Chapter 13 - Ghosts in the Fog
Panicked gunfire erupted through the white fog. Muzzle flashes lit up the room in frantic, strobe-like bursts, the deafening roar of automatic weapons ricocheting off the marble columns and high ceilings.
""Cease fire! Cease fire, you idiots!"" Julian’s voice shrieked from the rear. ""You're shooting each other!""
Through the smoke, Dante moved like a predator born of the mist.
He didn't fire his rifle; muzzle flash would give away his position. He used the tactical blade.
A mercenary stumbled backward out of the smoke, choking and coughing, only for an arm to reach out from the void, locking around his throat and dragging him into the darkness. A muffled gasp, a dull thud, and silence.
Another operative fired blindly toward the chandeliers. Dante appeared at his flank, seizing the hot barrel of the rifle, forcing it upward, and driving a palm strike into the man's throat, crushing his trachea before sweeping his legs from under him.
One by one, the mercenaries fell into the blinding fog. Dante was everywhere and nowhere, fueled by cold, unadulterated vengeance. The men began to panic, shouting in terror as their comrades vanished into the white cloud without a fight.
""He's a demon!"" someone screamed. ""Fall back to the terrace!""
A sudden blast of cold air tore through the room as Evelyn, having slipped into the balcony above, threw two flash-bangs down into the center of the surviving squad. The explosive concussion tore through the smoke, sending the remaining four guards stumbling and disoriented across the floor.
Evelyn picked them off from the gallery above with four clean, rhythmic shots.
When the smoke finally began to clear, drifting lazily toward the shattered skylights, only one man was left standing at the end of the hall.
May you like
Julian.
His face was pale as chalk, his hands shaking violently as he scrambled backward toward the grand front entrance, clutching his sidearm with both hands.
