The Forge compound was alive with celebration. The remaining members of the mercenary group laughed and drank, their voices echoing through the stone halls. At the heart of it all was the captured Celestial Anchor, Trisha.
She stood on a raised platform in the center of the main hall, her wrists bound, her expression resolute despite the fear in her eyes. The room around her buzzed with energy, mercenaries toasting to their victory, oblivious to the storm that was about to descend upon them.
The first sign was the silence.
It began at the edges of the compound, a creeping, suffocating quiet that seemed to swallow the raucous laughter and celebration. Then came the screams, quick, panicked, and cut short by the unmistakable sound of steel slicing through flesh.
Gabriel moved like a ghost through the compound, his sword an extension of his fury. Blood spattered across the walls, the floors, his clothes. His breathing was heavy, his eyes wild, but his movements were calculated and precise. Each swing of his blade was deliberate, every strike a death sentence.
By the time he reached the main hall, the floor was slick with blood, and the bodies of The Forge members lay strewn across the ground like broken dolls.
Gabriel pushed open the heavy doors, his presence filling the room. His sword dripped with crimson, his body covered in both his own blood and that of his enemies. He stood there for a moment, his silhouette framed by the fires raging behind him.
The room fell silent, every remaining mercenary turning to face him.
"Who the hell-" one of them started, but Gabriel didn't give him the chance to finish. With a flash of his blade, the man's head rolled to the floor.
The remaining mercenaries scrambled for their weapons, but Gabriel was faster. He moved like a hurricane, his blade cutting through them with merciless efficiency.
Trisha's breath hitched as she saw him, alive, bloodied, and utterly unrelenting. Her heart raced as she struggled to process what she was seeing.
"Gabriel... but... you were dead!"
Gabriel didn't waste a moment on explanations. His voice, steady and commanding, cut through her shock.
"We need to leave. Now."
Trisha hesitated, her legs trembling beneath her, but the urgency in Gabriel's tone snapped her out of her daze. She nodded, and without another word, he grabbed her hand, pulling her off the platform.
The fires that had consumed the compound roared louder as they navigated the chaos. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke and ash. Gabriel didn't let go of her hand, his grip firm as he led her through the labyrinth of destruction.
The screams of the dying faded into the distance as they burst out into the open air, the cold night a stark contrast to the inferno behind them.
The journey back was heavy with silence. Gabriel's body ached with every step, but he didn't stop. They reached the place where Atasha had fallen, her lifeless body still crumpled on the ground.
Gabriel knelt down, his expression unreadable as he gently lifted her into his arms. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as though he feared breaking what little remained of her.
Trisha stood nearby, her hands trembling as she looked at Atasha's still form. The reality of their loss hit her like a wave, and she bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling over.
"Francis," Gabriel said quietly, turning toward where the wounded man lay.
Francis stirred, groaning softly as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry, but the sight of Gabriel approaching snapped him into focus.
"Gabriel..." Francis's voice was weak, disbelieving. "You're... alive? I... I don't believe it..."
Gabriel's gaze didn't waver. "I killed the bounty hunter," he said simply, his voice devoid of any triumph.
Francis let out a long, shaky breath, relief flooding his expression. But his eyes shifted to Atasha's body, and the relief quickly gave way to grief.
"But... Atasha..." His voice cracked, the words catching in his throat. "She's gone..."
Gabriel's face softened, but the emptiness in his eyes was unmistakable. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't save her."
Francis struggled to sit up, his body protesting with every movement. He reached out, his hand trembling as he touched Atasha's arm. "She... she deserved better than this..."
The group stood in silence, the weight of their loss hanging over them like a shroud. The crackling of distant fires and the faint rustling of the wind were the only sounds that broke the stillness.
As they prepared to move, Gabriel glanced at Trisha, who stood frozen, her eyes locked on Atasha's body. He stepped closer, his voice gentler now. "We need to keep going."
Trisha nodded weakly, her steps hesitant as she followed Gabriel and Francis. The weight of their losses pressed heavily on all of them, but they knew they couldn't stop, not now.
The dusk stretched on as they made their way through the darkened landscape, their hearts heavy with grief and their minds filled with uncertainty.
But amidst the sorrow, a flicker of determination burned within Gabriel. He would carry the weight of their losses, their pain, and their sacrifices. And he would see this mission through, no matter the cost.
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The journey back to London was a silent march of grief. The group moved slowly, weighed down by the loss of Atasha and the harrowing battles they had faced. Each step felt heavier than the last as the city's familiar skyline came into view. Gabriel led the group, his face stoic, his mind a chaotic storm. Behind him, Trisha clung to Francis's arm, her eyes still red from crying. Marcus and Mariella brought up the rear, their usual light-hearted banter replaced by quiet murmurs of concern.
The ceremony was held in a quiet churchyard in the heart of London. Word of Atasha's bravery had spread quickly, and the small space was packed with mourners. Soldiers stood in solemn rows, their heads bowed in respect. Atasha's four sisters, Alleah, Venice, Jaeden, and Quincy, stood by the wooden coffin, their faces pale and tear-streaked.
Venice held Quincy close, the youngest sobbing uncontrollably into her sister's shoulder. Jaeden, her usual composure shattered, stared at the coffin with wide, unblinking eyes. Only Alleah seemed to hold herself together, though her trembling hands betrayed her grief.
Gabriel stood at the back of the crowd, a silent observer. He couldn't bring himself to approach the coffin, to see Atasha's lifeless form encased in the simple wooden box. His mind kept replaying her final moments, her fierce determination, and the defiant spark in her eyes.
When the ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse, Gabriel finally stepped forward. In his hands was a leather pouch filled with the money he had won during the competition. He approached Alleah, who was comforting Quincy, her hand gently stroking the younger girl's hair.
"This is all I can give you," Gabriel said, his voice rough and low. He extended the pouch toward her, his hands steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I'm sorry for not saving her."