Chapter 651: The Five: Bare-Knuckle Apocalypse The mansion doors groaned open like rusted jaws, the sound deep and tortured as metal hinges protested. Splinters exploded outward in sharp bursts that peppered the air with wood dust, each fragment spinning and catching the light. Smoke billowed thick and acrid from somewhere deeper inside, rolling out in gray waves that invaded our lungs, choking us with bitter gunpowder and the sweet-sick smell of seared flesh that clung to our tongues like ashy film. Ava and I pushed through together. Our boots ground over jagged glass that crunched wetly under our soles—not just glass but mixed with pulpy bone shards that snapped like dry twigs with each step. Blood trails oozed viscous and warm across the marble, sticking to our treads in stringy clots that stretched between boot and floor. The whole mess reeked of copper tang and pungent bile. Deeper shadows pulsed at the far end of the foyer. Five men slithered forward, emerging through hanging dust motes that swirled in the chandelier’s fractured beams. They cracked their necks in unison—pops that reverberated in our chests like distant thunder. Vortex led them—whirlwind colossus, former SAS myth. His skin was scarred and cratered like moon rock, evidence of wars survived. His fists clenched, knuckles cracking audible even from twenty feet away. Veins throbbed purple along his forearms—thick as ropes, pulsing hard. Razor stood beside him—Spetsnaz razor-wire, all sinew pulled taut over muscle. His breath hissed cold through clenched teeth, visible in the smoky air. His eyes glinted frostbite blue, pale and dead inside. Hammer took position—Delta anvil, and the musk of steroids and blood wafted from him thick and cloying. His fists were swollen raw-red, knuckles already split and bleeding. Ghost drifted right—GIGN wisp, shadow-sweat glistening on lean muscle. His movements whispered rather than made sound, air displacement the only evidence he’d moved. Crusher anchored left— hot breath fetid with garlic and rage. His grin split cracked lips, showing too-white teeth. They spread in a semicircle before us, cutting off retreat. Muscles coiled visible under skin pulled tight over frames with zero body fat. They cracked joints in sequence—shoulders, elbows, wrists—popping cartilage deliberately. No weapons glinted. Vortex stepped forward, voice rumbling gut-deep: "Guns slaughtered the fodder. Now? Skin on skin. Deal—or choke on your toys." Ava whipped her head toward me. Her eyes went maniacal fire—pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris, nothing but black hunger. Her lips peeled back in a savage grin that stretched skin taut, looked painful. Adrenaline surged through her visibly. She flung her plasma rifle—the weapon clanged on marble, echo sharp. Her knives followed, spinning end over end before clattering across gore-slick floor. Her pistols too. "Hell fucking yes," she snarled. My grin erupted feral. The air was thick with bloodthirsty musk from all seven of us, choking fog of male aggression. Hearts of the five thudding erratic in my enhanced hearing—I tracked each individual heartbeat, matched it to its owner. I dropped my blades—ringing steel harmonizing with Ava’s discarded knives. My weapons crashed next to hers. Bare hands. Raw flesh. Two devouring five. "Deal," I thundered. My voice vibrated the floorboards. "Bleed for me." They lunged. Vortex whirled first—literally spinning, building momentum. His fist became a tornado, knuckles whistling shrill as they cut air. I blurred tenfold, skin prickling from wind shear as I moved faster than their eyes could track. I met him center-mass with open palm. BAM! The impact boomed like a cannon—actual concussive sound that flexed eardrums. Shockwave rippled through Vortex’s flesh visibly, skin undulating from impact point outward. His ribs detonated inward in a crunching cascade—I felt each one break under my palm, counted seven snaps before they fragmented. Blood foamed hot from his mouth in crimson spray. He catapulted backward, body arching unnatural—spine bent wrong from the force, feet lifting off ground. He crashed into a marble column twenty feet away. His spine shattered—multiple wet cracks as vertebrae separated, compressed, fragmented. His limbs jerked in spasms, nervous system misfiring. His gurgles bubbled with pink froth as punctured lungs tried to draw breath. Razor and Ghost swarmed Ava simultaneously— professional coordination, two-man assault. Razor’s chop sliced down, hand rigid as an axe. Ghost swept low at same instant, boot scraping marble with teeth-setting screech, trying to take her legs while Razor split her skull. She cackled—manic sound echoing off marble, throat raw—and ducked the chop. Her hair whipped the air. Her thigh came up, parrying Ghost’s sweep with meat-slap thud, muscle meeting muscle. Her counter-elbow rocketed into Razor’s nose before he recovered. Cartilage crushed mushy—not crisp but wet, collapsing, nose flattening against his face. Blood gushed hot down his chin, dripping in fat splatters. His eyes instantly stung with tears, salt mixing with blood. She whirled, planted weight, sent her heel into Ghost’s jaw. Bone shattered like