Phantom barely had time to breathe before the sound of heavy boots filled the alley. More enforcers poured in, their armor glinting in the dim torchlight. But this time, they did not attack. They formed a line, parting like a tide as a figure emerged from the shadows.

  The Red Jackal.

  Clad in crimson-dyed armor, his jagged scar stretched across his face like a permanent sneer. His black cape billowed as he strode forward, his massive twin blades resting on his back. The warlord exuded raw, unrelenting power.

  Phantom stood tall, blood still dripping from his daggers. “So you finally show yourself.”

  The Red Jackal chuckled. “You’ve made quite the mess, Phantom. You could have joined me. We are the same, after all.”

  Phantom’s grip tightened. “We are nothing alike.”

  The Jackal tilted his head. “A killer pretending to be a hero. How amusing.” He nodded to his men. “No more games. Kill him.”

  The enforcers surged forward.

  Phantom exploded into motion. He ducked under a swinging sword, slicing through a man’s Achilles tendon. The enforcer screamed as he crumbled, but Phantom was already moving, his dagger plunging into another’s chest.

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  A spear lunged for him—Phantom twisted, catching the shaft and yanking the wielder forward. He snapped the man’s neck with a brutal twist, then used the spear to impale another attacker. Blood soaked the ground, the stench thick in the air.

  But the Red Jackal did not move. He watched, waiting.

  Phantom cut down another foe, but more replaced them. A blade grazed his ribs. Another slammed into his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, pain a distant thing in the chaos.

  Then, a sharp whistle rang out.

  The enforcers halted, stepping back. Phantom staggered, his vision flickering from blood loss.

  The Red Jackal clapped slowly. “Impressive. But even the strongest dog gets tired.”

  He drew his twin blades in a single, fluid motion. “Now, we end this.”

  The warlord lunged. His first strike nearly took Phantom’s head off. Phantom barely ducked, countering with a dagger thrust—but the Jackal twisted, parrying effortlessly before slamming his knee into Phantom’s gut. The impact sent Phantom crashing into a pile of debris.

  He rolled away just in time to avoid a crushing overhead slash, the force splitting the stone beneath it.

  The Jackal was fast—too fast for a man his size.

  Phantom spat blood and lunged, feinting left before pivoting right. His dagger found the warlord’s side, cutting through armor—but barely. The Jackal grinned, grabbing Phantom by the throat and lifting him off the ground.

  “Pathetic.”

  Phantom struggled as the Jackal tightened his grip, crushing his windpipe. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision.

  Then, a gunshot.

  The Jackal released Phantom, staggering back. A bullet had ripped through his shoulder.

  Phantom collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Through blurred vision, he saw a figure standing on the rooftop—Raven, pistol in hand, smoke trailing from the barrel.

  “Still think I’m running?” she called.

  Phantom grinned, coughing blood.

  The war wasn’t over yet.