Villain Origin : Every Crime I Commit Helps Me Level Up-Chapter 32: Battle at the Dock 2

The battle on the dock had transcended mere combat. What began as a contest of technique had devolved into something primal—a brutal exchange where two martial artists pushed the boundaries of human capability.

Hawk’s lungs burned with each breath. His Adrenaline Mastery allowed him to process the pain surging through his battered body, but even that had limits. The mental calculation was grim: less than ten minutes remained before his Senkika—his War Demon Transformation—would expire. The technique wasn’t harmful in itself; it simply pushed his natural abilities to their absolute peak for a limited time. When it ended, the accumulated strain would leave him vulnerable and immobile for a full half-hour afterward.

Marcus circled him with predatory grace. The Weightless Force master moved like liquid mercury, his body seeming to flicker between states of solidity and ethereal energy.

"Your technique is impressive," Marcus admitted, genuine respect briefly cutting through his contempt. "But I can see its limits in your eyes—the clock ticking down. Soon you’ll be nothing but an ordinary man again."

Hawk didn’t waste breath responding. Every word exchanged was energy spent, and energy was a resource dwindling by the second. Instead, he adjusted the gauntlets on his fists, feeling the strange vibrational energy pulse through them. These weren’t ordinary weapons—they were his only hope against Marcus’s seemingly invincible Weightless Force technique.

Marcus unleashed another barrage of Phantom Strikes—invisible hammers of kinetic force that erupted from his hands without full contact. The air itself seemed to distort as the attacks cut through space toward Hawk.

Hawk’s body moved on instinct, the culmination of thousands of hours of brutal training. He twisted, ducked, the gauntlets pulsing with defensive energy that created momentary shields against the worst of the impacts. Still, several strikes found their mark, each one feeling like being hit by a speeding vehicle.

Blood sprayed from Hawk’s mouth as he was driven back, wooden planks splintering beneath his feet. But he remained standing—a testament to his Pain Resistance Drills.

"Most men would be dead by now," Marcus observed clinically, advancing with measured steps. "Your body is extraordinary. It’s almost a shame to destroy it."

Hawk launched his own offensive—a flurry of strikes powered by his gauntlets. Each punch carried not just physical force but that strange vibrational energy that seemed to momentarily disrupt Marcus’s technique.

Marcus weaved through the assault with impossible speed, his body bending at angles that defied human physiology. He was keeping his distance now, wary of the gauntlets’ power. One solid connection could change the course of the battle.

"You’ve learned," Marcus acknowledged, sliding away from a particularly vicious right hook that would have shattered concrete. "Last time we fought, you were all brute force. Now there’s... refinement."

The mention of their previous encounter fueled Hawk’s determination. Three years ago, Marcus had broken him completely. That defeat had reshaped Hawk’s entire approach to combat—a humiliation that had spawned a transformation.

The battle intensified. Marcus began firing attacks from multiple angles simultaneously—a hallmark of advanced Weightless Force technique. Kinetic energy erupted around Hawk like invisible artillery, each blast carrying enough force to shatter bone.

Hawk’s defense was a masterclass in Adrenaline Mastery. His body twisted and contorted, the gauntlets creating momentary disruptions in the kinetic waves. Still, for every attack he managed to deflect or absorb, three more found their mark.

Their exchange accelerated to superhuman speed. Marcus’s hands became blurs of motion, each movement launching concentrated force through the air. Hawk responded with a storm of counterattacks, the gauntlets leaving trails of disruptive energy in their wake.

To any observer, they would have appeared as forces of nature rather than men—two hurricanes colliding in a symphony of destruction. The dock itself became collateral damage, metal groaning and wood splintering around them.

"You can’t win," Marcus taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Your technique has a time limit. Mine doesn’t."

He was right. The Senkika wasn’t meant to be sustained indefinitely. The technique amplified Hawk’s natural abilities to superhuman levels, but it had clear limits. Already, he could feel those enhancements beginning to wane, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing second as he approached the technique’s natural duration.

