Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (8 page)

Michael was now given the opportunity to instill some much needed psychological intimidation. He quickly pulled up a name he hadn’t been called since his days on the hunt for the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitives. It was something the criminals began to spread as his six month reign of terror against these individuals was in its infancy. Although a bit too tacky for Michael’s taste, the name wasn’t meant to compliment. It was intended as a warning for anyone that would dare draw his ire.

“The Harbinger of Death,” Michael spat back in Korean as he tightened his grip.

Only a few more seconds and the lack of blood flow to Ryoo’s brain would weaken and disorient him enough for Michael to grasp victory. He spent so much energy and strength trying to finish Ryoo off that he didn’t even realize Ryoo had an equally impressive wit as his did strength.

“I never imaged Death wearing such a ridiculous costume.”

An elbow slammed into Michael’s ribs nearly splitting them at the site. His grip broke in an instant and Ryoo sent Michael crashing forward over his back and onto the hard and unforgiving brick mat. Ryoo wasn’t sure what connection this man had to the family that trained him but it’s the only reason he concluded that kept him alive up to this point.

Suddenly, that nagging sensation that trickled through his mind earlier this evening returned. The priest was right. Michael got caught up trying to pump information out of Ryoo that he completely let his guard down. This man had more on his resume than an army of Special Forces soldiers. His strength rivaled Kurtis, technique dwarfed Seika and Seimon, and didn’t even have any exploitable emotional or physical weaknesses to boot. Michael’s lack of information could prove to be his ultimate downfall because as of right now, their only weapons were evenly matched.

Ryoo’s heavy foot dropped down to earth as if gravity had increased a thousand times stronger. Bricks continued to suffer through his brutal force. Michael swayed to the side, avoiding the skull shattering attack and swiftly spun to his feet. Even though Ryoo hadn’t mastered his strength, the technique surely made up for it. With all of these excess variables to consider, Michael could only agree on one cold hard truth. Ryoo Myung-Dae would take his last breath in this very ring.

The thunder of the crowd filled Charles Logan’s heart with utter delight. Every single decibel vibrating through his magnificent arena equated to more money in his pocket. The main event started what seemed like seconds ago and already the electricity filled up these subterranean walls with a thick mist of anguish and ecstasy. His personal suite was the worst one in the house for actually viewing the fight but the best at surveying something more important: watching the audience spend money. There were no extensive luxuries in this room. Just a few office chairs, a desk and several rows of computers monitoring every attendee’s personal finances and computing their losses. And they gave up this information willingly no less. Every one of their dirty little secrets from simple things such as Social Security numbers to more complex items such as obscure expenses and influxes of cash.

Turning away from the complexities of this scheme, Ryoo’s performance was a thing of beauty. He had certainly taken Logan’s words to heart. Thus far, the crowd had been treated to a delight they had not yet seen. Ryoo’s undefeated streak has been stained with utter dominance and control. Never once had they ever seen one of his opponents land a blow let alone keep him on the ropes. The whole act was very convincing. So much so that it required a little more research.

Logan took his eyes away from the action and pulled up Rage’s personal file. Scouting this one wasn’t too difficult since his manager’s sparkling personality was one that always could be heard whether one desired to or not. The data on him was simple and brief. He’s a typical mixed martial arts goon that preferred money over fame. Perhaps sex as well being that he is so easily controlled by that woman. Nothing too extraordinary about his official and unofficial fighting records either. For the lack of a better word, Jonathan Kalinowski was an ordinary human being. However, as Logan lifted his eyes over the laptop screen, he wondered how such an ordinary being could ever put Ryoo on the defensive. This equation appeared to have miscalculated a crucially underestimated variable.

Sweat began to pour through Ryoo’s eyes as he continually ducked and evaded his opponent’s furious onslaught. Though the attacks were wild they carried an immense weight to them.  It was like being hit by multiple speeding cars which is more than enough of a reason for Ryoo to frantically avoid being on the wrong end of those attacks. Evading the barrage proved simple but tedious. Ryoo would wear himself out if his opponent kept up this pace. By the looks of things, it could go like this indefinitely.

Throwing a slew of attacks in rapid succession wasn’t Michael’s style. Quite the opposite in fact. This was all a part of the deception. Michael could attempt to end this fight outright without raising suspicion. As far as everyone was concerned, he was Johnny Rage, a typical fighting nitwit going up against their drug-infused and undefeated champion. Michael couldn’t afford to make his move yet. As far as he was concerned, Logan must know the secret to Ryoo’s strength and even if he didn’t, questions would definitely spike once his defeat was soundly declared.

The air shifted violently inside Ryoo’s stomach as he absorbed the brunt of a side kick straight against his ribs. Enamel slammed together crunching the molecules of air that couldn’t evade in time. Ryoo clenched his teeth and let out a brief slur of inaudible obscenities while pushing himself away to get a few feet seconds of breathing room. His opponent’s style had proven to get the better of his defenses given its crude and otherwise sloppy methods. The pain resonated much stronger than he anticipated. In fact, this is the closest anyone has ever gotten to besting Ryoo in combat. Looks certainly can be deceiving. The time had come to forgo the restraints. It was a true shame all things considering. This man could have been a decent champion in his own secluded world. Unfortunately for him, this would be one mistake that he would never be able to correct.

Ryoo lunged forward with a sickening velocity, bursting through the restraints of gravity. He closed the gap between them faster than anyone’s eyes could track or mind process. Michael braced himself for the oncoming attack, watching closely to how Ryoo positioned his burst. When he didn’t see anything worth noting, that’s when it hit him; literally and figuratively. Ryoo smashed straight into Michael shoulder first, pushing him off the ground, and sending him airborne. Losing his footing in this manner would create new challenges for mounting a proper offense on top of holding a tight defense.

