From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 700

Chapter 700: Strongest Enemies Clash

"Haha!" Commander Blark laughed at the top of his lungs, the booming sound echoing through the hollow cavern of the ruined supermarket. "This is always the usual sequence for us. Since no one in the outer provinces really knows who the Black Hand is, they always tend to severely underestimate our capabilities. Black Hand agents! Take back Number Eight, and systematically get rid of anyone who tries to get in our way."

The lethal operatives of the Black Hand sprang into motion instantly, their bodies shifting into tight, aggressive combat stances. The first one to breach the distance was Agent Number Five. She darted across the cracked floor tiles like a coiled spring, her trajectory locked squarely onto the wounded Skull.

The other numbered agents charged forward in her wake, intent on reclaiming the defector. But before they could completely close the gap, Popper reached down with predatory speed, scooped up a heavy chunk of shattered concrete from the floor, and hurled it like a bullet directly at the head of the office-attired woman.

Agent Number Four reacted with cold efficiency, snapping her torso to the side and catching the flying stone in her palm just inches from her face. But before she could drop the rock, Popper was already deep inside her guard. He drove a brutal, localized fist straight toward her stomach—only to find his knuckles colliding with her reinforced forearm block at the exact micro-second of impact.

"Ah, such a shame," Popper sneered, a dark grin stretching across his face. "It’s been a very long time since I’ve had to hit a woman."

The physical exchanges between the two escalated into a blur of high-velocity movement. Punches, blocks, and low sweeping kicks traveled back and forth between them, neither operative able to land a clean, terminating hit through the other’s defensive guard.

The moment the remaining single-digit agents witnessed the stalemate, their analytical instincts told them something wasn’t quite right. These weren’t ordinary street punks.

This realization became glaringly obvious as Skull cleanly intercepted the incoming strike from Agent Number Five, his fingers clamping like iron cuffs around her wrist. Refusing to yield, Number Five utilized her secondary hand to pull an assassination dart from her specialized compartment, driving the point downward in a desperate bid to stab him through the throat. But Skull was entirely prepared; his free hand shot up, catching her other wrist and completely neutralizing her mobility.

"You know, you guys really used to terrify me back when I was in the lower ranks," Skull murmured, looking directly into her eyes behind his mask. "But lately, having run into someone in Notting Hill who projects a much more horrifying brand of combat... you people just don’t seem that scary anymore."

Commander Blark’s horizontal scar twitched as his eyebrow raised in surprise. He had fully anticipated a systematic, total domination of the field, but that slaughter was failing to manifest. Instead, it appeared as if every single one of his elite agents had run face-first into a tailored counter-measure.

Dipter was now heavily engaged in a fierce, kinetic duel with the teenager in the oversized hoodie. Dipter was unleashing a barrage of linear, devastating kicks, each strike carrying the full weight of his heavy frame. The youth was matching the structural output through sheer agility. He shifted his footing continuously, building up immense centrifugal momentum in his own legs to intercept Dipter’s kicks straight ahead, the air vibrating with the force of their shins colliding.

What was truly troubling for Dipter, however, was that his combat experience was warning him that he was falling for subtle traps—empty spaces he mistook for structural openings. When he lunged forward with a heavy roundhouse, Number Three precisely lifted his knee and elbow in a synchronized defensive frame, smashing them like a vice directly against Dipter’s incoming foot. The pain was immediate, but Dipter’s stubbornness pushed through the structural block, driving his momentum forward to deliver the kick anyway, slamming his heel into the kid’s ribs.

Simultaneously, Dud was going head-to-head against Agent Number Two—the lethal specialist wielding the dual daggers. Dud had managed to evade the razor edges so far through sheer reflexes, but his internal calculation was colored by genuine surprise at how rapidly the silver blades were tracing patterns through the air.

"Hey... don’t you think it’s incredibly annoying to just stand here dodging these toothpicks all day?" Dud asked casually.

"But let me clarify something else for you as well, Number Two," Dud whispered, his smile turning feral. "If we aregoing to base this negotiation on who possesses the biggest dick... well, I would argue that title belongs exclusively to our guy!"

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