Page 78 of Two Sides of Sin

The shooters moving through the grounds were masked, heavily armoured, and advancing in disciplined tactical formations. Mercenaries. Highly trained and heavily armed.

I slipped into the blind spot of the first mercenary navigating the scaffolding, grabbing the back of his tactical helmet and the base of his chin. A sickening crack severed his spinal cord before he even registered I was there. I let his body drop silently onto the cold asphalt and moved to the next.

It was a slaughter. I was a ghost made of steel and rage, moving faster than humanly possible among the soaring Gothic pillars. I crushed a windpipe with a strike of my forearm, drove a combat knife through the Kevlar-weave of another man’s ribs, and used a third as a human shield against a burst of rifle fire before breaking his neck. Blood soaked my gloves. It splattered across my face, hot and metallic, feeding the dark, feral thing inside me that Cain had created.

“Noah, report!” I barked into my comms, ripping a rifle from a dead man’s hands. Static. “Noah, give me your position!”

Nothing.

A cold spike of dread pierced through the adrenaline. I cut a fast path through the plaza, leaving a trail of broken bodies in my wake, until I reached the edge of the western perimeter near the steps of the cathedral.

That was where I found him.

Noah was on the ground, his back pressed against the shredded tires of an abandoned transport truck. His helmet was tossed to the side, his face slick with blood. He was struggling to raise his sidearm with a trembling hand, but a masked mercenary kicked the weapon away, levelling a heavy assault rifle directly at Noah’s chest. Two more hostiles flanked him, laughing.

I hit the first one like a freight train, driving my shoulder into his chest with enough immortal force to shatter his ribs instantly. He flew back, crashing hard into the side of the truck.

The second man raised his weapon, but I was already inside his guard. I grabbed the barrel of his rifle, shoving it upwards as it fired harmlessly into the sky, and drove my combat knife straight up under the rim of his helmet, burying it deep, to the hilt in his jaw.

I ripped the blade out, spinning to face the third man, the one who had been standing over Noah. I lunged, grabbing him by the throat, fully intending to rip his head from his shoulders.

But in my blind rage, I missed the fourth man stepping out from the shadows.

I felt the sudden bite of cold steel dragging unforgivingly across the front of my throat.

The cut was deep. The assassin’s blade severed my windpipe and sliced clean through my carotid artery. The sound of the arterial spray was a wet, hissing rush in my ears. Thick, boiling hot blood exploded down the front of my tactical vest.

My grip on the mercenary’s throat failed. I dropped to my knees on the cold stones, clutching my ruined neck, choking on my own blood.

Through my blurring vision, I saw Noah. He was half-conscious, his eyes wide and glassy with shock as he watched the blood pour from my throat. He was watching me die.

The assassin stepped past my kneeling body, casually flipping the bloody combat knife in his hand, and walked towards Noah to finish the job.

No. The immortal fire in my veins roared to life, a dark, alchemical furiousness that refused to let me stay in the dust. It burned like acid. The severed arteries reattached, the torn cartilage of my windpipe fusing together, the flesh stitching itself closed in a matter of seconds.

The assassin raised his knife over Noah.

I stood up.

My throat was now coated in my own blood, my shirt soaked black, but the wound was gone. I reached out and clamped my bloody hand around the back of the assassin’s neck.

The man froze, a choked sound of confusion escaping him. He tried to turn his head, but I didn’t let him. With a brutal, merciless twist of my wrists, I snapped his neck and threw his lifeless body onto the pavement.

The area fell dead silent, apart from the blaring siren in the distance.

I stood over the bodies, my chest heaving, the taste of my own blood heavy on my tongue. I wiped the thickest part of the gore from my throat, smearing it across my jaw, leaving my skin stained but completely, intact.

I dropped to my knees beside Noah. He was incredibly pale, his eyes fluttering, struggling to focus on my face. His gaze drifted hazily to my blood-soaked neck, a confused, broken sound leaving his lips.

“I’ve got you,” I reassured him, my voice slightly hoarse from the freshly healed vocal cords. I shoved my arms under his shoulders and knees, lifting his dead weight effortlessly against my chest. “Stay awake, Noah. Stay with me.”

“Jules…” he mumbled, his head rolling against my shoulder, his bloody fingers weakly gripping my vest. “Your neck… I saw…”

“You’re hallucinating, brother. Blood loss,” I lied, my voice a steady and calm as I broke into a run toward the medical tent. “Just keep your eyes open.”

Chapter 49

Sage