An echo of death, reverberant in the future, was fed by loudening knocks of footsteps, bearing down a pressure above the squadron’s heads. From below. From the flanks. From everywhere that surrounded them. Their senses were toyed with, as their hands tingled from the aura of a devil. Still, they were sane enough to follow their orders. Picking a brass bullet from their ammunition satchels, a soldier and his comrades loaded a single shot into their rifles’ open chambers. The bolts cocked forward with clacks, and were locked down, priming the mechanisms of their standard issue rifle. They lifted their barrels, and stood their eyes aiming down sights, with their lines of fire drawing down the narrow corridor. Of unfinished concrete walls, exposed and tangled wires, the aisle was brightly lit with a series of dangling electric lamps. Stilled, where no wind was, they were provided with a warm white hue that darkened the shadows of the dozen and one men. In two ranks, some knelt, and some stood behind. The squadron was packed tightly into whatever space they could cordon off against the enemy yet unseen. With the creeping silence, they waited with breaths heavy. Though they heard themselves steadying, the mist of the underground still weighed upon them. Their palms sweated, uncontrollably, despite holding an outer shell of calmness. It was indisputable that fear presided in the troops’ softer core whose hearts anchored, further into the abyss, as each footfall on the steel steps of a staircase winded down and around the grated fence with a hollow shaft. When the foe would step into sight, in that moment, their fingers on their triggers would unleash an inescapable wall of lead.
“Toyrjau tur passїtsÿoy! (Hold your ground!)” The captain disciplined his squadron, in the language of the Rus, checking his chamber and safe.
A shade snaked down, lengthening on its approach to the light, hiding behind a corner when the next turn would expose him. He peeked around, and spotted his enemies before a blink of an eye, but he himself was not seen by the enemy. Taking a breath, the building stress had placed his mind into a meditative state. As a killer of some profession, he had come far relying only on the natural skills of a human body. But there laid his final checkpoint. His collar, raised on one side, was fixed down, and his suit jacket, that he had continuously wore in his operation of infiltration, was straightened out with a single pull. With an imperial eagle embroidered on its center, his red and black tie was tightened. As he did his work to perfect his appearance, the ring on his fourth finger glinted. Pinching the thin rim of his glasses coated in gold, the man wiped down the dust and the spots of dried blood on its lens, before wearing it again. From his pocket, two cylinders were taken out, with one which pin was pulled. Tossing the first down the stairs, it was followed by another barreling. Each bump and crash resounded in the underground chamber.
Without warning, the two cases had killed the silence among the confused squadron, stumped by the peculiar objects rolling towards their feet. Although, there was no need to retreat, for at least, a fragmental grenade would have ignited much quicker, but rather, the grenades popped. The soldiers flinched when fumes of smoke poured out in great thick heaps with a slightly unpleasant smell. However, when they had been convinced that the invention was no more a threat than that of a burning cigarette, a canvas of the released plumes rolled up like inverted curtains of a stage. Disappearing, the foreground before them retreated, and what became of the corridor was but a roomless chamber. Barricaded by uncertainty, there was an unknown beyond. The squadron would not break their formation and march ahead, ever more reliant upon their hearing. But their thirteen heartbeats were far too loud. When even the slightest imagination of a dusty mirage suddenly whiffed by in the clouds, it stirred the already agitated captain.
Ushering all air in his lungs, by accident, he gave the awaited order, “Šaoytau! (Fire!)”