Fists crashed against Michael’s ascending body. Ryoo hadn’t bothered to let up. He followed up his charge with a series of quick but powerful blows straight to the midsection. Michael desperately wanted to clench his aching sides but instincts took over the use of his hands. A resounding spinning backhand nearly took his head off. Bones cracked violently as knuckles crashed together turning the light brown tint of skin into a pale white crust swimming in a sea of red. And that’s all it took to convince Michael that this opponent is more than he bargained for.

Excessively fast strikes continued to pummel the undercover FBI agent’s frame barely a second after his feet finally landed back on the ground.  Ryoo continued to thrash, throwing punches and kicks with a heightened ferocity and speed that Michael almost couldn’t match. Every oncoming blow tenderized the cellular tissues in his arms that begged his brain to give them attention. Michael tried to find a way in through the mess but Ryoo’s attacks blurred before his eyes. This man attacked like he had twenty appendages instead of four and Michael was forced on the defensive without even a sliver of breathing room.

Michael’s knee exploded, shattering his once titanic stance and driving him down onto the searing joint. This horrendous pain reminded of Michael of his grievous mistake. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to relish in those thoughts. Ryoo blasted his chest with a swinging roundhouse kick that sent Michael’s body spinning and skidding against the horrendously dense and gritty surface. Every gram of loose rock left an imprint on Michael’s chemically enhanced and thickened skin. Dashes of pink scratches covered the exposed curves of his muscles in a patchy mess. Thankfully the blow left Michael’s senses intact or he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to notice what fate had in store for him next.

Air quickly escaped the FBI agent’s throat as Ryoo’s heavy hand clasped it tightly. Fingers dug into the fibers of his skin ready to crush his Adam’s apple and the other surrounding bones that dared to defy this man’s strength. Michael was forced to his feet, gasping for the few atoms of oxygen that would sneak their way through to his lungs. The irony of this situation was beyond words. Michael always used this as a method to intimidate his adversaries which brought up a peculiar notion. Ryoo was going for the gutsy finishing blow but he is overlooking a fatal error. No one intimidated Michael.

The crowd immediately went from viscous to hysteric. Ryoo signaled he intended to end this bout once and for all. Many begged to see Michael’s head torn clean off his body while a few select others were a tad more graphic and descriptive. One particular audience member asked to rip his still beating heart and squeeze it like a grape. With all of this gawking going on, Michael was surprised to see his adversary falling for it. Maybe he didn’t take the Yamatera’s lessons to heart. The most important of which is that victory is never fully achieved until your opponent is no longer breathing. Michael would gladly offer his personal expertise in this subject by administering a punishment Ryoo won’t soon forget.

Pain exploded in Ryoo’s outstretched arm, releasing the death grip on Michael and forcing his elbow to bend. The chop worked brilliantly against the soft fibers of the cubital fossa. Michael used the edge of his hand like a knife and sliced it into the exposed nerves and veins.

Like a rocket, Michael shot up his knee and cracked it against the weakened appendage. Bones clashed, vibrating immensely within the frames of their soft shells. Hearing Ryoo cries of agony cemented Michael’s judgments and confidence. He immediately pushed himself away in the hopes to catch a few more seconds to recuperate from the previous set of attacks and found that Ryoo was more than willing to give him all of the space he required. The Korean champion let out a devastating kick that planted his heel straight against Michael’s exposed sternum and sent him packing. Air graciously accepted his trip but the ground was not as welcoming. Michael landed twenty feet away from the point of impact and stopped to a screeching halt on his stomach.

Ryoo didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. Searing gouts of flame roared up and down his arm. Fingers did not respond to his commands. Joints crackled with every twitch of movement. Fragments of bone shifted and moved with even the slightest flex. Accepting the truth became a begrudgingly upsetting yet ironic task. That man, that horrific and rebellious man had broken Ryoo’s left arm and he just stood there and let him do it.

Although he laid a few mere steps away, unmoving and apparently defeated, Ryoo had two realizations come to mind. First, perhaps there was truly more to meets the eye with this man. Anyone that would withstand a single blow let alone his full assault was someone unlike any else of this world and should be dealt with as quickly as possible. The second, after taking dosage after dosage for years on end, Ryoo’s body may have finally had enough and is no longer processing the miracle drug. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Nevertheless, either option pointed towards the same solution. The only way he would be satisfied is if he took one of the insipid requests from the crowd he could barely understand. Ryoo was going to rip every vital organ from his body and paint this entire building red.

These precious few moments granted to Michael have been very much appreciated.  The agonizing and lingering torment pressed his lungs into choking through any stinking clouds air they could find. Pain had taken over all of Michael’s senses. The throbbing of every heartbeat shot his nerves into yelling as loud as they could and reminded him of the failures he had endured. He gently reached at the source of this newfound misery and checked for any signs of immediate danger. Surprisingly enough, no bones had been broken but they were close enough. Just another perk of being the ultimate human soldier. Science had proven its superiority yet again.

Michael’s eyes peered up at the man he had bested merely moments ago. A furious storm brewed behind the lenses of Ryoo’s eyes. Anger had risen to levels he had never witnessed before in his entire life. Michael knew this only spelled disaster for his wellbeing or any immediate recovery efforts for that matter. Even with one arm down, the advantage was in Ryoo’s corner because he was standing and Michael was not.

“RAGE!”

A voice shouted in an angry tone with a tinge of concern buried deep within.

“What the hell is the matter with you?”

Michael could barely hear anything above the ringing in his head followed by the audacious chants of the audience to pinpoint the source of that taunt. No one had been cheering on his behalf as far as he could tell. His body was too busy trying to recover from the extensive damage it received in the last sixty seconds to even care. And yet, the voice continued and became clear.

“Get up and fight you asshole!”