SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 255: Culling Fire

The first guard didn’t even get the chance to raise his weapon.

I drove my elbow into his throat and grabbed his vest as he choked. One twist, one pivot, and I hurled him headfirst into the reinforced wall. His helmet cracked. He slumped, blood pooling beneath him before he even hit the ground.

The hallway lit red. Alarms blared.

Good.

Let them know I’m coming.

Let them feel it.

I was already moving when the second wave rounded the corner. Four of them, tacticals, armed with stun rifles and flash visors. My leg screamed with each step, but rage drowned it out. I launched forward. No hesitation. No plan. Just the raw, ugly momentum of a man who had finally had enough.

They opened fire.

I dropped low, using the ruined body of the first guard as a shield. The blasts struck him dead-on, lighting up his armor with bursts of electric discharge. I kept running.

The first tactical reeled back as I surged past the corpse and slammed my shoulder into him. We collided with the wall. I twisted his weapon out of his grip and drove the butt of it into his kneecap. Bone crunched.

He screamed.

I didn’t care.

A stun shot clipped my arm. I staggered, hissed. Another grazed my side. My body slowed, twitching. They were still trying to disable me, perhaps their experimentations on my job title were that important to them.

But that was a big mistake.

I roared and smashed the butt of the stolen rifle across the third guard’s visor. Glass shattered. He dropped to the floor, convulsing.

Only one left.

He hesitated. It was a clearly a rookie.

I grabbed the downed guard’s stun baton, spun, and hurled it like a spear. It struck the last man in the chest, discharged violently, and dropped him twitching.

Five down.

Breathing hard, I pushed forward.

"ACCESS OVERRIDE INITIATED," the speakers barked above. "SUBJECT REYNARD VALE HAS SEPARATED FROM THE REST OF THE ESCAPEES. EXTREME DANGER. DETAIN WITH FORCE."

I grinned. "You’re goddamn right."

The corridor twisted. Another checkpoint. This time they were ready—steel shutters, motion turrets.

I didn’t slow down.

I yanked the remaining rifle off the stunned guard and aimed without aiming. One shot. Two. The turret sparked. I dropped the gun and sprinted through before the second turret could calibrate. Its motor whined behind me, but I was already gone.

I was bleeding. My ribs screamed. My limbs moved like dead weight. My skills were still throttled—not entirely off, but not fully on either.

Like something was scrambling my connection to the System.

But I didn’t need the System to kill.

I turned the next corner and collided with a squad.

Eight this time. Two with shock-gloves, one with a riot shield, the rest carrying concussive rifles. They spread like a net, efficient. Coordinated.

But they weren’t angry.

I was.

I let out a growl and charged.

The shield-bearer stepped forward, barking an order.

I leapt.

Used the wall. One step. Two. Over the shield.

I came down behind him and drove my elbow into the back of his neck. He crumpled like paper. I landed, twisted his shield around, and used it to bash the next two riflemen against the opposite wall.

I definitely heard something cracked.

The hallway was just filled with more screams.

A baton whipped out and caught my shoulder. I turned and grabbed the arm it belonged to, then shattered it with a snap. The man went down howling. Another tackled me from behind. I slammed my head back into his nose and threw him off.

Still three left.

They backed up.

They clearly had reasonable instinct. Perhaps from a skill or from experience, though in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

I rammed the shield forward, forcing them down the corridor. One fired wildly and missed.

The second reached for a grenade.

I didn’t give him the chance.

I spun, hurled the shield. It hit with a thud and dropped him.

Only one now.

He raised his hands.

I walked past him. I was only looking for one man after all.

"Run."

He did.

I staggered. My body was fraying now. Skin torn. Blood soaked through my jacket. My breathing came in ragged, hateful gasps. My knuckles bled through the gloves. But I kept moving.

Down another flight of stairs. Through an open lab. Past cages, flickering monitors, half-dissected machines.

Then I saw him.

At the far end of the hallway. A pale silhouette. Long coat, sterile white. Hands clasped behind his back. Watching me like an observer studying a diseased rat in a maze.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t slow.

I charged.

Every muscle screamed. My vision tunneled. But I didn’t care.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t flinch.

I was almost on him— two steps. One-

—when something hit me from the side.

A body. Heavy. Another guard.

I slammed into the floor.

Then another piled on.

And another.

Arms pinned mine. A knee drove into my spine. Boots slammed into my side. One hit my injured leg. I roared in pain.

I tried to throw them off, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t.

My skills weren’t responding. Not fully. They flickered in and out. Strength surged, then vanished. Reflex dulled. Muscle memory slowed.

Whatever 3829’s job title had done to this facility... it was still active.

I thrashed. Screamed. Bit.

They held me down.

A hand grabbed my face and slammed it against the floor. My lip split.

Then silence.

Boots echoed.

The pale man stepped forward.

Closer.

And closer.

Until he stood over me.

He knelt slightly. Just enough for our eyes to meet. His gaze was cold. Detached. Not sadistic. Not even angry.

Just disgusted.

"So this is what the Jobmaster looks like," he said. His voice was thin, genderless and dead.

I bared my teeth.

He stared down at me like one might a stray dog covered in filth.

"You bit the hand that fed you, Reynard Vale. And now you bleed on the floor, whining like a mutt."

He stood.

"Perhaps it’s time we put a wild animal down."

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