Chapter 8
1314 Words
Mexico City
09/01/2017
★★★★
"El Rojo," Edris Bosman called out, his voice cutting through the smoky haze of the cartel room.
As the Supreme Commander’s right hand man, he had long outgrown the need to announce authority—just as ruthless as his Commander, he carried a presence that forced rooms to adjust before he ever spoke.
Around ten other soldiers walked in beside him, Rowan was among them, their rifles strapped across their chests, fingers tightened around the grips, as they stepped in unison.
Danté El Rojo Guzmán, notoriously known as 'Mr. Red' leaned back in his leather chair, a thick cigar clutched between fingers stained with nicotine. His legs crossed on his table, his posture lazy yet undeniably commanding. Around him, armed men, loyal and ruthless, fanned out, covering every inch of the room like predators circling their prey.
El Rojo’s eyes flicked toward Edris. “Edris, cuánto tiempo sin verte.” (Edris, long time no see.) he said with a smooth yet venomous voice.
“You don't check up on old friends no more, Mr. Red.” Edris replied, his tone matching the Spanish rhythm with a deliberate edge.
El Rojo’s laughter rolled through the room like distant thunder, dangerous and amused. Slowly, his men lowered their weapons, wary but intrigued by the familiarity.
“Old friends?” El Rojo leaned forward, voice low and measured. “Hablando de viejos amigos, ¿cómo está mi hombre Kendric?” (Speaking of old friends, how is my man Kendric?)
“The Supreme Commander is just fine,” Edris said smoothly. “As a matter of fact, he sent me here.”
“¿Ah sí?” El Rojo said, letting the words hang, his eyes never leaving Edris. He didn’t blink, not even for a second. he relaxed in his chair, smoke curling from his cigar.
“You know I hate surprises.” he said in broken English, his Spanish accent thick.
Edris stepped forward, a slow, dangerous smile stretching across his face.
“I promise you… this one is special.” Every word dripped like a warning wrapped in fine box.
El Rojo’s eyes flicked to him, a calculating stare etching every detail into memory. The air thickened, tension crawling over the room like smoke, yet no one flinched. He let the silence stretch, dragging each second like a blade across nerves. Then, finally, his voice cut through the room.
“¿En qué puedo ayudarte?” (How may I help you?)
“I’ll make this simple, Mr. Red. You owe the Commander ten million dollars from damages in the last operation. I’ve come to collect.”
"Nonsense!" El Rojo shot to his feet, knocking the ash from his cigar onto the polished floor.
“Tell Kendric I say f**k him!” His broken English sliced through the tension.
“Alright then,” Edris replied. “You leave me no choice.”
Rojo’s laughter filled the room again in confidence. “You... are... outnumbered,” he said. “¿Estás jodidamente loco? ¡Los mataremos a todos!” (Are you f*****g dumb? We'll kill you all!)
“I know,” Edris said, pacing slowly toward the back where Rowan stood, “but there’s something you don’t know.”
El Rojo flinched for a beat, as Edris continued. "Remember I told you we've come with a special surprise?"
Immediately, Roja’s men snapped to attention, rifles raised and c****d, ready to fire.
Rowan slowly stepped forward, his eyes completely turned black, El Rojo froze with fear, staring as though he had just seen a ghost.
"What the f**k" he whispered. His voice cracked with panic.
“¡Fuego!” (Fire!)
The room erupted in gunfire from all angles. Bullets screamed through the air, clanging against the reinforced barrier Rowan raised with a flick of his hands. A shimmering, translucent shield enveloped him and the soldiers behind him, bullets bouncing off harmlessly.
From within the protective bubble, Edris watched in stunned awe as Rowan extended his hands, every movement precise, every gesture deliberate.
His eyes met those of Danté’s men—and with each gaze, they crumpled, bodies collapsing under invisible force, blood spattering across the floor like rain.
The chaos was absolute, a symphony of destruction. Rowan moved like a shadow, unstoppable, his powers bending the environment around him to his will.
Soldiers on both sides fired relentlessly, but inside the shield, Rowan’s focus was unyielding.
Danté’s confidence faltered as he realized the tide had turned. “Estos bastardos… ¡me vengaré!” (These bastards… I will get revenge!) he screamed, his voice echoing through the room.
"El Rojo, debemos usar la puerta trasera, son demasiado poderosos,” (Mr. Red, we should use the back door, they’re too powerful) one of his men warned, voice trembling under the weight of fear.
Danté’s eyes flicked toward Rowan for a brief moment, drinking in every detail of the young soldier’s face, his stance, the rare abilities, the cold precision in his movements. His pulse quickened.
“Who. Is. He?” he whispered under his breath barely audible, as his men dragged him toward the rear exit, urgency propelling every step.
Rowan didn’t pause. He noticed reinforcements approaching from the third floor and decided to show a new trick. With a subtle turn of his neck, the first man before him shattered—the force alone breaking bone and sinew with terrifying precision.
But as more men poured in, he realized numbers alone couldn’t match his power.
He whispered an incantation, using black magic that twisted through the air like shadows,
“Surge et verte paginas Eden, fac eos edere fructum occultum.” he said with fury, teeth clenched.
Immediately, every eye turned jet black, just like his, and the men turned on each other, shooting and striking as if possessed, chaos consuming them from within.
Edris, observing from inside the shield Rowan had created, felt his stomach through his guts. Rowan’s powers had grown far beyond expectation. Every spell, every flicker of energy, reminded him of what he would do if he ever finds out what the supreme commander did to his family.
In moments, Rowan had obliterated everything in sight. Some men barely escaped with Danté, but the destruction was total. Blood, smoke, and shattered wood littered the once pristine environment.
Rowan lowered his hands, and the protective shield dissolved silently, leaving the room in eerie stillness.
Lucas, his best friend and fellow soldier, approached cautiously, placing a hand on Rowan’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice trembling slightly from adrenaline.
“I’m fine,” Rowan replied, calm and collected, though the intensity in his eyes betrayed a trace of exhaustion.
“Good job, Sean,” said another upper-ranked soldier, acknowledging him.
“Thank you, sir,” Rowan said, nodding in acknowledgment.
Yes, you heard right, 'SEAN' . Apparently after Kendric wipe off all memory of Rowan and his past. he gave him a new identity and fed him lies which he believed all this time.
“Sean?” Edris’ jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes, he despised every bit of Rowan, from his voice to his existence, because he feared someday he might take his position as the right hand man of the supreme commander.
Edris stepped forward, his voice sharp and scolding. “So you could make them turn on each other the whole time? You could have done that from the start, wasting our fuckin' time.”
"My... apologies sir," Rowan responded, his eyes scanning the room.
“Burn this place to the ground,” Edris ordered, his voice cold and unwavering.
Soldiers moved quickly, pouring petrol across the remnants of the cartel office. Within moments, flames erupted, licking the walls and consuming everything.
Smoke rose, curling into the sky as Edris and his unit walked out, leaving chaos and ruin behind them.
- Writer
