Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (59 page)

Washington, D.C.

Incessant knocks beat upon the doctor’s entrance. Shin rifled and searched for a solution that would explained the madness he had witnessed but nothing of the sort presented itself. Science had failed him. The one thing the doctor believed in more than anything had proved to be a false prophet. No amount of time and research could explain what he had just witnessed. His army was in shambles. Their plan had failed. Years of work ruined. And yet, they still weren’t done.

The approaching guest became relentless. It wasn’t enough that they had humiliated Shin and his creations but they wanted to disturb him as well in his only place of sanctuary. He had no idea what they may have wanted but he could make a few educated guesses. The majority of those pointed towards his fallen warrior that were currently missing their heads but opted to look on the bright side and hope for a quick and clean death.

The door cracked as it was forced open by the weight of the intruder’s kick. Shin collapsed to the ground. Chairs and papers fell over him in a panic. The white knight approached. He carried a large silver staff that, with one gentle toss, shrunk to a fraction of its previous size and wrapped around his neck forming a necklace. Hanging off the chain was a miniature version of the cross that had been finely stitched into his white clothing. For someone who was dressed like a holy man, he certainly knew how to intimidate his enemies.

“Excuse me,” he spoke.

The words flowed from his tongue like soft raindrops and cascaded down upon the barren desert that was the doctor’s current residence.

“I would like a few moments of your time.”

The holy man looked around the room before quickly turning his attention back on Shin.

“It appears we have much to discuss.”

“I have nothing to say to you!” The doctor snapped back. “You’ve already taken my men, my research, my army!”

Shin grew increasingly angry with every passing breath.

“What else do you want from me?!”

The holy man got down on one knee and gently rested his arms upon his bent leg. He looked at the doctor not with scorn, malice, or anger but one of genuine sincerity. It is unlike anything Shin has experienced before. The very prospect of it frightened him. Without data to support the findings, he was left to create his own conclusions and that did not bode well for the doctor’s current state of mind.

“Rest easy Dr. Shin,” he smiled. “I’m not here to hurt you. I am only here to understand what you have done. Those creatures down there,” the holy man said while turning his head towards the window. “Are something I have a particular interest in.”

“Why?!” Shin coughed. “Why do you care about them? Those are my creations, tools for a war. But,” he began to sob ever so delicately, “But they’re nothing now. I’m nothing. Why do you even care?”

The doctor winced as the holy man stood up. He walked towards the window. His expression appeared to have changed. No longer were his eyes sympatric but rather, it appeared as if he was mourning something.

“Those creatures you look down upon used to be your fellow countrymen. They stood on the brink of death, begging for release. I could hear each and every one of them cry out to me as they were forced to do your bidding.”

The holy man returned his gaze towards the doctor.

“Your science has corrupted them, twisted their lives and forced them into something that should have never been.”

His eyes dropped as he swung his head around back towards the window.

“I must now cleanse these men and this place of any traces of your foul science. They did not deserve to die. Not like this.”

“What,” Shin began as he trembled with the thoughts of what was to come. “What are you going to do?”

“I will do what I must,” he stated.

The holy man took a deep breath and from out of his lips he whispered softly.

“Adolere.”

Light exploded from below. A wave of invisible energy smashed through the windows and sent shards of glass flying everywhere. The doctor immediately panics and rushed for cover as sharp shards of punishing rain pelted his body. Hundreds of tiny notes of music filled the air as the destroyed window soon found permanent rest inside of the laboratory.

Shin picked himself up slowly. Bits of glass and debris still stuck to his body but trickled to the ground upon standing. There were a few cuts and scrapes on his skin but nothing life threatening. If he was this banged up from a position of good cover the holy many must have been torn to shreds. Upon initial inspection, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. Not cut, nick, or even gash had managed to penetrate the white knight’s armor. It was as if the glass had gone out of its way to avoid hurting him.

That couldn’t have been possible. The doctor was not about to believe it. Science existed to elucidate everything and yet, in the last few minutes, it could explain nothing. The entire world Shin had built around himself crumbled to ashes before his very eyes. There was no use trying to fight it now. He was already brought down to nothing; he might as well go where nothing ends up.

The doctor reached in the bottom drawer of his desk. In their lay his last resort. A finely crafted forty caliber black Kimber 1911 pistol sat in a small wooden box on top of a few mundane files. When it was issued to him he almost laughed thinking such a thing wouldn’t be necessary. Now that he’s experienced this phenomenon, nothing else mattered anymore.

Shin pressed the pistol to his head. The holy man must have just caught it out of the corner of his eye because his expression changed from remorse to terror in one foul swoop.

“What are you – DON’T!”

Those the last words the doctor heard before the world went black.

March 27th, 2013 4:33PM

The White House

Washington, D.C.

The ballistic Korean soldier unleashed a flurry of blows targeting his battered American opponent. Every punch and kick swiped the air so quickly it cut like a freshly sharpened blade. Michael ducked, dodged, and swayed each blow that came his way. He wasn’t ready to trade hits just yet. First he needed to measure the capabilities of his opponent.

Unlike his brother, Ryoo Myung-Ho had the skill to back up the strength. No doubt the training with the Yamatera clan had worked wonders. The previous received intel on him was conflicted. Commander Wells stated that he died in battle during the invasion while his sensei Jiro was certain that Myung-Ho trained alongside his brother. As another punch grazed the space that Michael’s head once resided, it all started to become clear.

The Oval Office was in complete disarray and given the power and speed behind every attack, it was safe to assume that Myung-Ho was also under the influence of God-Slayer. Something was different about him though compared to his brother. Another strike lunged in from above and Michael didn’t have time to think or avoid the attack.

