Agent 47 X Everything

Location: Catacombs Beneath the Al-Qahirah Estate, CairoTime: 2:27 AMTarget: The High Table Command Structure – All Members Present

"Kings die. But executioners endure."

The moment the Elder vanished into the upper archway, the chamber's atmosphere shifted—pressure in the air growing denser, charged with centuries of blood oaths and silent wars. The marble beneath their feet whispered with echoes of a thousand executions.

And yet, two remained still.

Agent 47.

John Wick.

Both statues among men.

All else… moved.

System Notification: Threat Level – Lethal (Tier S+)

[Threat Type: Human | Entity Class: Tier S+]Legendary Perk – King of Curses (Inactive: No cursed or non-human targets detected)Current Stats (Base):

Strength: 527

Dexterity: 529

Endurance: 515

Reflexes: 541

Intelligence: 508

Perception: 532

Stealth: 540

Legendary Perks:

Matter Creation (Active)

Adaptive Instinct (Passive)

Mental Fortress (Passive)

Thronebreaker (Active/Passive – Environmental Override Available)

King of Curses (Passive – Inactive)

CP: 90,000 (Currency Points – Shop unlocks in next universe)

The Kill Order Falls

A single hand raised from a man dressed in shadow.

"Kill them both."

The chamber detonated into motion.

Over a hundred killers. Trained. Armored. Armed.Descending from stairs, shadows, balconies—like water flooding into a sealed room.

Wick chambered a round.47 stepped forward, casually removing his coat.

The First Wave

The moment the first man shouted, "Enga—", 47 fired. A single bullet tore through his neck—perfect jugular shot, blood misting the air.

Second. Third. Fourth.

He moved before they fell, each step a silent storm. He turned his body to avoid incoming fire, twisting mid-air between columns as bullets sliced past his coat. Wick dove in the opposite direction—gun raised—eliminating two in a double tap, chest then head.

"LEFT!" Wick shouted.

But 47 had already seen it. A man tried to flank with a shotgun—Too late.47 caught the barrel, twisted, shattered the arm bone with a single punch—the sound like snapping concrete. His Strength: 527 crunched through tactical armor and bone alike.

The first twenty opened fire with modified SMGs.

Wick was in motion instantly—ducking under a table, sliding sideways, dual pistols barking.Three headshots.Two shoulder taps.One throat rip with a knife.

47 didn't move at first.He calculated trajectory angles. Then calmly stepped aside—two bullets missing his cheek by less than a centimeter.

[Adaptive Instinct – Tracking Predictive Pathways…]

He spun low.Matter Creation activated. A glinting thin blade formed mid-air, already in his hand.

He threw. It pierced two necks—single motion.

He stepped between the rest.Grab. Disarm. Slam. Stab.One man's wrist was shattered, the knife taken, and returned—into his heart.

Wick disarmed a man with a wrist lock, flipped the shotgun, and used the butt as a skull crusher.Blood painted the walls like a mosaic.

Second Wave – Tactical Teams

A steel door slammed open.

Riot-shield troops entered—twelve deep, shock rounds loaded.

They didn't know the monsters they were facing.

Wick emptied his clips, snapped a baton from a fallen body, and jammed it straight through a visor.

47 leapt forward. No weapon.He ducked a baton swing, caught a man's helmet, ripped it off with one hand, and used it to cave in the next man's skull.

Strength: 527 was not for show.

He created twin batons from liquid obsidian and moved through them like a storm.

Strike – throat.

Crack – knee.

Spin – dislocate elbow.

Stab – through the ear canal.

Wick rolled across the floor, headshotting a man as he flipped backward over a body.

Then—

A flamethrower lit up the stairwell.

Third Wave –

47 pulled his tie loose.Snapped it. It became wired with mono-carbon steel.He flung it in a tight arc.

Slice.

The flamethrower's head rolled off before the flame hit the archway.The fuel tank exploded.

Wick took cover behind a column.47 simply walked through the smoke.His silhouette was all the enemy could see before his fist drove through one man's chest armor.

He lifted him like a shield, fired two stolen pistols from behind the body.Then dropped the corpse and let his silverballers do the talking.

Each shot calculated.

Each movement surgical.

Cold, clean, and emotionless.

Interlude: Watching Death Work

From the far balcony, the High Table elders watched.

One of them sipped wine.Another merely observed.

"This is why we feared the Boogeyman," one whispered.

"No," another said, eyes on 47.

"That one—he's something else. What kind of man fights like code incarnate?"

Below them, John Wick and Agent 47 danced the dance of reapers.Two legends. One battlefield.

Final Wave

As the smoke cleared, thirty corpses decorated the floor.A half-dozen bodies twitched and groaned.

47 stood over one, blood on his cuffs.

He reloaded calmly.

Wick checked his rounds, then looked up.

"...That all of them?" he asked.

47 didn't answer. He turned his head slightly.

"More are coming."

System Message: [CP +5000] – Combat Efficiency Bonus Applied.

Wick nodded once.

"Then let's go upstairs."