popcorn—multiple pops as mandible broke in three places. Teeth ejected like bloody projectiles, clattering and bouncing. His jaw hung flap, connected only by flesh on one side. Tongue swelling purple already. Ava seized Ghost’s arm, applied a twist. His shoulder dislocated with wet pop, ligaments snapping with whip-cracks. Ball joint tore free with muscle and tendon attached. Bone jutted against skin, making visible tent. His scream was shrill, ear-piercing, raw. She drove her knee into his spine. Vertebrae pulverized with gritty crunch—grinding to fragments, bone meal and disc material mixing. Nerves severed, electric tingles shooting through his body in visible shudders. His body seized, every muscle locking. Hammer and Crusher had thundered at me from opposite flanks—ground quaking under their combined weight, probably eight hundred pounds of muscle. Hammer’s hook whooshed past my ear, wind buffeting hair aside, close enough I felt his fist’s heat. I weaved tenfold speed, skin goosebumping from near-miss. I riposted, fist boring through his guard like it wasn’t there. My knuckles pierced his abdomen with squishing give—flesh parting, muscle separating, organs shifting. I gripped something ribbed and bony—part of his spine, vertebrae chunk with nerves attached. I yanked it free in stringy tear, nerves stretching before snapping. Blood cascaded scalding down my arms in waterfalls. Viscera slopped floor in wet plops—intestines, stomach parts, unidentifiable things. He collapsed, legs giving out. His howls were raw-throated, primal. Crusher barreled into me during Hammer’s death. I braced, impact jarring every bone, but tenfold strength absorbed the shock. I pivoted, lifted him skyward—all three hundred pounds—and brought him down. My knee met his descending chest. Chest caved with crunchy implosion—sternum and ribs collapsing inward at once. Splintered ribs speared organs from inside—liver, spleen, both lungs. Blood erupted from his mouth in foamy geysers, mixing with air from punctured lungs, pink foam bubbling. Lungs deflated with wheezing hiss. I grabbed his head, one hand each side of skull, and wrenched. Neck twisted with prolonged creaking—cartilage and ligament stretching past limits. Those snapped in chain reaction, one after another. His head dangled backward impossibly, eyes bulging as vessels burst, whites turning solid red. Tongue lolled bloated and purple past his chin. Ava leapt on Razor’s reel—he was fighting through broken nose, tough bastard. She landed back-mount, arms cinching his throat, classic rear-naked choke locked. Her thighs crushed his ribs from both sides like boa constrictor. Pressure surged—carotids swelling as blood tried reaching brain but couldn’t pass her arm. Blood backing up made his ears pop from internal pressure. Face bloated purple in seconds. Veins exploded across skin in red webs like cracked glass. He thrashed but movements weakened, muscle spasms replacing conscious control. Spine hyper-extended with pops, bending backward over her. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺 She released the corpse, let it drop. She twirled to Ghost’s writhe—still alive somehow, moving with broken jaw and severed spine. Her heel descended on his skull. Cranium caved mushy, bone collapsing like rotten fruit. Vortex rasped revival—somehow still alive, blood bubbling through lips with each breath attempt. I loomed over him, raised my boot, brought it down on his throat. Cartilage ground slow under my heel—I applied pressure gradually, letting him feel every moment. Gurgles drowned in his own blood. Face swelled as veins ruptured, eyes hemorrhaging, crying crimson tears. I hoisted him one-handed, fingers sinking temples with squelch. Skull compressed under grip, creaking like green wood about to snap. Cracks spidered across bone, visible lines spreading. I flung him at wall. Impact splattered his scalp in fragments—skull pieces and hair sticking to wallpaper, wet slaps marking each piece. Hammer clawed forward—incredible resilience, upper body dragging toward me, guts snagging on broken marble. Ava pounced, straddling his torso. Her fists blurred pummels. Face deformed under punches—nose flattening, cartilage crunching. Cheeks caved as orbital bones cracked. Teeth shattered, embedding in her knuckles. She seized his jaw with both hands, tore downward. Mandible ripped free, flesh flaps coming with it. Tendons snapped like guitar strings. Tongue exposed, flopping without jaw to contain it. Final thrust into eye-socket—fist plunging through, orb bursting around knuckles. Hand emerged skull rear, gray dripping from fingers. Crusher convulsed last time. My stomp pulverized his chest further—ribs to dust, heart squashed flat to jelly. Blood seeped through cracks in shattered sternum. Five obliterated—carnage. Blood puddles ankle-deep, slippery warm, gore chunks floating. Air humid with viscera fog. Stench overpowering—iron-bile-shit combined. Bodies unmade, twisted meat sculptures, limbs contorted impossibly, faces pulp. Ava heaved, blood-slick skin glistening, breath hot pants, grin unbreaking. I towered, tenfold thrum ecstatic pulse, taste victory metallic. Two feasted on five. Bare. Sublime. Volkov’s turn.