The night was drenched in blood.
Damien stood at the edge of the battlefield, his breath slow and calculated, his heart pounding with a relentless hunger for vengeance. The scent of iron filled the air, thick and suffocating, as bodies lay strewn across the ground, lifeless and mutilated. His men moved like shadows, swift and brutal, cutting through Mikhail’s forces with unrelenting violence. There was no mercy, no hesitation—only death.
Valarie was a storm of fury, her gun firing precise, deadly shots. Every bullet she released carried her rage, her desperation to bring her brother home. She moved like a reaper, slicing through the enemy ranks with cold, unforgiving precision. Her team followed her command with lethal efficiency, painting the streets in crimson.
Screams echoed in the night, pleas for mercy drowned in the relentless onslaught. Damien’s blade sank into flesh again and again, his grip unwavering as he carved his way toward the safehouse. A man lunged at him—Damien sidestepped and twisted the knife into his ribs, watching as the light faded from his eyes before yanking it out and letting him crumple to the ground.
A grenade exploded nearby, sending debris and bodies flying. Blood splattered across Damien’s face, but he didn’t flinch. He relished the carnage, the raw destruction. His world had narrowed down to one single mission—annihilate everyone who stood between him and Luca.
Mikhail’s forces were strong, well-trained, and relentless. But Damien and Valarie had become demons incarnate, possessed by an unholy rage that nothing could subdue. The battle raged for hours, an endless sea of corpses stacking higher and higher. Throats were slit, skulls caved in, bones shattered under the weight of merciless blows. The ground became slick with the blood of the fallen, turning the battlefield into a grotesque canvas of slaughter.
Damien crushed a man’s skull beneath his boot, the sickening crunch barely registering in his mind. He moved forward, eyes burning with the promise of death, slicing down another enemy with a savage grin. His men cheered in the distance as they torched another section of the compound, the flames licking the sky as if hell itself had opened its jaws to consume the fallen.
Valarie’s voice cut through the chaos. “We’re close! MOVE!”
They surged forward, breaking through the last of the defenses with unstoppable force. Damien’s hands were soaked in blood, his clothes torn and stained, his breathing ragged—but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not until Luca was in his arms, safe from the monsters that dared to take him.
As they breached the final barrier, Damien’s bloodlust reached its peak. His eyes locked onto the entrance of the safehouse, and he knew—Mikhail was inside.
And nothing in this world would stop him from tearing him apart.
*
Luca's Pov
Luca sat in the dark, damp room, his hands trembling as he pressed himself against the cold wall. The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, seeping in through the cracks of the heavy door. Screams—agonized, guttural—pierced the silence, each one sending shivers down his spine. His breathing was erratic, shallow. He knew what was happening outside. Damien had come.
The ground beneath him trembled with the force of explosions. Gunfire rattled through the walls, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the ground, their lives snuffed out like candles in a storm. Mikhail’s men were powerful, but Damien—Damien was a force of nature. And now, with Valarie’s forces at his side, the carnage was relentless.
Luca squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into fists. He had tried to fight. He had tried to run. But Mikhail had been waiting for him, a cruel smirk twisting his face as he dragged Luca back with effortless strength.
"Did you think it would be that easy, my beautiful little lawyer?" Mikhail had taunted, his grip bruising. "You belong to me now."
Luca had spat in his face again, earning himself a harsh slap that had split his lip. He had refused to break, but the sound of the massacre outside made him question how much longer he could hold on.
A deafening explosion shook the room, and the lock on the door rattled. His breath hitched. Footsteps pounded against the floor, urgent, lethal. Luca’s heart raced, his body tensing in anticipation. Was it Damien? Or had one of Mikhail’s men come to kill him before Damien could get to him?
The door was kicked open with brute force, the hinges snapping as it crashed against the wall. And then—
There he was.
Damien stood in the doorway, drenched in blood. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, his dark eyes scanning the room until they landed on Luca. And in that moment, Luca swore he saw something animalistic take over Damien’s expression—something far beyond rage. It was pure, unfiltered obsession. Possession.
"Luca," Damien breathed, stepping forward. His voice was raw, thick with emotion. Behind him, the dim hallway was littered with bodies, a path of destruction that led straight to him.
Luca let out a strangled gasp, his body going weak with relief and terror all at once. But before he could move, before he could reach out, a cruel chuckle echoed from behind him.
Mikhail.
Luca froze as Mikhail stepped from the shadows, a gun pressed against his temple.
"Now, now, Damien," Mikhail drawled, pressing the barrel harder against Luca’s skin. "You wouldn’t want to waste all this effort just to lose him in the end, would you?"
Luca could feel the tremor in Mikhail’s grip, the desperation beneath his smug facade. He knew Damien. He knew what Damien was capable of.
The air grew suffocating, heavy with impending violence.
Damien took a slow step forward, his bloodied hands curling into fists. "Mikhail," he growled, his voice low and deadly. "You just signed your death sentence."
Luca swallowed hard, his pulse hammering. He knew one thing for certain.
This wasn’t over.
*