From Bullets To Billions Chapter 626: The deserter’s Shadow

Within the gym, tension thickened the air, transforming it into a stifling game of cat-and-mouse. Aron had abandoned open combat; he darted like a specter, turning lines of massive weights and pulley rigs into an improvised stronghold. Retreat stemmed not from cowardice, but strategy, as he waged a grinding battle of endurance amid his body's furious protests.

Skull prowled the central open space, gaze flicking to the doorway. He vigilantly eyed the portal Ramon had just wrecked, betting Aron's devotion would push him toward a frantic escape attempt. For a warrior like Aron, imagining his 'precious chairman' tackling a complete exoskeleton solo was pure torment.

"Come on!" Skull mocked, his words bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Time is ticking, you know that, right? You saw the monster Ramon has become. Do you really think your Chairman has the power to deal with a full-suit exoskeleton? A kid with a checkbook against a god of steel?"

Skull halted, orbiting a sturdy punching bag. "Or maybe you just don’t care? I mean, a guy with your skills... after this job goes south, you could always just disappear and join another group, right? Why die for a sinking ship?"

During that brief taunt, Skull caught the soft scrape of a shoe. He whirled, yet too slow by a hair. Aron burst from the squat rack's gloom, low to the ground, unleashing a savage ankle-targeting sweep at Skull’s legs.

With battle-hardened reflexes, Skull hopped clear of the low attack. But Aron pressed on. Scarce had the leg finished its swing when he braced palms on the rubber floor and vaulted skyward, whipping a kick straight at Skull’s visage.

Skull raised his defense, absorbing the blow, though it hurled him backward off-balance. Aron pounced before recovery. A storm of punches erupted from Aron—sharp, blistering jabs. Skull countered futilely, arms deflected at key instants. Two solid blows cracked Skull’s jaw, jarring his senses. As a third arced in, Skull seized a frantic gap, snapping a front kick into Aron’s gut.

The strike glanced, yet propelled Aron several paces away.

"I can feel it in your attacks," Skull gasped, a twisted smirk cracking his features. "I guess for some reason, you really care about your chairman, don’t you? I can tell you’re rushing. You might be a better fighter than me, hell, I’m not even confident I’m going to win this fight, but as you should know, the job will get done regardless. All I need to do is keep you busy until Ramon completes the contract."

Aron's fury ignited at Ramon's name. He surged forward with a blistering high kick, but Skull snared the limb airborne. His free hand, bolstered by brutal brass knuckles, plunged toward Aron's vulnerable shin, intent on pulverizing bone.

The punch never connected. Aron yanked his leg free with raw power, spinning his frame midair via the pull. Upside down, his heel crashed atop Skull’s skull with devastating might. The collision rocked Skull; sight fractured into swirling crimson haze as he dropped to one knee.

Aron touched down and sought to leap up for the kill. Opportunity beckoned. Yet motion faltered; breath caught. Hands flew to ribs, features twisting in blinding torment.

’Damn it...’ Aron mused, sight blurring. ’I really did get hit harder by that dumbbell than I thought. Something is definitely broken in there... but I have to bear through the pain. I have to get to Max.’

Aron's pain-induced pause gifted Skull recovery time. The Black Hand operative banished dizziness, rose spitting crimson onto the mat.

"I see you’re injured, and even in that state, you can put up a hell of a fight!" Skull declared, tone blending admiration and venom. "Damn it, my head is throbbing. Who would have thought that in a place like this, I’d run into another single-digit member? Even without your weapons, you’re doing a damn good job."

Aron stayed silent. He lunged anew, roundhouse aimed at Skull’s temple. Skull's response felt strange this time. Arm rose, yet defense seemed half-hearted.

Skull ate the blow deliberately, Aron's shin smashing arm and skull, snagging the leg in the crash. Trading pain for gain, Skull rammed his weighted fist into Aron's fractured rib zone.

Forewarned, Aron twisted torso aside, blunting the punch's fury. That evasion wrenched his core unnaturally. Searing agony exploded, freezing him momentarily.

Skull exploited it. Fist hurtled at Aron's dome, dodged by a hair's slip. Countering, Aron rammed forehead into Skull’s mug. The clash staggered Skull, nostrils gushing blood.

"Hahaha... your strikes are getting weaker," Skull cackled, smearing gore with his sleeve. "You must really be hurting. You know, even if you are a single-digit ranked member, if you’re fighting like this, you won’t survive. Not against us, and certainly not against them."

Skull advanced, glare sharpening. "Do you even know why I joined the Gilt Rats? The answer is simple: I needed protection. The Black Hand doesn’t take well to deserters. If they found out where I was, I needed a group large enough and powerful enough to hide me. If the Black Hand finds out where you are, they will come for you. They’ll take you out, and they’ll slaughter everyone around you who tries to get in their way!"