Flesh cracked against flesh and Myung-Ho’s heel dug into the hardened knuckles of Michael’s fist. The ultimate human soldier didn’t have time to counter or give away his secret just yet so he figured the best way to stop an attack is by delivering one himself. The Korean pushed off the blocked attempt and resumed throwing strikes quicker and with a bit of anger starting to grow.

Michael knew he had his opponent swimming in doubt and confusion. That was par for the course with this group. His first encounter with someone of his kind was against the Russian monster known as Kurtis. He couldn’t stop the former FBI agent with one punch as he’d done so many other which caused him to overestimate his abilities and fell into the real trap of underestimating his opponent. Myung-Ho appeared to be in a similar position as any true master of the Yamatera style of combat knew that if it took more than one hit to disable an opponent it meant you lacked the skills necessary to truly utilize their martial art.

The oncoming blows grew stronger and faster with every swing. Michael found himself just barely avoiding each one as the blows started to graze the tough hide of his armor instead of catching empty air. His opponent was becoming relentless and given the Michael’s current physical condition, it was only a matter of time before he chipped away and broke through the tough defensive front.

A swinging back roundhouse kick passed high overhead. The attack was wild and unlike the rest. Michael ducked well below the intended attack area and soon realized his folly as Myung-Ho planted his foot and launched a devastating straight roadhouse kicked aimed right at the former FBI agent’s throat.

Ryoo was ecstatic his feint had worked. It was a simple maneuver in theory and practice but the fact that he was able to nail it perfectly was so beautiful it could have been framed and put into a museum. This kick had already decapitated one foul creature and was used as a mere demonstration of his power to a select few individuals. Now the whole world would see just how powerless they are against the might of Ryoo Myung-Ho.

Bone crunched against bone. The hideous sound filled the air as combat had seemingly stopped for the moment of complete and utter ruin to pass. Stern breaths exited the soldier’s body as he found his foot caught by the back of his American opponent’s wrist and forearm. With one quick flick, he pushed Ryoo’s foot away as if it were an annoying gnat fluttering about.

The air in the Korean’s throat went dry. His eyes widened. There was no way in hell he could have survived that attack let alone discard it completely. Thousands of thoughts and ideas raced through Ryoo’s mind at that moment. None of them came close to the truth but there was one prevailing thought that could explain this madness. Ryoo was determined to clear up this mess so he could proceed with his ultimate conquest.

“You ingested God-Slayer,” he stated.

The level of authority in Ryoo’s voice was marred by the overwhelming amount of confusion he had felt.

“Didn’t you?”

His opponent scoffed. The sheer audacity of that question must have struck a nerve because Ryoo had sensed no other emotions flowing through his movements or plastered on his face. The sullen expressionless demeanor of the black-clad warrior suddenly grew dire as he looked up and growled the words that would forever be etched in the Korean’s young mind.

“I am God-Slayer.”

Michael exploded from his position and delivered a volley of attacks. His opponent had been trapped by his initial scheme and was now completely caught off guard. Punches landed against the toughened defenses of Ryoo Myung-Ho but his stance was waning. He’d never experienced a combatant that could match him in strength, speed, and skill. He wasn’t prepared for Michael’s onslaught and it showed as every delivered blow seemingly pushed back the soldier closer and closer to the brink.

A fist flew towards Michael’s skull. He pushed Ryoo’s arm aside using an exuberant amount of strength then followed through with a full turn and ending with a spinning back fist. The Korean ducked underneath the blow but barely had time to move away as a second punch from the heavens came careening towards his jaw. Ryoo dove backwards and flipped his legs up rocketing his heel towards Michael’s undefended chin. The former FBI agent swayed and felt the sharp air slice at his throat as the attack passed.

The sky above Washington appeared to be filling with blood as the orange sun began to fade into obscurity. Michael was able to catch a brief glimpse of the bright yellow star setting as he pulled away hard to avoid the flip kick and upon returning was welcomed with another roundhouse with a first-class ticket to his jaw. The ultimate human soldier ducked once more and felt the rush of air slap against the soft hairs of his neck. Michael attempted to return to his stance but was caught off-guard himself for the first time as Myung-Ho had a mighty double-axe handle smash ready and waiting to land.

Michael saw a unique opportunity present itself and forced the cells in his body to heed his commands no matter how hard they were crying. He rolled his body to the right and delivered a violent spinning back roundhouse kick of his own, smashing against the elbows of his adversary and driving the attack away and back towards the sky where it originated. The former FBI agent planted his foot upon landing and readied his stance and he drove his fist forward with the strength and velocity of a speeding aircraft right into Myung-Ho’s awaiting skull. It was a perfectly executed counter and attack and should establish a bit of intimidation and dominance in the ongoing battle. What Michael didn’t expect was a quick and roundabout counterattack from the previously rocked opponent.

Fists clashed and connected against opposing jaws. The bone-crunching blow sent the ultimate human soldier skidding across the White House roof. Trails of blood streaked across the area as Michael stopped in a violent halt flat on his face. His nerves begged for attention as every single pain receptor in his body howled as loud as they could. Michael pushed himself just a few inches off the ground and sought to examine his work hoping to find a similarly positioned opponent on the opposite end of the roof.

Ryoo Myung-Ho looked no worse for wear. The fact that he was still standing shot thousands of daggers into Michael’s mind. At least his punch left a solid and resounding mark. The soldier’s jaw looked to be completely dislocated and it appeared to just hang off the skin of his face. Michael pulled himself up confident that he had done superior damage to that of his adversary and ignored the pleas from his body to rest.