"Lucky our uninvited guests took the bait. Now those bastards are in for one hell of a treat!” Running her hand through clumps of wavy brunette hair, the bespectacled woman huffed her chest in anticipation. “Ready your weapons!” she commanded, and in response, forty rifles clicked in unison, their nozzles readied at the elevator doors.


    A ping sounded, and the doors parted, revealing the intruders who had dared to trespass. Without a moment’s hesitation, the bespectacled woman signalled with a wave of her hand for the attack to commence. A relentless volley of bullets thundered forth, creating a symphony of battle that tore through flesh and blood and everything else, till rubble was all that remained.


    “Hold fire!” she ordered, raising a fist to halt the onslaught. The gunfire ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence amidst the aftermath of carnage. A crimson haired male spilled out from the elevator, dropping down on his knees. He spattered his innards and collapsed in a pool of his own blood, staring listlessly into a point beyond existence.


    “That was quicker than we expected,” remarked the bespectacled woman, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She turned her back on the fallen assassin, a signal for her troops to withdraw. But as she addressed her men, urging them to move, a coarse crackle tore through the air. Instinctively, she spun about, discarding the fate of her men.


    She came face-to-face with a pair of drawn longswords, wielded by a figure who exuded a voracious hunger for combat.


    “What the–” Drawing a cleaver, she deflected the first strike. A moment later, she observed the fate her men had been tendered.


    A horror glazed expression met her eyes, carved in stone like an ancient sculpture.


    She shuddered, shifting her gaze back to the elevator doors. She saw the crimson haired cheese-holed intruder, rise and tend to a doubled over blonde woman, incapacitated by a coughing fit. “It’s her miasma then.”


    “You should really take me more seriously,” said the wielder of the longswords. Kicking off a stone cased soldier, he swung his blades while airborne, at the stunned woman.


    Gritting her teeth, she enveloped herself in a maelstrom of miasma, plunging the air around her into darkness.


    Azrael twitched from side to side, steadying his wobbly gait. He approached the fallen Marr with a pounding headache, feeling a million times heavier with a lead-laden body. His wounds were taking their own sweet time to heal. Spitting out a round of bullets, he grimaced distastefully, plucking out a shell stuck to his head.


    “nEvEr dOinG tHat aGaiN.”


    The redhead dropped down beside Marr, retching out a second throatful of bloodstained projectiles alongside the rest of his gullet. Shaking his head, the fuzziness cleared, and the pounding stopped.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    “Finally.” He cracked his neck and loosened his shoulders, before reaching out to his unconscious comrade, tapping the side of her face. “Oi Marr, get up!”


    His tapping intensified, transmuting into half-slaps. Shaking his head, he began wringing her collar, trying to awaken her from her insensible state. Exhaling a breath, he dropped her to the ground, realising the best of his efforts did little to revive her.


    Not that she was dead, but she acted as if it was none of her responsibility to deal with.


    Considering how impervious she was to the chaos around her, blissfully ignoring the raging battle, Azrael couldn’t help but fume.


    “You mangle me through your ridiculous plan and take the easy way out, eh?” He massaged his temples, shaking his head. “Dammit. How’re things on your end?”


    “A little busy dealing with this dame.” Juke was immersed in a smoky haze trailing off the bespectacled brunette, lost in a clash of metal. “Keep an eye on Marr, while I finish off the glasses lassie.”


    Just our luck the strongest one had to be immune to Marr’s miasma. I suppose not her specifically but rather the glasses she wore were protective. A strange caveat to a near invincible ability, apart from knocking her out.


    Out of the smoky haze, a brunette flicker emerged. She had a freshly bleeding gash running along her left shoulder that did little to slow her down. She readied her cleaver and in response, Azrael unsheathed his katana, steadying the hilt. The jagged edge of his blade shimmered, reduced to one-third its original length.


    “Damn those bullets.” He cursed under his breath, discarding the shattered blade. He held up his fists, steeling his resolve. “Oi, Juke you still alive?”


    Silence hung heavy in the smokescreen.


    “Are you a zombie?” asked the brunette. Slipping past his fists, the cleaver covered the space separating them and crunched into Azrael’s cranium. A guttural howl escaped his lips, blurring his vision and bemudding his thoughts.


    In that instant, Azrael felt a noose tighten around his throat, heavy breathing on his skin.


    Out the corner of his bleary sight, he found the brunette run at him, curling around him, like a python, sinking him into the ground. His knees buckled, and a world of pain smarted through his face, tonguing crimson muck.


    He spat out a red gob, his vision darkening, his consciousness slipping, his limbs leaden once more.


    “Zombie or not, you should be out till I deal with your petrifying miasma user.” The brunette walked towards the unconscious Marr, cracking her knuckles.


    Gritting his teeth, the redhead ripped the cleaver out of his skull while his muscles spasmed. “Move, dammit!” Crawling after the brunette, his body screamed in protest. Despite his efforts, he knew he needed time, even if it was just a few blinks. He could sense the despair creeping in.


    A longsword hurtled through the air, flung like a boomerang. Amid the billowing smoke and chaos, Juke emerged like a ray of light. The blade whizzed past the brunette, missing its mark by a hair’s breadth.


    The brunette continued her smile, a chilling calmness in her demeanour, as she deftly slid her foot over Marr’s throat. “I’m surprised you found your way out of the maze I had weaved in that haziness,” she taunted, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “A shame you’re too late.”


    “Nope, he’s just on time.” Azrael hurled the cleaver he had been handed.


    The blade lodged itself between the brunette’s shoulders. She loosened a pained gasp, as she staggered back.


    Despite his own injuries, the redhead propped himself upright, using the longsword for support. Limping forward, he stood opposite Juke, who was panting and huffing himself. The pair rushed forward, heading for the wounded brunette, each bearing a longsword. Kicking off a pincer attack, their blades were an inch away from delivering the final, decisive blow.


    But fate had other plans.


    The ceiling cracked and gave way.


    Debris and mortar showered down on the four combatants, engulfing them in a maelstrom of chaos.