Night descended like a heavy shroud.
Shiranui Hayate gripped the steering wheel, casting a sideways glance at Cross while voicing a sharp complaint.
"My friend, that crate of rats in the back... the stench is overwhelming."
"Do not underestimate them, Hayate," Cross replied, patting the wooden box with grim satisfaction. "Each one is a masterpiece of destruction. If I had more time, I would have brought an entire legion."
The Porsche Cayenne tore through the darkness toward Brooklyn. Cold air rushed through the cracked windows, barely thinning the pungent odor of the rodent army.
Soon, the vehicle slowed as they approached 17th Street. A few hundred meters from the Textile Mill, Hayate pulled to the curb and killed the engine.
Cross frowned. "We aren't driving straight through the gates?"
"Get out," Hayate commanded. "We move on foot from here. Stealth is our ally until the first strike."
"Hayate, without a vehicle to ram the entrance, we'll never get through those gates. Unless you plan on using directional charges for a breach? Or did you hide an RPG in the trunk?"
Cross grew increasingly bewildered as he watched Hayate step away from the car without retrieving any heavy weaponry. Looking at the young man, he saw no obvious signs of gear—no tactical vests, no rifles.
Reaching into his jacket, Cross pulled out a leather-bound notebook.
"Hayate, here is the formula for the Wax Bath, as promised."
Hayate accepted the notebook and tucked it into his pocket without a glance.
"Keep your focus, Cross. I have my own methods for the breach. Just make sure you and your rats keep up with me."
They jogged through the shadows until they reached the towering perimeter of the Mill. The walls were nearly ten meters high, reinforced like a fortress. Even at night, searchlights swept the grounds, and sentries paced the ramparts with rhythmic precision.
"Since you have a plan, the floor is yours," Cross whispered, pressing his back against the cold stone, clutching the large pet carrier.
"Leave it to me," Hayate replied, his voice brimming with a chilling confidence. "The moment I open the door, unleash your swarm. If you wait too long, they won't even get a chance to play."
In a blur of motion, Hayate surged forward. He reached the massive wooden gates in a heartbeat, slapped a paper talisman onto the center, and vanished around the corner of the wall.
"Collapse!" he hissed.
The Explosive Tag ignited instantly, followed by a thunderous roar. A blast three meters in diameter obliterated the gates, sending splintered timber flying like shrapnel.
The explosion shattered the silence of the night. Inside the Mill, assassins scrambled, and sirens began to wail as guards on the walls sounded the alarm.
Cross stood frozen for a split second. What was that? He had seen a piece of paper with strange, unrecognizable script ignite and detonate with the force of a high-grade plastic explosive.
Shaking off his shock, Cross sprinted forward. As he neared the wreckage of the gate, he hurled the crate. It shattered upon impact, and the panicked, bomb-laden rats scurried in every direction, disappearing into the cracks of the factory.
By then, Hayate was already inside. He drew a handful of kunai rigged with tags and hurled them toward the ramparts.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The explosions were relentless. A section of the ten-meter wall groaned and collapsed under the assault.
Kunai trailed by white smoke whistled through the air, turning every corner of the courtyard into a kill zone.
Cross stormed in behind him, his pistols barking, but he couldn't help but stare at Hayate's handiwork.
"If The Hand had possessed this kind of power back in the day, the Brotherhood would have been ancient history centuries ago!" he shouted over the roar of flames. "What are those? Charms? Some new type of micro-bomb?"
Cross followed the trail of carnage, but all he found were corpses.
Hayate was a whirlwind of steel. He cut through the Brotherhood's ranks like a scythe through wheat. He was moving too fast for the assassins to track; their bullets bit into empty air or were deflected by the spinning blades of his kunai.
As they reached the second floor, a different kind of explosion rocked the building.
The rats had found their marks. The staircases leading to the upper levels groaned and disintegrated as the rodents' payloads detonated, cutting off any hope of retreat or reinforcement for the defenders.
Hayate stepped onto the second floor, only to be met by a whistling bullet. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sliced the slug in half with his kunai. The two fragments ricocheted, striking two nearby assassins in the throat before they could even raise their weapons.
The shooter was The Repairman. Seeing his first shot fail, his eyes widened as he went to pull the trigger again.
"Infinite Chaos!"
Hayate bridged the ten-meter gap in an instant. He appeared directly in front of The Repairman, his fist already in motion.
CRUNCH!
The Repairman's head didn't just break—it erupted. A spray of crimson and gray splattered across the walls.
The sight was so grisly it even gave Hayate pause. He had never used this technique on a human target before; the sheer raw power was more horrifying than he had anticipated.
Note to self, Hayate thought, wiping a stray drop of blood from his cheek. Stop aiming for the head. That was disgusting.
He turned away from the headless corpse and glanced at the destroyed stairs. With a powerful leap, he bypassed the wreckage and landed squarely on the third floor.
This was the slaughterhouse district, the domain of The Butcher. The air was frigid, and the room was filled with the swinging carcasses of pigs, creating a macabre labyrinth of meat. A throwing knife whistled through the dark; Hayate swatted it aside with a clang.
He had no patience for hide-and-seek. He began forming hand signs.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
He poured a massive amount of chakra into his lungs. A sphere of swirling, ochre-red flame ten meters wide erupted from his mouth, incinerating everything in its path.
The fire consumed the room. The hanging pigs and the hidden Butcher were engulfed in an instant, the assassin's screams cut short as he was roasted alive alongside his meat.
Hayate scoffed, stepping through the embers. "Who says the Fireball Technique never kills anyone?"
He pivoted and headed for the final chamber.
Meanwhile, Cross had taken a different route. Knowing Hayate had the main force occupied, he headed straight for Sloan's study.
He didn't find Sloan. Instead, he found The Exterminator.
"Cross," the man said, a cruel smile touching his lips. He was holding one of the rats by the scruff of its neck, having already defused its bomb. "It seems you really did appreciate my research. You brought quite a few of my little friends back home."
"Sorry, Exterminator," Cross said, his voice cold and flat.
He didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and fired, the bullet screaming toward its target.