Chapter 032
1545 Words
It was their carelessness that handed Kane and his team the perfect opportunity to strike.
Kane and Dante Romero moved through the canopy like ghosts, leaping from branch to branch with unnatural speed. For half an hour, they traversed the forest roof, covering ground that would have taken hours on foot.
Finally, through the gaps in the leaves, they saw it: a five-meter-high concrete wall, topped with razor wire.
Kane pushed off a thick oak branch, launching himself nearly two meters into the air. He soared over a motion sensor mounted high on a pole, landing silently on a limb a meter above it.
Nathan Black hadn't been lying. The sensors were staggered at different heights. If they hadn't followed his advice to stay ten meters above the ground, the alarms would be screaming right now.
He nodded to Dante. They moved again.
The sun had completely set. The forest was plunged into darkness, but the floodlights from the wall cut through the gloom, creating pools of harsh white light. Kane and Dante used the shadows between the beams, finding footholds where none seemed to exist.
"Boss. We're here," Dante whispered.
After seven or eight more leaps, they stopped. Below them lay a cleared zone, ten meters wide. Every tree, bush, and blade of grass taller than ten centimeters had been razed to the ground. It was a kill box, designed to give the guards on the wall a perfect line of sight.
Beyond the clearing rose the massive wall of The Venom Nest.
Perched high in the trees, they observed the patrol patterns. Every three hundred meters along the wall, a burly guard paced back and forth, a heavy machine g*n slung over his shoulder. They looked alert, scanning the forest periodically.
Kane watched his target. Every five minutes, the guard would reach the end of his sector and turn around. The turn took about ten seconds.
Ten seconds. That was an eternity for men like them.
Kane locked his eyes on the guard directly in front of him. He slowly raised his right hand, signaling. Beside him, Dante’s hand blurred. Three ten-centimeter throwing knives appeared between his fingers, glinting dully in the starlight.
Five minutes.
The guard reached the end of his patrol. He stopped, stretched his neck, and began to turn.
Kane dropped his hand.
Now!
Dante’s wrist flicked. It was a movement so fast it was almost invisible. Three knives left his hand simultaneously, flying in a tight formation—top, middle, bottom.
Thwack-thwack-thwack.
Thirty meters away.
One knife in the temple. One in the throat. One in the heart.
It was a masterclass in lethality. The guard didn't even have time to gasp. His vocal cords were severed, his brain destroyed, his heart stopped. Kane sucked in a cold breath. Dante lived up to his name. He was a dancer of death.
The guard’s body swayed slightly, then slumped back against the parapet, his eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Dead before he hit the concrete.
One strike. No hesitation.
Kane and Dante dropped from the trees, landing silently in the kill zone. They unhooked grappling claws from their belts, spun them once, and threw them upwards. The hooks caught the edge of the wall. They scrambled up the ropes like spiders.
Fast. Precise.
They crested the wall in fluid motions. Once on top, they split up immediately. Kane sprinted to the left, Dante to the right.
Kane pushed his speed to the limit. In the darkness, he was a blur, a shadow sliding along the concrete. He covered three hundred meters in the blink of an eye.
Ahead, another guard was walking his beat, humming a tune, completely oblivious to the demon rushing up behind him.
Kane drew his Blade. The silver steel flashed once.
Shing.
He thrust the blade upward from behind, driving it through the guard’s lower back, up through the heart, and out the base of the neck.
Pfft.
The guard stiffened, then went limp. Instant death.
Kane withdrew the blade, wiping it on the dead man’s uniform. He looked down the wall. Three hundred meters away, he saw another guard shudder and collapse against the railing. Dante had done his work.
Kane smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. He turned and headed back to the insertion point.
Looking down into the compound, he orientated himself with Nathan's map. There it was. A two-story concrete blockhouse about fifty meters from the wall. Thick cables snaked out of the back—the surveillance center for the northeast sector.
