Chapter 26 Jin #2
We circle each other with sheets of rain bulleting down and droplets clinging to our faces.
As focused as I am on Black Shell and our battle, out of the corner of my eye, I’m also preoccupied by the wardrobe.
By the fact that my rabbit is trapped inside. The winds and rain don’t help the situation, making the rock slippery and nudging the wardrobe more and more against the edge of the cliff.
If I outright run over to the wardrobe to try to force it open, Black Shell would follow, and in our hasty struggle, we’d probably send the wardrobe toppling over the cliff’s edge. It’d make the situation infinitely worse as I couldn’t get it open in time to pull her out and fend off Black Shell.
The only way out of this scenario involves me incapacitating him. Ensuring he’s vanquished for good.
Only then will Monroe truly be safe and this vendetta settled once and for all.
We attack each other at the same time, rushing forward to test our might against the other. My leg swings through the air in an axe kick and catches him in the jaw as his arms grapple for my midsection and wrenches me back down to the ground.
We go down hard, crashing onto the wet, jagged rock and scrambling to be the first to rise.
I launch another kick, this one a front kick that he avoids by diving and rolling. Suddenly he’s behind me, and I’m twisting to keep up.
We clash in a mix of blows and blocks, Black Shell issuing several punches and strikes while I do the same, and we both manage to play defense with our forearms.
It’s dizzying how quickly we both move, neither of us relenting as he catches my fist and I skillfully reverse his move with a twist of his arm.
Then he’s doing the same, spinning us back around in another endless circle.
He anticipates my every move like I do him, making it difficult to gain an advantage. It might come down to stamina as we back off each other and return to circling.
I’ve reset my stance, fists held up offensively and defensively as we rotate around each other and wait for the other to make the next move. He’s mirroring me, rolling his shoulders, eyes gleaming with thirty years of hatred.
He lunges first.
I sidestep and snap a side kick into his thigh, dead-legging him. He stumbles but recovers instantly, spinning into a hook kick that almost throws me off. I’m able to block at the last possible millisecond, though pain shoots from my wrist to my shoulder anyway from absorbing the blow.
We trade more strikes in rapid succession. His fist cracks against my ribs, landing three hits as my side twinges and the splintering pain tells me he’s likely broken one.
But I’ve never let a fractured rib slow me down during combat.
I drive my elbow into his face in retaliation, the cartilage on his nose crunching as it explodes in a spray of blood.
He snarls and comes at me harder.
A brutal combination forces me back toward the cliff’s edge. Left hook to my body, then a right cross to my head, followed by a spinning elbow I duck but not fast enough. The elbow lands hard, connecting with my cheekbone as that side of my face instantly throbs from pain.
He’s cut me above my eye, the blood mixing with rain and blurring my vision.
Having now gained an advantage, he presses it, driving forward even more aggressively. He leaps and his knee clips my jaw.
I’m sent tumbling backward, knocked off balance so I crash to the ground with teeth clacking together and a wave of dizziness making me forget time and place.
But it’s only for a second. That’s all I allow as he rushes to deliver an axe kick, but I roll out of the way in time. His boot slams down onto the rock and gravel instead, kicking up pebbles and splashing rain water.
Head throbbing and side aching, I scramble to my feet at a slightly lowered stance. More of a wrestling takedown position as my gaze pins him and I decide how next to advance.
Black Shell fakes me out, rushing forward, then feinting right as soon as I move to take him down.
I throw a desperate roundhouse kick. He catches my leg, yanks me off balance, and drives his fist into my damaged ribs. More bones crack. The pain is more than intense, but I can’t stop.
Monroe is in that wardrobe. Every second I waste is a second she’s running out of air.
I twist out of his grip and hammer a punch into his kidney. He grunts and releases me, staggering. I press the advantage, snapping out a front kick that lands square in his chest. He flies backward, hits the ground hard, and I’m on him before he can recover.
I rain down blows from above—fist to his face, elbow to his temple, knee driving into his ribs. He gets his arms up to block, but I’m relentless, enraged over what he’s done to Monroe and our son fueling me.
But he’s not to be outmatched for long.
He bucks his hips and throws me off, scrambling to his feet with a speed that defies his injuries. His leg whips out in a crescent kick that I block, then he follows with a spinning heel kick that connects with my side.
