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

Heavy's boots thudded against the cobblestone streets as he stomped toward Leone, his towering frame casting a shadow over the woman. His usual jovial demeanor was nowhere to be seen—replaced instead by a deep-set frown and a glare that could melt steel. Leone, still slightly winded from her sudden intervention, blinked up at the massive man in confusion.

"You," Heavy rumbled, his thick accent making his displeasure all the more pronounced. "Why did you interfere?"

Leone tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "What? I just helped the kid out. Looked like he needed it."

Heavy folded his massive arms across his chest, his brow furrowing so deeply it looked like his forehead was trying to crush itself. "Bah! Tatsumi had fight under control." His voice was laced with frustration, his deep tone resembling a distant growl. "You distract him. Almost cost him fight."

Leone scoffed, resting her hands on her hips. "Tch. I don't know what you're talking about, big guy. I saw the kid fighting for his life, so I stepped in." She flashed a toothy grin, her tail flicking behind her. "That's what teammates do, right?"

Heavy exhaled sharply, his glare unwavering. "Da. But teammates must trust each other." He jabbed a thick finger toward Tatsumi, who was still recovering a few steps away. "Boy was ready. You make him doubt."

Leone opened her mouth to counter, but then paused, glancing at Tatsumi. He was still on one knee, clutching his side, looking like he had just gone three rounds with a charging rhino. He did not look ready. At all.

"...You sure we're talking about the same fight?" she asked, side-eyeing Heavy.

Heavy nodded, arms still crossed. "Da. He was prepared to win!"

Tatsumi coughed up blood in the background.

Leone raised a hand, waving vaguely toward the dying-sounding kid. "I mean, he's kinda—"

"Prepared to win!" Heavy repeated, louder, as if volume made it truer.

Leone pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I get you have high expectations, but—"

Before she could finish, a heavy shift in the air pulled their attention back to the fight. Ogre, bloodied but still very much alive, snarled as he lunged forward. A sinister grin spread across his bloodied face. He had been forced on the defensive for too long, but now, at last, an opportunity presented itself. His muscles tensed, his boots scraping against the cobblestone as he lunged forward, sword gleaming in the moonlight. His target: Tatsumi.

Tatsumi barely had time to react. His body was still recovering from their brutal clash, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His arms felt heavy, his grip on his weapon faltering as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. His eyes widened as Ogre's blade swung toward him like a guillotine, the cold edge reflecting his startled expression. He braced himself, but he already knew—he wouldn't be fast enough.

But before the steel could taste blood—

CLANG!

Leone's fist crashed into Ogre's sword, the sheer force of her punch sending a jarring shockwave up his arm. The brute snarled in surprise as Leone pushed forward, golden eyes flashing with feral intensity. Sparks flew as her reinforced knuckles clashed with the metal, the sound ringing through the empty streets. "Not so fast, big guy," she taunted, her smirk widening.

Ogre took a half-step back, but before he could regain his footing—

WHAM!

Heavy's massive fist slammed into Ogre's gut like a wrecking ball, driving the air from his lungs with a sickening grunt. The impact sent him skidding back, his boots dragging across the uneven ground as he fought to stay upright. Ogre coughed, spitting out a thick glob of blood onto the cobblestone, his fingers tightening around his sword's hilt.

"You pick on little man," Heavy growled, cracking his knuckles, the deep rumble of his voice carrying through the tense night air. His broad shoulders squared, his imposing frame standing like an unmovable wall between Ogre and Tatsumi. "Now you fight someone your own size."

Ogre's jaw clenched, his mind racing. He had fought against strong enemies before, but this—this was different. The brute strength of Heavy and the unpredictable agility of Leone made for a dangerous combination. He could see it now—Leone's sharp, confident stance, her muscles coiled like a panther ready to pounce, and Heavy's unshaken resolve, his very presence an overwhelming force.

Leone rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck as she began circling him like a predator stalking wounded prey. "Gotta say, you lasted longer than I expected," she teased, her tail flicking behind her. "But you're in a real bad spot now, pal."

Ogre barely had time to register the shift in momentum before Leone was on him. She moved like a wild beast, darting in and out of his range with terrifying speed. Her fists struck like iron-clad sledgehammers, each impact jarring his muscles and forcing him to adjust his footing. He swung his sword in a desperate arc, aiming to cleave her in half, but she ducked beneath the attack with feline grace, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Tch, getting slow there, old man," she taunted, twisting her body mid-dodge and planting her heel right into his ribs. The force sent him stumbling, his armor absorbing some of the blow but doing little to ease the sharp pain rattling through his bones.

Damn it. She was toying with him. Ogre gritted his teeth, his pride seething at the insult. He had spent decades honing his skills, climbing the ranks, instilling fear in his enemies. And now, this woman, this reckless beast, fought him like he was some second-rate grunt.

