Chapter 7: Rat

Sabata watched the master get knocked off the fighting platform, an indescribable anxiety rising in his chest. Though they had just met, the man was the first to give him a glimmer of hope about becoming stronger.

“Is… is he going to be okay?” Sabata stammered, turning to Wil.

Wil wasn’t looking at him. He was observing the chaotic crowd below.

“Okay is a relative concept,” he said. “Physically, he’ll have a few broken ribs, maybe a mild concussion. It’s a small price to pay.”

“A price? For what?” Sabata didn’t understand.

“For a lesson. And for evolution.” Wil turned to look at him, his eyes devoid of emotion. “Do you know the basic principle of Ki usage? It’s called the threshold of breaking and rebuilding. Every time a Ki user is pushed to their physical limit, injured to the point where their cells are forced to regenerate, their Ki structure is overwritten with a stronger version. They don’t just recover; they become stronger. As long as they don’t die.”

Wil shrugged.

“My final kick was calculated to break three ribs and cause a sufficient concussion, but not to damage any vital organs. Within a week, he’ll recover. And when he does, his strength will have increased by at least five percent. A very profitable investment.”

Sabata looked at Wil, a chill running down his spine. This man didn’t just fight people. He was upgrading them in the most brutal way imaginable.

“What about me?” Sabata asked instinctively.

“You?” Wil looked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “You don’t use Ki. You’re a different case. A different experiment.”

With that, he calmly stepped down from the platform, ignoring the booing crowd.

“In the end, we got kicked out. Good thing they didn’t call the police.”

“But I am the police, my son. Even if they did, there’s nothing they could do to me.”

Sabata was stunned. “Are these words a servant of justice can actually say?” But before he could ponder further, Wil led him to a horseless carriage, casually climbed into the driver’s seat, and looked at him with a mischievous grin.

“Now, son. Transform into a mighty steed for your father.”

At this point, Sabata was speechless. But seeing the whip in Wil’s hand made him flinch. He sighed, knowing he couldn’t escape, and began to pull the carriage. Whenever he slowed down, Wil would crack the whip on his rear, causing Sabata to yelp.

“Faster, Sabata! I know you can do better than that!” Wil shouted, his voice ringing with cheerful laughter.

The more he ran, the more terrible scenarios filled his mind. There were even specialized pink drones flying around, displaying signs that said “FILMING IN PROGRESS,” so even if passersby were curious, they would just point and laugh without intervening.

“I’m not going to have my organs sold off and then be dumped somewhere, am I?”

“Of course not. You’re my son.”

If Wil said so, then all he could do was hope. Sabata ran and ran, feeling as if his heels were being pierced by a hundred needles.

Sweat covered Sabata’s forehead, the salty stream running into his eyes, making him grimace in pain. He tried to breathe deeply, but the air seemed to have solidified into concrete. Suddenly, he felt a whip crack against his backside, making him jump. Wil’s face was lit with a bright smile, as if he was thoroughly enjoying Sabata’s suffering. Every time Sabata slowed down, the whip landed, an unforgettable reminder.

Despite the pain, Sabata kept running. His legs no longer felt like his own, just moving endlessly in agony, with no end in sight. Though he couldn’t read Wil’s emotions, through his gestures and expression, he could confirm that the man was enjoying his suffering. Therefore, I absolutely must not let people like that get their satisfaction. He hated these kinds of people the most, those who derived pleasure from the pain of others. He bit his lip, preventing a cry of pain from escaping, determined not to let Wil see his weakness.

Finally, after ten kilometres of torture, they stopped in a bustling middle-class district. Sabata collapsed to his knees, his face drained of all colour, his body aching all over. This area was completely different from the poor district Sabata was used to. The streets were wide and clean, with skyscrapers lit by thousands of coloured lights. The aroma of expensive, delicious food wafted everywhere, tantalizing the taste buds of anyone passing by. Melodious music from bars and restaurants blended with the cheerful laughter of the wealthy.

Meanwhile, Sabata was used to life in the poor district, with its low-slung houses and dilapidated doors. The shouts of drunkards and the cries of children were the everyday sounds there. Sabata couldn’t believe that just a few kilometres could make such a difference in life.