The only way in was the front door or a large window. But it was guarded. Four men in camouflage uniforms stood outside. They had scars on their faces—veteran mercenaries, likely ex-Special Forces who had washed out.
They were relaxed, chatting and laughing. Two stood by the door, one paced by the window, and one wandered freely in the yard. This was a secure area, hidden from the main yard by other buildings. They felt safe.
Dante reappeared beside Kane. Kane pointed at the blockhouse and held up two fingers. Dante nodded.
They dropped from the wall into the compound, hugging the shadows as they crept toward the surveillance center.
Just as Kane stepped into the edge of the light, Dante moved. His right hand flickered again. Two throwing knives shot out like bullets.
Thwip. Thwip.
The two wandering guards stiffened. They let out low grunts as the steel pierced their hearts, collapsing into silent heaps.
The two guards at the door froze, confusion clouding their faces. Did he just trip?
Before they could process the thought, Kane exploded from the darkness. He moved like a hunting leopard, his Blade carving a deadly arc through the air.
Slash.
The blade cut through the air with a terrifying hiss. It struck the first guard’s neck with the force of a guillotine.
Splurt.
A fountain of blood sprayed into the air, accompanied by a severed head spinning away into the darkness.
The second guard flinched, his eyes wide with horror. He tried to raise his submachine g*n, but it was too late. The b****y tip of Kane’s blade was already hovering millimeters from his throat.
Hiss...
The guard froze. He could feel the cold steel radiating death. He looked into Kane’s eyes—eyes that looked more avian than human, sharp and merciless—and his courage evaporated.
"Ring the doorbell," Kane whispered, his voice like ice crackling. "Live or die. Your choice."
The mercenary swallowed hard. He nodded slowly.
Kane pulled the blade back an inch, but his left hand shot out, his fingers forming a claw that gripped the man’s throat. His nails dug into the skin, drawing blood.
These mercenaries were here for money and safety. They were killers, yes, but they were also cowards when the g*n was pointed at them.
Ding-dong.
The guard pressed the button.
Inside, someone checked the peephole. Seeing their comrade standing there, they didn't think twice. They buzzed the electronic lock.
Buzz. Click.
The heavy steel door creaked open.
In that split second, Kane’s left hand crushed the guard’s windpipe and snapped his spine in one brutal motion. He shoved the dying man aside and kicked the door with all his strength.
BOOM!
The heavy door flew open, slamming against the wall.
Inside, six men were lounging around—playing cards, watching movies. They turned their heads, stunned by the noise.
But before their brains could register the intruder, five silver streaks flashed through the air.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack.
Five knives. Five foreheads. Five dead men.
They slumped over the card table and the desk, dead before they could even reach for their weapons.
The sixth man—the one who had opened the door—didn't even have time to scream. Kane’s blade swept down diagonally, cleaving him from his right shoulder to his left hip. He fell in two pieces.
Kane dragged the four bodies from outside into the room and closed the door. He turned to Dante and gave him a thumbs up.
"Nice shooting."
The speed and precision were terrifying. Five moving targets, split-second reaction. Even Kane was impressed. If he had to face Dante unprepared, it would be a dangerous fight.
The legends were true. These death row inmates had once been kings of the underworld. In prison, stripped of their weapons, they were like tigers without claws. But now, with steel in their hands, they were unstoppable forces of nature.
Dante grinned, wiping a knife clean. "Boss, I've been throwing knives since I was five. Nineteen years of practice. I got rusty in the hole, but the moment I felt the weight in my hand... it all came back. Just like Ghost and his guns."
Kane laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Choosing you three as my personal guard was the best decision I ever made."
"Marcus too," Dante added. "Don't let his goofball act fool you. His blade work is nasty. Vicious angles, crazy speed. honestly? In close quarters, even Ghost and I might lose to him."
"Haha, keep that to yourself," Kane chuckled. "If Marcus hears you praising him, his ego will explode."
"Heh, true."
"Alright," Kane pulled out his phone. He typed a mass text to the team.
"East Sector Clear. Assemble."
- Writer