Before he could recover, a shadow loomed over him.

BOOM!

A fist the size of a boulder crashed into his shoulder, sending a shockwave of agony through his entire arm. Ogre barely kept his grip on his sword as he was knocked off balance, his boots scraping against the cobblestone. He let out a strangled growl, glancing up to see the mountain of a man standing before him.

Heavy.

The brute's stance was unshaken, his expression unreadable save for a quiet, simmering rage. He cracked his knuckles, the sound reverberating through the night air like distant gunfire. "You are not strong enough," he rumbled.

Ogre's breathing hitched. He had faced larger men before, but none quite like this. Heavy was not just big—he was deliberate, methodical. Where Leone was quick and unpredictable, attacking from odd angles with relentless energy, Heavy was a wall of pure force, each movement precise and unyielding. He did not waste motion. He did not attack blindly. He waited for the right moment, and when he struck, it was like being hit by a battering ram.

Ogre spat blood onto the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had spent years commanding men, cutting down enemies like cattle, standing at the top of the Empire's food chain. He had thought himself invincible. But now…

Now, he was the prey.

Leone came at him again, her movements unpredictable and chaotic. She leapt forward, aiming a clawed strike at his throat. Ogre barely managed to raise his sword in time to deflect the blow, but the force of it sent a tremor down his arms. He tried to counter with a wide swing, but she weaved around it like a breeze slipping through a crack in the wall.

She's playing with me. Letting me think I have a chance.

And then Heavy struck again.

CRACK!

A hammering punch to his ribs. Another to his gut. Ogre reeled, his body refusing to keep up with his commands. His breath hitched. He couldn't breathe.

No. This couldn't be happening. He was Captain Ogre of the Imperial Army, feared and respected. He had crushed insubordinates, slaughtered rebels, and yet—

WHAM!

A final hit from Heavy sent him sprawling onto one knee. His vision blurred for a second, his fingers twitching around his sword hilt. His entire body screamed in protest, but he refused to accept it.

Not like this.

With a roar of desperation, Ogre planted his foot against the stone and pushed forward, his blade swinging wildly. If he was going down, he was taking at least one of them with him.

Leone clicked her tongue. "Tch. Still got some fight, huh?"

Heavy's eyes narrowed. "Then we end this."

Ogre's mind raced. He needed an opening, an escape, something—but there was none. Leone's wild, relentless offense kept him off balance, while Heavy's calculated, crushing blows drained his strength with every hit. It was no longer a battle.

It was a hunt.

And he was the beast running out of time.

The sounds of battle echoed through the narrow street—metal clashing against flesh, heavy impacts sending shockwaves through the cobblestone. But for Tatsumi, the fight had already ended. His body ached, the dull sting of bruises settling in, and his breaths came in uneven gasps. His arms felt like lead, his legs shaky beneath him. He barely noticed the warm trickle of blood seeping from a gash along his arm, the pain dulled by exhaustion. 

A shadow loomed over him. 

"Mon dieu, look at you," Spy muttered, kneeling beside him with practiced ease. His voice was calm, unimpressed, as though this scene was nothing new to him. The Frenchman reached into his coat, retrieving a small case of medical supplies. A flick of his wrist, and a needle gleamed in the moonlight. "I assume this is not your first time getting roughed up, non?" 

Tatsumi winced as Spy pressed a cloth to his wound, dabbing away the excess blood before swiftly threading a bandage around it. The man's movements were precise, methodical—uncaring yet efficient, as if patching up soldiers was second nature. Tatsumi watched him work, noting how his fingers moved without hesitation, his focus unshaken even as the distant sounds of battle continued. 

"I—I was handling it," Tatsumi managed between ragged breaths. His pride wouldn't allow him to admit otherwise. 

Spy let out a quiet chuckle, lighting a cigarette with his free hand as he continued tending to the injury. "Oui, I saw. You were handling it wonderfully—until you got distracted." His smirk widened slightly as he blew out a slow stream of smoke. "But distractions? They get men killed." 

Tatsumi's jaw tightened. He didn't need the reminder. Leone's interference, his moment of hesitation—it had cost him control of the fight. If Heavy hadn't stepped in… his fists clenched at the thought. 

Spy seemed to notice his frustration. "Do not misunderstand, garçon. You fought well." He tightened the bandage with a sharp tug, making Tatsumi hiss in pain. "Better than I expected, actually." 

There was no mockery in his tone, only the smooth cadence of someone who had seen countless battles and knew how they ended. Spy took a final drag from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, crushing the embers beneath his shoe. He glanced toward the ongoing fight, as if gauging how much longer it would last. 

After a brief silence, he continued, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. "But next time, do not expect to be saved." His words hung in the cold night air, heavier than before. 

Tatsumi glanced up at him, meeting the masked man's unreadable gaze. The message was clear. Out there, on the battlefield, hesitation meant death. 