Amidst the luxurious atmosphere of the middle-class district, Sabata felt like an outsider, someone who didn’t belong. But now, he had no other choice but to follow Wil and hope that things wouldn’t go too far, before he passed out.

When he came to, he felt as if his entire body had been taken apart and put back together. Looking around, he was even more surprised. Sabata felt a sense of both strangeness and familiarity. “It’s still my stuff, but it feels so different.”

All of his belongings from his old place seemed to be here, creating a sense of familiarity. But the strange thing was that Wil had moved all of Sabata’s things to this apartment and arranged them so neatly that he wondered if the psycho cop had OCD.

This apartment had a view from high above, making everything below look terrifying to someone like Sabata, who was afraid of heights. It was a nightmare. Gentle morning sunbeams filtered through the window blinds, casting a golden glow across the space. It all gave him the feeling of standing on top of the world.

It wasn’t just the feeling of an expanded horizon; it also showed him that his new life might not be as difficult and khổ cực as before. He felt a thrill of anticipation, unsure whether to be excited or anxious about what lay ahead. But either way, he knew he couldn’t go back to his old life, and now he had to adapt to these changes. Suddenly, from a distance, he saw a drone drop off a very suspicious-looking package. It looked like a pestle with two balls at the base, accompanied by a note that read, “Take off your clothes and go take a shower,” which made him instinctively clench his buttocks.

“I guess I can’t escape the fate of being kept by a sugar daddy,” he sighed, cursing his unjustly handsome face.

The screams of the jostling crowd filled the air as people scrambled to find a way out. They pushed, shoved, and trampled over each other to escape. A series of thuds and cracks echoed through the crowd. Dust rose high like a fog, blanketing the street and the victims. The dust choked their throats, making people cough until their chests ached.

Amidst the chaotic sea of people, Wil appeared in a full suit of armour, only his eyes visible through a red protective visor. The armour frame was made of thick, rigid steel alloy. Its body was glossy black with prominent orange trim. Artificial muscles ran along the entire body, looking as powerful and balanced as an ancient Greek statue.

Wil felt a flicker of anxiety at the sound of the people’s terrified screams. But his eyes quickly sharpened with determination. His voice boomed with the authority of a commander:

“Team 1, Team 2, Team 3, advance. Formation 112!”

Three teams in similar but simpler armour, coloured blue, red, and white, charged into the poor district. Teams 1 and 2 moved forward, guiding the panicked civilians, restoring order, and leading them out of the danger zone. Team 3 was assigned to protect and support the other two teams. The white-armoured soldiers scaled the high walls, drawing their guns and taking cover in openings. In the narrow alleys, red-armoured figures appeared, ready to attack. The sound of stomping feet came from behind a wall; the blue team was waiting for the signal. They coordinated seamlessly, as if they were one.

The shadow of a small rat appeared behind Team 3. The rat bared its sharp white teeth. Its blood-red eyes stared intently at a victim’s neck. It opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of sharp fangs, then leaped into the air, ready to tear and rend.

Wil drew his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger like a hunting leopard, his whole body entering a combat state. An explosion like a thunderclap shattered the space, startling everyone present. The rat, suspended in mid-air, suddenly burst like a popped balloon.

Its blood and organs splattered outwards, falling like a crimson drizzle. A foul stench like a decomposing corpse assaulted their nostrils, seeping deep into their throats, making the witnesses’ stomachs churn with nausea.

Before they could recover, a series of chilling, rustling sounds came from every alley on both sides behind Team 3. Rats poured out from alleys, crevices, burrows, and sewers by the hundreds of thousands, swarming like a disturbed hornet’s nest, crawling over each other like maggots. They bit and gnawed at anything in their path.

The tiny black shadows swarmed in, climbing over fences, pouring down from above like a waterfall. The sound of their scratching claws and angry hisses mingled, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. Amidst the sea of black rats, a few giant rats the size of cows appeared. They charged on their hind legs, muscles rippling under their wrinkled skin. Sharp claws and teeth glinted under the streetlights. Their glowing red eyes were fixed on the humans, ready to tear their prey apart.

The sounds of animals that were supposedly the rats’ natural enemies, like cats and dogs, were drowned out as they were swept into the hungry flood. They scattered in panic; only the birds flying high above escaped the calamity. At this sight, more than a few weak-willed people wet themselves.