Marcus seemed to sense the shift. His attacks became more calculated, more precise—a predator sensing weakness in its prey. Each Phantom Strike now targeted vital points, pressure centers that would accelerate Hawk’s decline.

A particularly devastating combination sent Hawk crashing through a stack of crates. Wood exploded around him, splinters embedding themselves in his already battered flesh. For a moment, he lay still—a broken figure amid the wreckage.

Marcus approached slowly, savoring the moment. "This is the difference between street fighting and true martial mastery," he said, his voice a mixture of contempt and disappointment. "Your technique is impressive, but ultimately, it’s built on a foundation of survival rather than enlightenment."

Hawk’s response was unexpected—a backflip from his prone position, his massive frame demonstrating agility that defied his size. The move caught Marcus off guard, creating just enough space for Hawk to reset his stance.

"You talk too much," Hawk growled, blood streaming from his mouth, his voice a raw manifestation of his War Demon Transformation. "Let’s finish this before I get bored." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Marcus’s face. Then—something darker. Appreciation.

"As you wish," he whispered.

They clashed again with renewed ferocity. Marcus launched a sweeping kick designed to take Hawk’s legs from under him—a tactical choice based on the assumption that a man of Hawk’s size couldn’t possibly evade such an attack.

But Marcus had underestimated Hawk’s adaptability. Instead of evading, Hawk drove his weight forward into the sweep—a counter-intuitive move that threw off Marcus’s timing. It was a street fighter’s instinct, not a technique taught in dojos: meet force with greater force.

The unexpected shift in momentum created a split-second opening. Marcus’s perfect balance faltered as his sweeping leg met resistance where he expected none.

It was all Hawk needed.

One of his gauntleted fists connected solidly with Marcus’s abdomen—precisely where André had already wounded him earlier. The impact was catastrophic. The gauntlet’s vibrational energy pulsed at the moment of contact, temporarily disrupting Marcus’s Iron Shell technique.

For a split second, the black dot in Marcus’s eye—a physical manifestation of his Weightless Force mastery—flickered and disappeared. Raw pain registered on his face—perhaps the first genuine expression he’d shown during their entire exchange.

The force of the blow sent Marcus flying backward, his body crashing into a shipping container with enough force to dent the metal. The impact echoed across the dock like a thunderclap.

Hawk felt his technique beginning to fade. His body was reaching its absolute limit, the Senkika burning through his reserves at an alarming rate. But finally—finally—he had landed a truly significant blow.

Marcus extracted himself from the dented container, his movements no longer quite as fluid. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth—a sight so incongruous with his earlier invincibility that it seemed almost surreal.

"Impressive," he admitted, genuine respect in his voice. "Only two people have ever broken through my Iron Shell... and now you’re one of them."

But the moment of vulnerability was fleeting. The black dot in Marcus’s eye stabilized, growing darker as he reasserted his control. His body seemed to shimmer as the Weightless Force technique fully reactivated.

Hawk pressed his momentary advantage, launching himself forward with explosive speed. His gauntlets sang through the air, each strike aimed at the weak point he’d discovered.

Marcus was ready this time. Having experienced the gauntlets’ disruption effect, he adjusted his technique. Rather than attempting to block, he focused entirely on evasion—becoming like smoke, impossible to grasp or strike directly.

"You had your moment," Marcus said, his voice regaining its cold confidence. "It won’t happen again."

The fight transformed once more. Marcus remained constantly in motion, never allowing Hawk to establish a rhythm. His Phantom Strikes came from impossible angles—behind when he appeared in front, below when he seemed above.

Hawk’s breathing became more labored, his movements fractionally slower. His time was running out; he could feel the Senkika’s energy waning dangerously.

Marcus sensed the shift and pressed his advantage. His attacks became a continuous storm, each strike precisely calculated to wear down Hawk’s fading defenses. No single blow was devastating, but the accumulated damage was inexorable.

