From Bullets To Billions Chapter 628: The Camp

Though Aron had only known Vivian briefly, her behavior revealed two undeniable truths. Firstly, she excelled as a strategist, always opting for the optimal route to triumph. Secondly, her allegiance was set—she'd abandoned neutrality, fully backing the Billion Bloodline and deploying every advanced gadget available to secure their success.

Suspended high overhead, a streamlined drone—formerly Fortis group's property—hovered silently, its blades emitting a piercing hum. Vivian had surely been eyeing the security cameras, detecting the exhausting deadlock in the gym and noting Aron's waning energy.

That package contained far more than mere provisions; it served as Aron's vital resurgence.

Skull refused to remain idle. He shifted his gaze from the drone to Aron, eyes flaring in sudden understanding. “If you think I’m just going to stand here and let you get your hands on that, you’re crazy!” Skull snarled. Battered as he was, he surged ahead, dashing toward the landing spot with frantic velocity.

Observing Skull's lead, Aron realized a straight sprint was impossible with his damaged ribs. His gaze swept the ground, fixing on a relatively light iron dumbbell close by. He grabbed it swiftly and, grunting with effort, flung it using all his remaining power.

During the follow-through, his flank gave way. An intense, piercing agony ripped across his body, as though a bone fragment had stabbed further into his lung. He wheezed, yet the throw struck perfectly. The metal dumbbell sliced through the air, striking the rear of Skull’s legs. The blow sufficed to shatter his equilibrium, causing him to sprawl headlong onto the cushioned mats.

Aron wasted no time. Disregarding the blaze in his side, he dashed beyond the floundering Skull, arriving at the package precisely as it touched down. He ripped it apart, fingers clasping known handles. Instantly, serenity enveloped him upon gripping them. He withdrew the pair, snapping his wrists sharply—the twin batons deployed with a metallic clack. A subtle blue spark danced at their ends, lighting up the shadowy gym.

“Crapping hell,” Skull cursed, hauling himself upright. He gaped at the luminous batons, posture drooping a touch. “You have those things again. This fight is going to hurt... I really should just give up, shouldn’t I?”

He smeared blood from his eye, expression hardening darkly. “Well, if I were up against anyone else, I probably would. But we both know how this ends. For people like us, there’s only one outcome for the loser: death.”

From the secure command center high above, Vivian monitored the screens via multiple camera views. She'd been overseeing the facility's trickiest conflict zones, aware that though Aron outmatched in skill, Skull embodied relentless stamina—a relentless “nightmare” persisting until utterly shattered.

These batons were familiar to her: elite prototypes from Fortis group, personally supervised by Max. Recognizing them as Aron's trademark—and anticipating their frequent loss in his profession—she'd stockpiled extras for crises like this.

Delivering them proved tricky. Even compact drones generate notable sound signatures, drawing foes amid chaos. She'd bided for the ideal moment, and thankfully, Billion Bloodline troops supplied it. She observed Rangers and Max’s key comrades methodically crushing Gilt Rat foes, advancing the line and securing the vicinity. It confirmed her ally selection; these were warriors who defied fate via unbreakable resolve.

Now Aron needed to shine. He drew a painful, profound breath, clenching to stabilize his wounded ribs, then launched forward.

Skull unleashed a wild swing, but Aron deflected the limb with an exact, electrified bash. The follow-up punch suffered equally. Ere Skull regained poise, Aron drove a baton straight into his torso. A tremendous jolt erupted through Skull, convulsing his frame and sending his eyes upward in overload.

Aron pressed relentlessly. He morphed into a whirlwind of action, batons buzzing with each blow. He cracked Skull at the temple, then the throat, before jabbing upward at the neck. As Skull buckled under the barrage, Aron delivered a savage downward sweep across the visage, propping him for the subsequent assault.

Strike upon strike descended. Aron channeled his fury, torment, and devotion into every impact. When done, Skull lay transformed beyond recognition; burgeoning bruises already masked his features in battered pulp.

At last, Aron exhaled a prolonged, rasping breath. He halted, torso laboring. Simultaneously, Skull’s limbs surrendered, crumpling him like a marionette severed from control.

Aron lingered briefly, gasping heavily, until fatigue buckled him to one knee. His flank throbbed fiercely, yet the danger lay quelled.

“You asked before... what rank I was,” Aron murmured, eyeing the fallen foe. “I was one of the first brought into that camp. That’s probably why we never met; you likely came in much later, or your number was too high to notice back then.”

He clutched his batons, their electric buzz dissolving into the gym's hush. “I’m a bit sloppy compared to the days of the past... and there might be newer members out there now who are better than I am. But during my time? When I was in that camp... I was Rank 1.”