da. We fight now."

The night air was thick with tension, the cold wind whispering through the trees as the two warriors faced each other in the dim glow of the moon. Bulat, his gleaming Incursio armor reflecting the pale light, stood firm, gripping his spear with practiced ease. Across from him, a towering, broad-shouldered man in blue stood hunched forward, eyes wild with an almost childlike glee. The man—no, the warrior—grinned ear to ear, his helmet casting shadows over his scarred face. In his hands, he wielded a battered entrenching tool like it was a divine instrument of war.

Then, with a laugh that was half-madness, half-battle cry, Soldier charged.

"HAH! A WORTHY OPPONENT! AT LAST, A MAN WHO UNDERSTANDS TRUE WARFARE!" he bellowed, his gravelly voice echoing through the clearing. His movements were deceptively fast for someone so bulky, his shovel already swinging in a wide arc, aiming for Bulat's head.

Bulat barely had time to react. He lifted his spear in a swift, calculated motion, the metal clashing against the crude but surprisingly durable shovel. Sparks scattered as the weapons connected, the sheer force behind the blow pushing Bulat back a step. His eyes narrowed. This man wasn't just strong—he fought like a berserker, unrelenting and unpredictable.

"Not bad," Bulat muttered, rolling his shoulders as Soldier stepped back, readying for another charge.

"DO NOT PATRONIZE ME, KNIGHT! I SHALL NOT REST UNTIL YOUR SPINE DECORATES MY WALL!" Soldier roared before launching himself forward once more.

His strikes came wild and furious—sweeping, stabbing, slamming down like a hammer seeking to break stone. But Bulat was no ordinary stone; he was a fortress. With Incursio enhancing his reflexes, he parried with calculated precision, each clash ringing out like a war drum in the night.

Then, with startling speed, Soldier crouched low and launched himself into the air. He soared like a human missile, shovel raised high above his head.

Bulat reacted instantly, pushing off the ground, rocketing upward to meet him mid-air. Their weapons clashed with an earth-shaking boom, the sheer force sending shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. Soldier's maniacal grin only widened.

"YOU FIGHT WITH HONOR! I RESPECT THAT!" Soldier howled, the joy of battle coursing through his veins. "BUT I SHALL STILL CRUSH YOU!"

Bulat smirked. "We'll see about that."

With a twist of his spear, he pushed back, readying for the next exchange.

Lubbock flicked his fingers, and in an instant, nearly invisible wires shot out around him, anchoring to the surrounding trees and rubble. The battlefield became his domain—a deadly web of razor-sharp threads, waiting to ensnare anything that moved the wrong way.

Across from him, Engineer calmly placed his toolbox on the ground, unfazed by the sight. With practiced efficiency, he wrenched it open and began constructing a mini sentry turret. Gears clicked, metal plates snapped into place, and within seconds, the automated gun came to life with a mechanical whirr.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

The sentry locked onto Lubbock, its twin barrels rotating before spewing a storm of bullets. Lubbock cursed under his breath and flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire. He twisted mid-air, his wires snapping taut to propel him to the side as more bullets shredded the space he had just occupied.

"Hah! So you like traps too?" Lubbock grinned as he landed, his fingers dancing in the air. His wires slithered like living snakes, wrapping around the turret's frame before yanking in opposite directions. With a metallic screech, the sentry collapsed, its parts scattering across the ground.

Engineer sighed, adjusting his goggles. "Ain't my first rodeo, kid."

Before Lubbock could fully celebrate his victory, Engineer had already grabbed his wrench and smacked his toolbox. With a hiss of steam and a flurry of bolts, a second sentry was already halfway built. The Texan worked with unshakable precision, hammering, twisting, and welding with a speed that defied logic.

Lubbock's smirk faltered. This guy's fast.

The new sentry powered up, its barrels spinning. Lubbock barely had time to vault into the air as bullets ripped through where he had been standing. This time, Engineer wasn't just building—he was advancing, closing the distance with a steady, methodical pace.