A particularly vicious combination caught Hawk off-guard. A Phantom Strike to the kidney was followed by a direct palm thrust to the solar plexus, then an elbow strike to the temple that sent him staggering.

Before Hawk could recover, Marcus executed his most devastating technique. His body seemed to vibrate at an impossible frequency, creating afterimages as he moved. In the span of a heartbeat, he delivered seven perfectly placed strikes to Hawk’s nervous system—pressure points specifically chosen to disrupt his Adrenaline Mastery.

The effect was catastrophic. Hawk’s technique faltered, his body suddenly processing the full extent of the damage it had sustained. Pain crashed through him like a tidal wave, temporary paralysis seizing his right side.

He collapsed to one knee, blood streaming from numerous wounds. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his body approached complete system failure.

Marcus stood over him, a predator observing his prey. "Your technique is fading," he said, his voice almost gentle. "That’s all you have left before your transformation collapses completely. And then—" he let the sentence hang unfinished, the implication clear.

Hawk struggled to rise, his massive frame trembling with the effort. The gauntlets pulsed weakly, their power seemingly tied to his own fading strength.

"I felt that punch," Marcus continued, circling Hawk’s kneeling form. "For a moment, I thought it might be the end. You’ve improved dramatically since our last encounter."

He paused, allowing the memory to surface between them. "You ran last time, didn’t you? When you realized you were outmatched. You made the smart choice then." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You should have made the same choice tonight."

With blinding speed, Marcus delivered another combination—a sequence of Phantom Strikes that hammered Hawk from multiple angles simultaneously. The dock’s wooden planks splintered beneath the force, leaving Hawk in a crater of shattered timber.

"You had potential," Marcus said, genuine regret coloring his voice. "With the right training, you might have become something truly remarkable."

Hawk’s response was defiance incarnate. Despite the devastating assault, despite his body’s imminent collapse, he forced himself to stand once more. Blood streamed from dozens of wounds, his right arm hanging nearly useless at his side.

Precious seconds of his transformation remained. Hawk could feel the war drum of his heartbeat slowing, the supernatural energy of the Senkika beginning its final ebb.

Marcus shook his head, something like respect flickering in his eyes. "Admirable," he acknowledged. "But ultimately futile."

He approached with measured steps, preparing to deliver the final sequence of strikes that would end the battle—and Hawk’s life. His body began to shimmer with concentrated kinetic energy, the black dot in his eye expanding to consume the iris entirely.

"Any last words?" Marcus asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. "I’ll make it quick. You’ve earned that much."

Hawk’s eyes never left his opponent. Even now, at the edge of defeat, he was calculating, searching for any opening, any weakness that might be exploited.

"Actually," Hawk growled, blood bubbling between his teeth, "I do have something to say."

Marcus paused, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

"You really do talk too fucking much."

A ghost of a smile touched Marcus’s lips. "Fair enough."

He raised his hand, kinetic energy coalescing around his fingers like a visible heat haze. The Phantom Strike he was preparing would carry enough force to stop Hawk’s heart instantly—a merciful end to an opponent who had earned his respect.

The sound of the gunshot was shockingly loud in the relative quiet that had fallen between them.

In the microsecond between the bullet’s impact and his reaction, Marcus’s mind raced with shock. ’I didn’t sense it coming. No killing intent, no bloodlust to detect. Whoever fired masked their presence completely.’ His Iron Shell technique—the automatic defensive response that should have hardened his body against any attack—hadn’t activated in time. The bullet had penetrated clean through muscle and bone, a vulnerability he hadn’t experienced in years.

Marcus’s body jerked, his right shoulder erupting in a spray of blood and bone fragments. The kinetic energy he’d been gathering dispersed instantly, his concentration shattered by the unexpected attack.

He spun with inhuman speed, the black dot in his eye contracting sharply as he faced this new threat.

"You," Marcus said, recognition and something like rage coloring his voice.