He took a deep breath, forcing his body to stop trembling. His fingers curled tighter into his palms. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. 

Spy stood, adjusting his gloves before straightening his tie as if none of this concerned him. "Rest while you can, garçon. The fight is never truly over." With that, he turned away, his figure blending into the shadows as if he had never been there. 

Tatsumi exhaled, his mind racing. His body may have been still, but his battle wasn't finished—not by a long shot.

Ogre's breaths came in ragged gasps, his once-overwhelming strength now dwindling under the relentless assault. Heavy's sheer power and Leone's nimbleness had left him battered, his armor dented, his movements sluggish. His mind screamed at him—he needed to escape. He had to regroup, recover, and strike back another day.

A sudden feint from Leone gave him the sliver of an opening he needed. Gritting his teeth, Ogre forced his aching body to move. With a powerful lunge, he shoved past the brawler and took off into the night, his heavy boots pounding against the cobblestone as he sprinted down a narrow alleyway. Blood dripped from his wounds, but he ignored the pain. If he could just reach the barracks, call in reinforcements—

A sharp voice cut through the cold air behind him.

"Ogre!"

He risked a glance over his shoulder. To his disbelief, Tatsumi was in pursuit. Despite his injuries, the boy was pushing himself forward, his face twisted in determination. Ogre scowled. Persistent little rat.

Tatsumi's legs burned, his lungs screaming for air, but he didn't slow. He couldn't. This man—this monster—had tormented the innocent for too long. Letting him escape would mean more lives lost, more suffering. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Just a little closer…

Ogre turned a corner, his mind racing with options—until he froze.

A figure stood in his path, bathed in the moon's pale glow.

Akame.

The moment stretched into an eternity. Her crimson eyes, cold and unfeeling, locked onto him with deadly intent. Her blade, Murasame, rested at her side, its cursed edge gleaming ominously.

Panic flickered across Ogre's face. He tried to stop, to change direction, but it was too late.

Tatsumi struck first.

With a fierce cry, he drove his sword into Ogre's back, the blade piercing through armor and flesh alike. Ogre's body jerked, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as pain overwhelmed him. His knees buckled, but before he could fall, Akame moved.

Like a whisper of death, she dashed forward, her sword carving a clean arc through the air. In a single fluid motion, she buried Murasame deep into his chest.

Ogre's eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to curse, to threaten—to beg. But no words came. His limbs trembled as the deadly poison coursed through his veins, spreading like wildfire. He tried to move, to fight, but his body had already betrayed him.

As his vision blurred, memories flashed before his eyes—his years of dominance, the fear he instilled in subordinates, the arrogance that had carried him this far. He had believed himself untouchable, above the laws that bound lesser men. Yet here he was, brought low by a mere boy and an assassin's blade. A pathetic, wheezing chuckle left his lips, bitter and weak. So this was how it ended. Not on his terms, not with a triumphant battle cry, but in the cold grasp of death, alone and forgotten.

With one final, gurgled breath, Ogre collapsed. His reign of cruelty had come to an end.

Tatsumi staggered back, his chest heaving, watching as the life drained from the man who had once seemed invincible. His grip on his sword tightened. This was justice. This was what he had vowed to do.

A slow clap echoed behind him.

Spy emerged from the shadows, adjusting his gloves, his usual smirk in place. "Well now, zat was quite ze display, petit. You certainly 'ave a way of surprising people." His gaze flickered to the lifeless body of Ogre, then back to Tatsumi. "Not bad at all. But remember—hesitation can cost you everything. Next time, be sure to finish ze job before someone else does it for you."

Tatsumi glanced down at his hands, still gripping his sword. There had been no hesitation. But still, something about Spy's words lingered in his mind.

Akame, ever silent, wiped the blood from her blade before turning to Tatsumi. She studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod—approval, perhaps respect.

Tatsumi exhaled. The night air felt different now. Lighter.

Leone and Heavy exchanged a glance, each silently acknowledging the other's strength. Heavy grunted, arms crossed, while Leone smirked and stretched her arms. There was no need for words—respect had been earned in the heat of battle.

Akame and Leone turned their attention to Spy, Heavy, and Tatsumi. "Thank you," Akame said simply, her voice as calm and unwavering as ever. Leone gave a more playful grin. "Yeah, you guys aren't so bad. Try not to get yourselves killed."

With that, Night Raid disappeared into the darkness, retreating before reinforcements could arrive.

Spy, Heavy, and Tatsumi lingered a moment longer. In the distance, the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices echoed through the streets. Soldiers arrived at the scene, their expressions shifting from shock to despair as they took in the sight of Ogre's lifeless body. Some cursed under their breath, others dropped to their knees in disbelief.

Spy adjusted his tie. "Ah, ze melodrama of it all."

With one last glance at the mourning reinforcements, the trio melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the consequences of their work.