Lubbock gritted his teeth. "Guess I'll have to get serious."

His wires shimmered under the moonlight, shifting into a new formation.

The air outside the torture house was thick with tension, moonlight casting eerie shadows across the battlefield. Broken cobblestone crunched underfoot as Scout skidded backward, barely avoiding the massive scissors that slammed into the ground where he had stood just seconds ago. A jagged crack split the stone beneath the weight of Sheele's attack.

"Damn, lady! You tryna kill me or somethin'?!" Scout barked, his voice laced with both irritation and adrenaline.

Sheele adjusted her grip on the Cutter of Creation, her expression as unreadable as ever. "...Yes," she answered simply, lifting her weapon again.

"HOLY—!"

Scout barely managed to twist his body out of the way as Sheele brought the giant scissor blade down in a fluid, merciless arc. The wind pressure from the swing ruffled his shirt, and he felt the sharp rush of air cut just inches from his face.

Too damn close.

He reacted on instinct, snapping his scattergun up and pulling the trigger. The explosion of buckshot lit up the night for a fraction of a second. Sheele swung one of her blades in front of her, deflecting a portion of the blast, but some pellets tore through her sleeve, biting into her shoulder. She winced slightly, but that was the only sign of pain.

Scout's face lit up with a cocky grin as he spun his scattergun. "Aww yeah, I got first blood! …Wait." His eyes narrowed as he noticed something unsettling—Sheele was still smiling.

Not a grin. Not a smirk. Just a calm, unwavering expression, as if getting shot had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Scout felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Oh, hell.

Before he could process another thought, Sheele moved. Fast. The next swing came in a horizontal blur, aiming to cleave him in half. Scout barely ducked in time, the blade slicing through the empty space where his head had been. He rolled to the side, coming up on one knee and pumping another round into his scattergun.

"Alright, I get it," he muttered, gritting his teeth. "You don't mess around."

Sheele remained silent, already repositioning for another attack.

The moon cast an eerie glow over the bloodstained grounds of the torture house, its pale light reflecting off broken glass and rusted chains. A cold wind swept through the clearing, carrying the stench of decay. Amid the silent tension, two figures moved—both seeking vantage points, both aware that the first mistake would be fatal.

Mine dashed toward the wreckage of an overturned carriage, dropping into a crouch behind its broken frame. She leveled Pumpkin against the wood, its barrel glowing faintly as she scanned the darkness. A lone figure had already found his perch atop the ruined watchtower, rifle at the ready.

Sniper.

The moment she caught sight of him, she fired. A flash of pink energy streaked through the night, cutting across the battlefield like a vengeful comet. The instant before impact, the man vanished, rolling fluidly behind the crumbling remains of the tower's railing. A muffled thunk followed as the energy blast tore through the wood, sending splinters scattering into the air.

Mine cursed under her breath and shifted positions, darting toward a pile of broken crates. From his cover, Sniper exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on the barrel of his rifle.

"Not bad," he murmured, tilting his hat forward. He rolled his shoulder, settling back into position. "Let's see if you can keep up, love."

He fired.

The bullet whizzed past Mine's shoulder, shattering the crate beside her in a deafening explosion of splinters and dust. She barely managed to duck away before another shot punched through where her head had been just moments before. Her heart pounded. This wasn't some second-rate Imperial soldier or a lumbering brute she could easily outmaneuver. This guy knew how to handle a rifle.

He's good, she thought grimly, clicking her tongue.

Staying still was a death sentence. Mine darted to the side, flipping over a fallen beam as another bullet buried itself into the dirt where she had just been standing. She landed on one knee, snapping Pumpkin up and squeezing the trigger. The charged shot screamed through the night, its light illuminating Sniper's silhouette for a fraction of a second.

Sniper had already moved.

He slipped behind cover, his hat's brim barely visible as the energy blast vaporized the top section of the railing he had just occupied. He grinned slightly, more entertained than concerned.

"Not bad, pinky," he muttered.