Right where my ribs are broken.
I crumble against my will.
He’s on me instantly. He grabs my arm and wrenches it behind my back, twisting until my shoulder pops out of its socket with a sickening wet crack. The scream that tears from my throat is involuntary. He drives his knee into my spine, sending me sprawling face first into the wet rocks.
“Pathetic,” he snarls, circling me as I struggle to push myself up with one arm. “The great Silent Hunter, choking on his own blood. Your father put up a better fight than this. He lasted almost ten minutes before I made him watch his family die.”
His taunts waver in and out through my haze of pain.
Images of my family from that night float to mind. Then comes a pregnant Monroe, the joy in her eyes and the bright smile she’d given me as we celebrated our baby boy.
I snap with a ferocious roar, surging to my feet on pure adrenaline. Enough that I’m able to tune out the intense pain from my battered body.
He throws a punch, and I dodge it, countering with a headbutt that smashes into his already broken nose. More blood sprays across both our faces and he staggers backward, momentarily blinded.
I attack with everything I have left.
My leg snaps out in a cut kick that slams into his thigh. He buckles. I follow with a spinning back kick to his ribs, breaking a bone of his in retaliation for my fractured side.
He doubles over, and I bring my knee up into his chin, snapping his head back, the crack echoing over the latest crash of thunder.
He tries to retreat, but I won’t let him. I grab his head and slam it down into my rising knee.
Once, then twice, then a third time, turning his face into bloody ruin. I finally let him go, and he collapses to his knees, swaying.
We’re both heaving for air, bruised and bloodied even as the cold rain pours and tries to wash away the evidence.
But even now, Black Shell isn’t one to quit. He won’t do so until the very bitter end.
His hand darts into his long coat and emerges with a blade. He leaps forward with renewed vigor, slashing at me with wild desperation. I twist too late, and the blade slashes open my arm, the wound from elbow to wrist.
I spin to avoid the next strike, but am again not quick enough to evade it altogether. The blade slices across my back once and then a second time as he gives it another harsh flick.
The skin is torn open as I fight to stay a step ahead.
He’s growing progressively sloppier, obviously winded but still too stubborn to quit. He swings the blade in wide arcs that leave him open.
Timing his next slash, I duck under it and step inside his reach. My hand closes around his wrist. We struggle for the blade, muscles straining, rain pouring down our bloody faces and making our grip slippery at best.
He drives his forehead into my shattered cheekbone. The pain is indescribable, more hot pulses radiating through my skull.
That’s all he needs.
He wrenches free and drives the blade forward with all his remaining strength.
It buries itself deep in my chest.
I must lose consciousness for a second or two. The sharp object pierces the wall of my chest in a blinding burst of pain that leaves me howling and my knees buckling.
The next thing I know I’m on the ground, glancing down at the handle of the knife protruding from my body. Blood wells around the metal, thick and crimson, washed away by rainwater only to be replaced by more oozing out.
I can feel how the blade scrapes against bone, buried deep in muscle and flesh, centimeters from my heart.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to even lay still.
For one crystalline moment, I think this is it.
This is how I die. This is how my rabbit dies.
It’s over.
Damaged himself, with a broken nose and shattered rib, Black Shell stumbles over to the cliff’s edge.
“Now you will know,” he rasps, blood dribbling down his chin. “Now you will remember what it feels like to helplessly watch her die.”
With a desperate, final surge of strength, he shoves at the wardrobe.
“No—” I croak, outstretching a hand.
But he doesn’t listen. His boot connects with the wardrobe and sends it tumbling over the cliffside.
It rolls one end over itself as it flies over the edge then lands in the churning sea with a great splash. It manages to float for a few short seconds before the tide quickly drags it under.
“MONROE!” I bellow, instantly consumed by sheer terror.
Suddenly the blade in my chest doesn’t matter. I shove myself to my feet, wrapping long fingers around the handle and wrenching the knife free with a roar of agony that sounds more animalistic than human.
Black Shell’s eyes widen with shock.
I’m already launching myself toward him, his blade in hand, anticipating his dodge before he executes it.
As he scrambles to maneuver around me, swerving to the side, I’m waiting for him as he does. I run the blade straight through his throat, twisting it as I do, forcing a gasping scream out of him.
