"Fear? Who's afraid?!" Ohme hoisted a mocking eyebrow, winking aggressively at the approaching mob. "Hey! You lots!" He extended his metal spatula, pointing it with supreme, unyielding confidence at the syndicate enforcers as over a dozen hardened men began compressing the tight space, closing the perimeter.
Phueak instantly scrambled backward, anchoring himself securely behind Ohme's frame. "Go get 'em, Ohm'! I'll be your rear guard, providing absolute strategic support!" Phueak whispered, his voice trembling violently.
Ohme bared his teeth, shooting a thoroughly disappointed glare over his shoulder at his subordinate. "You are an absolute coward, you know that?!" he muttered. Turning back to face the threat, he gathered his composure to play the bold tiger. "Hey!" Ohme bellowed once more, delivering a thunderous roar that commanded a brief, confused halt from the mob.
Phueak widened his eyes, waiting in breathtaking suspense to see which classic Mae Mai Muay Thai stance his boss was about to unleash. Even the Chinese enforcers, clad in their dragon-embossed leather jackets, froze dead in their tracks, entirely anxious to see what classified, lethal martial art this foreigner was about to expose.
"Hey! If you think you're tough enough...!" Ohme repeated, stalling with dramatic flair. "If you're tough enough..." He bared his teeth again, but his feet remained firmly glued to the floor. "You guys..." He aggressively thrust the smoking wok forward.
"This is incredibly irritating! He’s just wasting our time stalling! Eliminate them!" the syndicate vanguard leader roared in Chinese.
Upon the command, the enforcers surged forward like a collapsed dam. In that exact micro-second, Ohm who had been locked in a flawless combat stance instantly dropped his defense, a chaotic smirk playing upon his lips as he screamed through the establishment, "In that case... run for your pathetic lives!"
The words hadn't even finished registering before he bolted toward the rear kitchen exit at the speed of light.
Phueak stood paralyzed in sheer, unadulterated shock for a fraction of a second. A heavy wooden club whipped through the air, slicing just centimeters away from his face. The sudden displacement of air snapped the stocky youth back to reality. Hoisting his weight onto his toes, he executed a high-velocity sprint, fleeing the scene without waiting to be stomped into oblivion. "That absolute piece of trash! Ohme, you bastard!... How could you bolt first?! This is profoundly disgraceful!"
BANG!
Ohme kicked the rear exit door completely off its hinges, tearing through the narrow, labyrinthine alleys of Shanghai. Neon reflections of crimson and sapphire danced violently against the surface of the cast-iron wok he was still gripping like a sacred relic. The chaotic cadence of heavy boots and furious shouts echoed off the ancient brick walls behind them with terrifying momentum.
"After them!" "Stop right there, you little dogs!" "Thai men, halt!" The threats roared from the rear. Phueak ran with a frequency that threatened to shatter his legs, casting a panicked glance backward before redirecting his eyes toward Ohme, who was actively tossing and sautéing the contents of his wok
while sprinting
.
"Why on earth did you bring the damn wok with you, Ohm?! It’s highly inconvenient and dragging us down!" Phueak screamed from the rear.
"Because I'm starving, dammit!" Ohme shouted back over his shoulder, clearing a massive pile of trash bins in a singular leap. Approaching a sharp, suffocatingly narrow blind corner, he made a split-second executive decision: he hurled the heavy wok high into the air, sending it sailing over a crowded clothesline. Ohme spun his frame gracefully through the narrow bottleneck, completing a flawless pivot just in time to catch the descending wok perfectly in his grip.
HISSSSSSS!
The sound of the minced pork searing against the hot metal continued without a single interruption. "Damn, I am extraordinarily smooth," Ohme complimented himself. The volatile, weaponized aroma of the holy basil exploded down the alleyway, forcing the pursuing syndicate enforcers to aggressively sneeze while attempting to maintain their pursuit, rendering their chase thoroughly disastrous.
HACK! COUGH!
"What the hell is this demonic stench?!" cursed voices erupted from the fog.
"Is this seriously the time for self-admiration, Ohm?! Holy crap! The Grim Reaper is literally waiting to cut the ribbon on our funerals back there!" Phueak screamed, clutching a steaming plate of premium jasmine rice as he sprinted for his life, while axes and wooden clubs struck the brick walls behind them in hair-raising proximity.
{"hr":true}
The thick nylon cord continued to constrict around Adisorn’s throat with maximum leverage. His entire universe began to spin into a dark vertigo; his visage deepened from a violent crimson into a suffocating purple, the veins along his temples bulging under extreme pressure. Summoning the absolute remnants of his adrenaline, Adisorn drove his heel directly into the assassin’s abdomen with everything he had left, forcing the masked killer to lose his footing and stagger backward.
Adisorn collapsed forward, attempting to crawl away with zero physical reserves remaining. However, the masked operative lunged back inside his perimeter, violently grabbing Adisorn by the collar from behind and hurling his frame into a heavy wooden wardrobe.
CRASH!
The assassin brandished a tactical blade, driving it down toward Adisorn’s midsection. Adisorn executed a desperate roll, collapsing onto the mattress as the killer hoisted the blade overhead for a definitive, lethal plunge.
SHWIP!
Out of nowhere, a compact throwing knife cleaved through the air, embedding itself deep into the assassin’s forearm. Adisorn, gasping for oxygen in ragged, violent wheezes, turned his head toward the entrance. Tum and Rosé had breached the threshold, rushing into the room.
The assassin shifted his target, lunging directly at Rosé to seize her throat. Tum threw his weight forward to intercept the strike, but Rosé extended a rigid forearm, shoving Tum out of the trajectory with authoritative force. In a singular, fluid motion, she twisted her wrist, exposing a concealed iron-reinforced gauntlet beneath her sleeve, and delivered a devastating hook straight into the killer’s sternum. The impact sent the operative airborne, crashing violently against the wardrobe.
Yet, the assassin possessed terrifying resilience. Planting his boots firmly against the floorboards, he executed a sweeping kick to take out her legs. Rosé instantly vaulted into the air, absorbing the momentum, and drove the sole of her foot directly into his ribs with catastrophic force.
THUD!
The secretary descended gracefully back onto the floor, her high heels clicking firmly against the wood. She casually tossed her long, silky hair over her shoulder, extending a singular index finger in a highly provocative motion, signaling the killer to stand up and face her once more.