No matter that it was a mistake or not, his men heeded as if there was a loose switch in their nerves. Their fingers pinned on their triggers and pulled on its tight levers without a second thought. The hammers of the mechanisms punched into the bullets, with some whose reactions were slower and quicker, but they reached the same conclusion all the same of a lit fuse. Igniting, the gunpowder reacted, separating the bullet from its shell. From encased explosions, erupted flurries of embers flowering into sparks from muzzles, then blooming, came a spring of clouds veiling themselves. In a single volley, thirteen rounds fleeted, like a flotilla of airships, they drilled through the bleak, gray air. Traversing the storm, penetrated, the bullets’ helms resurfaced before an instance of chilling whistles brushed by. The infiltrator continued unfazed. Walking behind his soft shield, he flicked his jacket awide and revealed a holster which he drew a pistol from. It was an old model. Of a hundred years at least. Stamped in the grip was an iron cross. He cocked his handgun with a snap, as another hand grabbed a fistful of pellets from his side pouch. Hearing the panic of the soldiers realizing that they had missed their mark, and the scrambling of their drawing sabers, the devil tossed his gifts of death into the air. Seeming insignificant, the joint-sized chambers held a liquid that swished like molten gold. His pistol was pointed at one and it was fired at, lacking human hesitancy. The bullet pierced the glass, and there contained, was eifer. The stored power of zeal extracted from the aura of humans that power this very world. Brightening, the element expanded in a blink, encompassing all else beside it. A chain reaction formed and its sparks became many more. Flourishing like fireworks, the blasts changed from a majestic gilded hue to demonic purple streaks. Broken free of containment, a deluge rushed and poured over like tentacles of fire. It was sentient and inescapable from. Surely what the soldiers thought in their last moments were of regrets and the terror that was to fill them in the next seconds. A wave of bulleting rays slammed into them, littering their flesh with grape-sized holes, and ripping their limbs apart. As one singular bullet culminated into a round of cannister shot, blood curled, gushing from their newly opened pipes. Many were lucky enough to have been shot in the head and was ended of the torment. But some, of those present, were unlucky enough to have suffered the devil’s wrath in its entirety. The volley pummeled against their bodies who released death’s choir of screams and clashing voices as each fell. At different seconds in time. In the slither of consciousness that remained with them, they saw their comrades collapse, before facing ahead to meet their own demise. The thunderous barrage thrown into the squadron of thirteen defenders. Nearly all were slaughtered in that cheap attack.
The eifer dried and a mist of blood sprouted in its stead. From the warmth of the leaking fountains, and the deepening color of dark pools, a murderous intent laid atop, alive. The aura of one man, who succeeded all there, treaded the narrow path of corpses laying. A soldier, fatally wounded, leaned on the wall, clung onto the last string of life. But walking by, the infiltrator did not even bat an eye when he fired a round into his head between his eyes. The dead slumped. In life, their captain dragged himself away from the turmoil. But with his knees smashed and his flank pulverized, there was little left of him that was telling of survival. Perhaps, his will remained, yet once his predator was before him, shaded was his face, where no bloodlust was emitting, he finally admitted his dread of death. Before the barrel of a pistol pointing down at him, his wrecked last memory was a flash.
The lifeless bodies were stepped over, avoided mostly, however, the blood that filled the corridor could hardly have been. Footprints, painting a path with the sole of his shoes, were felt sticking to the ground on each step, as he approached the corridor where the door to his objective stood its ground. The last of the guards were there. Two dismounted cavalrymen, the personal shields of a decorated general. Who else but someone with renown could have afforded such men, although it would have been quite the shock to whichever general had recruited them if their expressions were seen. Fearing for once, for their entire career, they had watched their comrades be ploughed through by a foe they outnumbered and outgunned. With their lances, it was a doubtful question of whether they could even touch an invincible fiend that is then, their enemy. For regardless, the elites had a duty to quell such thoughts and steel their resolve. Charging towards the strolling intruder, they thrust their lances in unison. As the tips of their blades reached the devil in the disguise of man, they were suddenly outflanked. Both their lances’ shafts were grasped then clutched beneath an arm with the strength of two wild bears. The devil reeled his prey inward, who bunched together, the guards were shoulder by shoulder. The advantage of distance that they once gambled on was annihilated. Sliding to a stop, at an inch away from the faces of the men who could not unsheath their fear so quick, the infiltrator shoved the muzzle of his pistol against one’s neck. Within a line of fire like a skewer, there was no question for killing another man that might have ran through his mind again. He pitted a bullet through both, in and out. Its shrapnel burst midway and broke free in one’s throat. Gashed and bursting from the inside, blood dashed the invader’s face like paint when there remaining were fallen foes. There was a brief glint in his eyes, showing of life and humanity. Believing himself to be protecting something dear to his own heart, but at the unwavering sacrifice of others. It was the color of the coldest expression of any assassin.
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