I wrest the knife free and watch as blood once again makes an appearance—it spurts from his throat like a gory hose. His hands scrabble at the wound, but it’s useless.
This wound is fatal, and he’s done.
His body crumples to the ground, the life quickly draining out of him.
“Your revenge goes unfinished,” I growl, glaring down at him, droplets of water clinging to my face and hair. “You die a failure while I live to continue my bloodline.”
He chokes on air, giving one final gasping breath before twitching and then going still.
There’s no time to bask in the victory.
….there is no victory until my rabbit is safe and sound.
The same terror consuming me as when I watched the wardrobe fly over the cliff, I sprint toward the edge and dive with no hesitation.
It’s at such a height that the impact from the water is like hitting concrete. It’s intense slamming into it, but any pain exploding from my feet to the rest of my body is outright ignored.
I plunge into the frigid dark waters, the cold shocking my system and stealing some of my breath but still not enough to stop me.
Nothing will until I find and rescue Monroe.
I swim down into the black, searching the spot I’d last seen the wardrobe.
The sea is a terrifying void. Currents pull at me from every direction, trying to drag me away from where I need to go.
Visibility is next to nonexistent—just endless black, broken only by the muffled flashes of lightning from far above.
My lungs burn for air, and my broken ribs throb for every stroke I make. The stab wound in my chest pulses blood into the water and my dislocated shoulder makes it significantly harder to stroke my arms. But I push deeper, following the direction I saw the wardrobe sink.
My hands search blindly through the darkness, reaching and grasping and finding nothing. Panic claws away at me.
I’m running out of air. Running out of time.
Monroe is running out of time.
Then, just as I’m realizing this could be how I lose after all, my fingers brush against wood.
The wardrobe.
I find the latch and wrench at it, but it’s stuck. I brace my feet against the side, agony shooting through what’s probably broken toes, and pull with the strength I have left.
Muscles straining and limbs aching, tiny spots waver in front of my eyes. I’m growing lightheaded, having held my breath for too long.
The latch gives way.
I wrench the door open and reach inside, my hand closing around fabric and then flesh.
It’s a limp and unresponsive Monroe, her body drifting like a dummy in the current.
I grab her under the arms and pull her free, kicking desperately toward the surface as my body gradually runs out of steam.
But it can’t. Not yet. Not until we make it out of this.
It’s sheer force of will that carries us the rest of the way. My stubborn defiance and refusal to give up.
We break through, and I gasp for air, lungs heaving, hauling her body toward the rocky shore. The waves fight me every inch of the way, walls of icy water crashing over us, trying to drag us back under.
But once again, I refuse to let go. I refuse to lose her.
I drag her onto the rocks and lay her flat on her back. In the flash of lightning, I see her face. Her lips are blue and eyes are closed, her expression eerily vacant.
Her chest is alarmingly still.
She’s not breathing.
“No,” I rasp. “NO!”
Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and seal my mouth over hers, forcing air into her lungs.
After the first attempt, I try again and again, urging her to breathe. My hands press down on her chest, starting compressions to bring her back.
“Come on,” I pant desperately. “Come on, Tokki-ya. Don’t do this to me… please—”
I breathe more air into her mouth again, following up with compressions.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Twenty.
The rain pours down on us, the storm raging on as if attacking us.
“Please,” I sputter again. “I can’t go on without you. I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist. I need my rabbit.”
I breathe into her mouth. Push on her chest.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty—
She jerks in place, convulsing as seawater spews from her lips and her body heaves upward. She coughs and retches, desperately gasping for air.
I gather her into my arms and hold her tight, cradling her in my lap until her eyes flutter open.
“J-Jin—” she chokes out.
“Shhh… Tokki-ya, save your breath,” I rasp, overcome with relief and blinking down at her in shock. “You’ve survived. We both have.”
She buries her head against my chest with a small, hoarse cry, her entire body trembling in my arms. We stay like this, unable to bring ourselves to move as heavy rain buckets down and the loud thunder rolls overhead.
But it hardly registers for either of us. We’re too exhausted and swept up by the shock and relief of what’s happened.
How lucky we are to still be here together, alive and breathing.