From Bullets To Billions Chapter 603: Blood of the Black Hand

Aron remained braced amidst the swirling dust, his fingers white-knuckled around the cold steel of his dual batons. Ordinarily, protocol would dictate that he face his adversary head-on, but he had intentionally opted for a lethal ambush from above to secure a momentary advantage.

Even if he failed to incapacitate the intruder with that initial, skull-shattering blow, he figured he could at least inflict grievous injury to shift the momentum of the impending clash.

Aron had scrutinized this masked figure through the security feeds—witnessing the terrifying, minimalist efficiency with which he carved through the frontline guards—and he harbored zero doubts. This man was a seasoned operative forged in the Black Hand.

However, several gnawing concerns plagued Aron regarding this encounter. Primarily, Aron had severed ties with the Black Hand as a youth.

He had abandoned the brutal syndicate and their depraved assassin program, having been marked as 'killed in action' to vanish into a life of anonymity protecting the Stern family. Given the passage of time, recognizing agents from his old training camp was nearly impossible. They had changed over the years, and it was improbable that the masked man known as Skull would recognize him either.

Burdened by this secret, a dark anxiety haunted Aron: he had been tempered into a cold, lethal weapon from childhood, thriving in an environment where peak violence was the only path to survival. But that life of brutal vigilance had paused when he joined the Sterns. Meanwhile, the assassins within the Black Hand had continued honing those murderous instincts without respite.

This discrepancy in active experience left him questioning his survival in a fight to the death.

"You possess significant confidence in your abilities," Skull remarked, cutting through Aron’s thoughts as he audibly popped his knuckles, the sound ringing across the gym floor. "Standing here alone to face me is a fatal error, kid."

Skull paced forward, his boots silent against the mat, while Aron stood statue-still, calculating his opening. As Skull stepped into the strike zone, the gap dissolved.

Aron struck first, whipping his right baton toward Skull’s temple in a vicious arc. With unnatural fluidness, Skull bent backward, the steel hissing past his mask by a hair's breadth.

Using the momentum, Skull launched a savage kick toward Aron’s ribs. Aron deflected it, driving his left baton down hard onto Skull’s shin. Capitalizing on the impact, Aron pivoted his entire frame.

Leveraging centrifugal force to amplify his power, Aron brought his right baton down in an overhead strike. Skull barely caught the blow with crossed forearms, yet the sheer kinetic force hammered him down onto one knee.

Skull remained agile, sweeping his leg low to knock Aron off balance. Aron vaulted over the sweep, retreating two steps to reset his guard.

Skull rose slowly, dusting off his leather jacket, his arrogance morphing into something colder.

"I simply cannot believe it," Skull mused, his voice dissolving into a chilling, hollow laugh. "There were whispers that one of my pet students vanished, said to be bested in a ring. That was the last the underworld heard of him."

Skull shook his head, gazing at Aron with distorted reverence. "I assumed... someone I personally trained, granted that mechanical exoskeleton, could never fall to some pathetic, unheard-of group like the Bloodline. It seemed impossible. But observing you now, it finally clicks."

Ignoring the villain’s prattle, Aron surged forward. He closed the distance and unleashed a twin strike from both sides, aiming to crush Skull’s head between the steel batons.

Before impact, a deafening metallic ring filled the space. Sparks showered the floor as Skull deflected the batons with his fists.

Stepping back, Aron realized why. Skull was equipped with reinforced brass knuckles, glowing under the fluorescent lights, backed by the raw power required to wield them.

"It is certain! There is not a doubt in my mind that you are a defector from the Black Hand!" Skull cackled with sadistic glee. "Your movements, your clinical spacing, your textbook technique; it all explains why you felt so emboldened to face me unaccompanied."

Skull stalked to the side, rhythmically tapping his knuckles together.

"I assume those morons in the Bloodline have no clue they are harboring a Black Hand operative. But it is strange... I do not recognize you?" Skull tilted his head, his eyes narrowed beneath the mask. "Were you a high-numbered recruit? A throwaway? I rarely wasted memory on the fodder numbers."

Skull dropped his hands, his tone shifting to one of absolute, chilling authority.

"I will make you a generous offer to avoid a gruesome end," Skull suggested, gesturing with a metal-clad hand. "As a former member of the Black Hand, you know that resistance is futile. Cease this defiance and return to our ranks. Otherwise, you sacrifice your life for a house that does not even know who or what you are."

Skull’s gaze intensified, pinning Aron to the spot.

"Because right now, you are not facing a mere foot soldier. You are challenging a single-digit agent of the Black Hand."