The black-clad assassin felt as though countless tiny worms were gnawing at his organs. The pain was unbearable. Though his wounds had closed and stopped bleeding, wisps of black vapor still seeped from them—the remnants of Death Psychic Energy neutralized by his own Psychic Energy. The effort had drained him badly. Gravely wounded and running low on strength, he began to pant, and even the Assassination Dagger in his hand dipped a little.
"Who the hell are you?" the black-clad assassin asked, speaking for the first time since launching his attack. His voice was low and slightly hoarse, with a deadly edge.
Green had no intention of wasting words on an enemy in that state. He sent the Death Angel hurtling forward in a storm of attacks. Once the assassin was a corpse, Green could take his time talking to his soul.
Beneath the Death Angel's visor, two ghostly flames flickered with an eerie light.
The black-clad assassin's heart sank. He had hoped to buy time by talking, but his opponent was no fool. Green gave him no chance to turn the tables or escape.
The assassin was experienced enough not to lose heart. He forced himself to focus, searching patiently for an opening while guarding against the slightest lapse.
Once more, a black figure and a dark-red figure clashed across the broad square before the Anomalies Bureau. They fought from ground to sky and back again, colliding like two comets. Long furrows were torn through the square, and nearby government offices and luxury apartments suffered too. One eleven-story apartment building was sliced clean through by a streak of sword energy. Its upper half slid down the smooth, forty-five-degree cut and crashed to the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust that swallowed both the assassin and the Death Angel.