The continuous sound of gunfire rang out. Despite shooting down dozens of rats, their numbers didn’t decrease; in fact, they seemed to increase. But the soldiers did not falter.

Wil swung his sword, lopping off the head of a giant rat that lunged at him, his face contorting in disgust. Black blood splattered onto his armour. Beside him, his comrades used heavy machine guns to pick off the rats climbing high above. In their hearts, they only hoped to end the battle soon, so they wouldn’t have to keep hearing the terrified screams of the civilians behind them.

Wil shouted, leaping down to reinforce Teams 1 and 2 below. He roared:

“Close combat!”

Instantly, the police officers drew their swords, the cold blades reflecting the light. They charged into the battlefield like hungry tigers, ready to tear the enemy apart under Wil’s command. The clash of swords produced horrific sounds, cutting through the rats’ flesh like a knife through butter. Fresh blood sprayed out, dyeing their armour red.

But many soldiers were also injured. Pained and desperate groans echoed amidst the fierce battle. A giant rat, its neck severed, collapsed to the ground. Its belly was torn open, its red intestines spilling out, writhing like snakes. Blood and brain matter splattered, creating a slippery, stinking mire.

“Ugh, disgusting!”

Then another wave of the furry creatures attacked. They were constantly pushed back, swords slicing through them, creating cold, clean cuts. With each swing, a few rats fell, but hundreds more followed. The soldiers’ arms began to ache.

One man fell and was swarmed, bitten and torn apart, screaming in agony. Blood splattered everywhere, as thick as a crimson painting. His comrade struck down a giant rat, rescuing him from the monster’s claws. But it was too late.

Some of the giant rats even threw manhole covers, which flew through the air and slammed into their helmets, nearly breaking their formation several times. They were surrounded but continued to fight back with slashes honed through a thousand repetitions. One rat even took the opportunity to bite through the back of a Team 1 member’s armour, burrowing inside to bite and tear. The man screamed horribly.

“No, ahh…”

“John!”

“H-help me!”

“Where are all these damn rats coming from!?”

“Formation! Don’t let them separate us!” Wil ordered, seeing the team in disarray.

“Team 1, turtle formation! Team 2, cover the wounded and retreat! Team 3, focus on the large targets!”

High above, Team 3 hid behind the dark windows of an old, four-story house. They looked down on the slum, their guns firing continuously. Below, the ground team fought hand-to-hand against the sea of ferocious rats while moving the wounded. The clash of steel and the pained cries of both sides echoed. Blood splattered everywhere, weapons were caked in gore.

Outside the rat-infested poor district, the space became hazy in the night. High above, small points of light gradually revealed themselves, moving swiftly and silently until they were close. These were Wil’s reinforcement drones, small in stature but possessing terrifying power.

Wil looked towards the sea of rats pouring out of the dark alleys at the end of the street. His team was struggling against the overwhelming and ferocious numbers. He knew he had to act fast to relieve the pressure.

He ordered the drones to attack. They dropped bombs towards the rat holes at the end of the alley, from where the swarms were emerging. It was a risky plan, but he knew there was no other choice.

The bombs fell at dizzying speed, and in an instant, violent explosions erupted, flames blazing brightly. The rats shrieked in pain, and black smoke billowed up, obscuring the horrific scene below. But at least the explosions had temporarily halted the rats’ advance, giving Wil’s team more time to rally and prepare for the next engagement.

The ground was scorched, covered in cracks and the mangled remains of rats, their burnt fur flying everywhere like ashes after a firestorm. Thick black smoke enveloped the district, swallowing everything in darkness. Only now did the rat swarm, terrified, begin to retreat.

Seizing this opportunity, they used swords, guns, and every weapon at their disposal to fight back. Each time a rat was killed, its blood splattered like patches of red and the white of its brain, flowing over their armour and weapons.

Wil charged forward, slashing and shouting:

“Get the civilians out of here! We can’t let them harm anyone else!”

A police officer beside him, while slicing a rat, yelled:

“Corner them! Don’t let them split up!”

But at that moment, Wil had an unusual feeling, a strange shriek echoed, and all the panicked rats once again became frenzied. From a distance, he could feel the aura of a supreme ruler. Instinctively, he shouted:

“Everyone, prepare for a fight to the death! We must not let them get out!”