The hall still trembled from the last blast outside.
Smoke drifted through cracks in the ceiling, curling like phantom hands.
Kyle unfastened his long coat and let it fall. The sound of leather sliding over concrete was the only noise.
He rolled his sleeves up, palms steady, eyes fixed on the two men across the floor.
Dmitri Volkov's knife gleamed under the emergency lights.
Lucian Kade's baton locked open with a metallic snap.
They moved apart—predators circling the same kill.
[Dmitri's POV]
He lunged first. Always first.
Knife forward, shoulder low, rage driving every muscle.
The blade struck air. Kyle twisted aside and slammed an elbow into Dmitri's ribs. A hollow crack. Breath fled his lungs.
He gritted his teeth and came again, slashing in tight arcs.
Each stroke met empty space or the flat of Kyle's forearm.
Then a sudden pivot—Kyle caught his wrist, turned, and threw him.
The world flipped; concrete met Dmitri's back with a shudder that rattled his skull.
Pain sharpened his focus. He rolled, found his feet, knife back in hand.
"Not done," he rasped.
[Lucian's POV]
The baton hummed as he swung.
Kyle ducked, the strike missing his temple by an inch.
Lucian reversed the grip, jabbed toward the ribs, felt contact—solid, satisfying.
But Kyle barely moved. Instead, he stepped inside the range and hammered a palm strike to Lucian's chest.
Air burst from his lungs. He staggered, vision blurring for a blink.
Dmitri was back in the fight, knife flashing.
Lucian closed again—two angles, one target.
The sounds multiplied: boots scraping, breath grunts, the smack of flesh on flesh.
Every hit felt like an earthquake trapped in a room.
[Kyle's POV]
They were coordinated, desperate.
He met them in silence, each movement a calculation—redirect, counter, break balance.
Dmitri's knife slashed low; Kyle caught his wrist and snapped it against his knee.
The knife spun away, ringing once before it settled.
Lucian swung from behind; Kyle pivoted, grabbed the baton, yanked it free, and rammed the butt into Lucian's jaw.
Lucian stumbled but didn't fall.
Kyle pressed forward—two quick punches, a spin, a kick that dropped Dmitri to one knee.
Then his voice, cold and even:
"Why did you kill them?"
Silence, except for their breathing.
He advanced, each word a step closer.
"My crew. My brothers. Why?"
Lucian spat, blood and dust mixing on the floor. "Orders."
Kyle's hand tightened around the baton. "That's not enough."
[Lucian's POV]
He met Kyle's eyes and saw something terrifying—control.
No rage, no mercy.
Lucian swung again anyway, a desperate arc.
Kyle blocked, countered, drove a knee into his gut.
Everything went black for a moment.
When focus returned, Dmitri was back on his feet, one arm hanging useless.
Lucian felt something break inside—not a bone, something smaller, quieter.
"We didn't choose this," he managed between breaths.
Kyle hesitated. That hesitation almost cost him. Dmitri tackled him from behind, slamming him into a pillar.
Concrete cracked.
Kyle turned inside the hold, struck twice—throat, ribs—and Dmitri dropped.
[Dmitri's POV]
He could taste metal.
Lucian's voice somewhere near: "Tell him."
Dmitri shook his head. He couldn't—not yet.
Kyle hauled him up by the collar.
"Who gave the order?"
"You think we had a choice?" Dmitri coughed. "Our families… they had them."
Kyle froze.
Lucian's broken voice echoed, "They said if we refused, they'd bury them."
For the first time, Dmitri saw doubt in Kyle's eyes.
He almost pitied him.
"You don't know what kind of man you're hunting," Dmitri said.
"Then tell me."
He reached inside his vest, pulled out a small metal emblem—twisted, tarnished.
A snake coiled around a broken cross. The serpent's eyes caught the flicker of firelight.
"This," Dmitri said. "This is his mark."
Kyle stepped closer. "His name?"
Dmitri's mouth opened—
[Lucian's POV]
The floor rumbled.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
He turned toward the control panels; warning lights flashed crimson.
"No—no—he rigged it!"
Dmitri's eyes widened. "Too late."
The first explosion came from below. The shockwave lifted Lucian off his feet, heat licking his skin.
He crashed down hard, rolled, saw Dmitri vanish in the blaze.
"Kyle!" he shouted—but the roar drowned his voice.
A second blast tore through the far wall, turning the hall into a furnace.
[Kyle's POV]
Sound vanished in a rush of white noise.
He forced himself up, body burning, vision flickering.
Everything around him was collapsing—steel beams, walls, fire rolling in waves.
The emblem lay in the debris, the serpent still glowing faintly.
He crawled toward it, every breath a knife in his lungs.
His fingers brushed the metal just as another detonation thundered above.
Light swallowed everything.
Then darkness.
[Unknown POV]
Hours later, drones combed the ruins where The Syndicate had stood.
Static filled the comms, punctuated by fragments of a transmission:
"…snake… broken cross… he's alive…"
Then silence reclaimed the city.