Mine grit her teeth. "Keep calling me that, see what happens!" she hissed under her breath.

The two marksmen continued their deadly game of cat and mouse, each maneuvering carefully, each knowing that a single well-placed shot would be the last.

The battle raged on, but something was changing. Night Raid fought fiercely, their skill undeniable, but the REDs… they were different. Their teamwork was precise, their coordination honed through years of war and bloodshed. Every opening was exploited, every mistake punished. Night Raid was strong, but they were being outmaneuvered, outpaced, outgunned.

What made the difference was the REDs' ability to stay consistent while switching between targets. They adapted seamlessly, covering each other's blind spots and adjusting their focus without losing momentum. One moment, a Night Raid member would have the advantage, only for another RED to intercept and force them back into a losing position. Their fluid coordination left no openings, no reprieve. Spy and Sniper anticipated every movement, countering Night Raid's speed with brutal efficiency. Heavy and Soldier maintained pressure like an unbreakable wall, seamlessly shifting their aggression from one foe to another. Engineer and Medic provided constant support, ensuring no gaps in their strategy. The more Night Raid tried to separate them, the more their teamwork snapped them back into control, like gears in a well-oiled machine.

Bulat's sharp eyes took in the battlefield. He could see it. They were holding their own, but barely. If this dragged on, things could turn for the worse. Grinding his teeth, he made the call. "Night Raid, fall back!"

The assassins hesitated for only a second before vanishing into the darkness, retreating like phantoms into the night. Akame leaped away from Spy, vanishing before he could blink. Leone broke off, slipping into the shadows. Mine cursed under her breath but pulled back, while Lubbock flicked his wires to cover their escape. Bulat was the last to go, locking eyes with Soldier before stepping back into the void.

The battlefield fell into silence, the only sounds remaining were the crackling torches and the distant howl of the wind. The scent of blood and gunpowder lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the brutal clash that had just unfolded.

Spy exhaled, slipping his knife away as he adjusted his tie. "They were good," he admitted, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of respect.

Heavy nodded, rolling his shoulders. "Da. But we are better." His knuckles cracked as he lowered his fists, his expression unreadable.

Soldier grinned, his breath ragged but exhilarated. "A worthy enemy! But they live to fight another day." He planted his shovel into the ground like a battle standard, eyes gleaming with anticipation for the next skirmish.

Scout huffed, brushing dust off his sleeves. "Man, that chick with the big scissors? She was crazy! Almost took my head off like it was nothin'." He shivered but tried to play it cool. "Not that I was scared or anything."

Engineer rubbed his chin, still eyeing the darkness where Lubbock had disappeared. "Smart one, that guy with the wires. Knows how to cover his team. Gonna have to watch out for 'im next time."

The REDs regrouped, their breathing steadying as the adrenaline faded. Victory was theirs, but none of them celebrated too soon. The way Night Raid fought, the way they vanished into the night—it left an unsettling feeling in the air.

And watching it all, hidden just behind a ruined wall, was Tatsumi. His fists clenched as he tried to process what had just happened. He had been so sure that Night Raid was unstoppable, that they were the ones who struck fear into their enemies. But these mercenaries… they had matched them. No, he realized bitterly. They overwhelmed them.

His heart pounded in his chest. Night Raid had been forced to retreat. Bulat had to call for a retreat. That thought sent a chill down his spine.

Tatsumi's eyes darted to the victors, now turning toward the mansion. Spy adjusted his gloves and motioned toward the grand entrance. "Well, gentlemen, looks like we have a new home."

The realization hit Tatsumi like a hammer. These men—these outsiders—had just claimed the estate for themselves. And after what he had seen tonight, he wasn't sure there was anything he could do to stop them.

Spy turned slightly, as if sensing him. Tatsumi held his breath, pressing himself against the wall. For a moment, it felt as if the assassin was looking right at him. But then, with a smirk, Spy continued inside.

The others followed, stepping over the battlefield's remains like it was just another job well done.