The Deathstalker [5]

Eight months later

The front door of the North Wing tower swung open. Instantly, five heads in the living room turned toward the entrance.

"Death!"

"Gila!"

Two young women immediately rushed toward the two men standing in the doorway, grinning widely. Within seconds, each was pulled into a tight embrace.

"I'm so glad you're finally out of the training center," Viper whispered against Deathstalker's chest.

"Yup… so am I," Deathstalker replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

The other two young men and a young woman approached them, all smiling, relieved to have their teammates back.

"So, what can you do now?" Fire asked, popping open a soda can.

"Not much," Deathstalker said with a shrug. "Only this…"

He stretched out his arm, palm half-open, aimed at Fire. In a split second, the soda can flew from Fire's hand straight into Deathstalker's palm.

"Cool!!" Bruno exclaimed as everyone else gawked in amazement.

Deathstalker took a sip from the can. His expression immediately soured. "Ugh… sarsaparilla," he groaned, squinting in distaste. Then, looking at Fire, he smirked. "I swear, I'm buying you beer from now on until you turn 21, bro."

The group burst into laughter.

"And you? What can you do, Tiger?" Black Widow asked Gila, still nestled in his arms.

Deathstalker tossed the empty soda can to Gila. With a swift flick of his index finger, Gila pointed at the can. Then, with a slicing motion, the can split cleanly in two before hitting the ground.

"Wow!" Black Widow immediately stepped back from her boyfriend.

"Relax, Sugar… I've got it fully under control," Gila reassured her, pulling her back into his embrace.

"Nice… at least you don't need to carry weapons anymore," King remarked.

"Yeah… and I can do this," Gila added.

He stepped outside, and the others followed. Walking toward the jeep that had brought them back to the castle, Gila crouched slightly and placed one hand beneath it. With effortless ease, he lifted the more-than-two-ton vehicle as if it were nothing more than a ball.

Not stopping there, he grinned mischievously and spun the jeep on his index finger like a toy.

"WOOOOW!!" The five onlookers collectively dropped their jaws in astonishment.

Gila chuckled before tossing the jeep high into the air.

Everyone braced for impact, expecting the vehicle to come crashing down into a heap of twisted metal. But to their surprise, it descended slowly, landing gracefully on the ground as if it had been carefully set down.

Only then did they notice Deathstalker standing with his arm outstretched, controlling the jeep's descent.

"You're amazing, Tiger!" Black Widow praised Gila before planting a kiss on his lips. But then she pulled back slightly, pouting. "I wonder… can I still read your mind now?"

"Try it, Sugar," Gila challenged, staring into her eyes.

A second later, Black Widow's cheeks flushed deep red.

"Oh… Tiger… I didn't know you could be that naughty…" she murmured, before leaning in for another kiss. Gila wrapped his arms around her waist, deepening the embrace.

The other five groaned.

"Hey, hey! Don't throw dog food everywhere!"

"Get a room, you two!"

Gila and Black Widow broke apart, chuckling.

"Alright, alright, enough with the welcome-back party," King finally said. "We've got plenty of missions to get to."

-

"We have an update on the Locked-Door Homicides that have been occurring in this country over the past few weeks," a woman's voice announced as her pretty face appeared on the screen of a small television. The device stood on the ground, nestled between two stones.

Without pausing what he was doing, Deathstalker curled his lips into a smirk. Locked-Door Homicides—what a cheesy name. But he didn't mind it.

"Although authorities still cannot determine how these murders were executed, the national intelligence agency has officially announced that the homicides were committed by the same individual—or at least the same group," the reporter continued.

"Their intelligence bureau isn't very intelligent if they're just figuring that out now, is it?" Viper remarked as she crawled out of the tent. "I mean, it took them five bodies just to reach that conclusion." She clicked her tongue in disapproval. Deathstalker remained silent.

"In the meantime, KSC has investigated the victims, and we can confirm that—despite appearing random—they are not random at all. All of them were newcomers to this country, having moved here no more than two years ago. A deeper background check reveals that none of them had clear histories—it's as if they appeared out of nowhere. There is growing suspicion that they were all secret agents from a particular foreign nation."

"This woman is good," Deathstalker remarked, impressed by the reporter's analysis.

"You mean the TV station's investigation team," Viper corrected him.

Deathstalker smirked, detecting the jealousy in her voice. "TV stations don't have investigation teams. She did this on her own. Don't you know that reporters are often more diligent than detectives?" he teased, ignoring her tone.

Viper shrugged, feigning indifference. "Do you think they got the message?" she asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"They should, after this last bullet," Deathstalker replied. "Most importantly, they need to deliver the message to the right people."

His gaze fixated on the bullet in his hand. Deeply engraved on its casing was a single letter—M. With the five bullets already placed on five victims, the message would read "FREE GM."

Gilen Martin—G.M.—was once a minister of Country F, before being caught and convicted as a secret agent. The government claimed he had been spying for their enemies, but in reality, he had been working for the organization. He had ruled over this so-called romantic country by whispering in the Lady President's ear—literally—during their pillow talk sessions. His downfall had nothing to do with espionage; he had been caught having an affair with a servant in the presidential suite. Enraged and heartbroken, the Lady President had him labeled a traitor and locked away.

The Royal Knights had been sent to correct this injustice. While Black Widow used her influence to incite public demand for Martin's release, and Fire manipulated the stock market to destabilize Country F's economy, Gila and Deathstalker were tasked with eliminating foreign secret agents stationed in other nations. They only needed to kill six per country—one for each letter of the message.

The Locked-Door homicides weren't named without reason. Each victim was found dead in a completely sealed room. Take the fifth victim, for example—a forty-year-old man discovered in his massage chair, comfortably seated in front of his television, a bullet hole clean through his forehead.

According to forensic analysis, the bullet had entered from the front at an angle of approximately 60 degrees. Logically, the shot should have shattered the window behind him. Yet the window was locked from the inside—completely intact, no cracks, no signs of tampering. The only door leading to the room was also locked from the inside.

So how did Deathstalker do it?

It had been executed from an apartment across the street, on the second floor—giving him a clear line of sight to the man's chair.

He waited patiently. When the man finally sat down, sipping his beer and watching a sports broadcast, Deathstalker took his shot.

As the bullet neared the target, Deathstalker remotely unlocked the window and slid it open just enough for the projectile to pass through. The movement caught the man's attention—he instinctively turned his head toward the window.

That was when the bullet struck.

It pierced through his skull, tore into his brain, and ended him instantly. A fraction of a second later, Deathstalker closed and re-locked the window—leaving no evidence behind.

"Have some breakfast first, babe," Viper said, lifting a spoonful of cereal in front of Deathstalker's mouth.

"This isn't a vacation," he muttered, squinting at her. "What are you even doing here? You know I'm on a mission."

"I'm bored," Viper pouted. "I don't get why King didn't put Bruno and me on this mission too."

"Maybe he wanted to give you two some alone time." Deathstalker chuckled. "You do know he has his eye on you, right?"

Viper scowled, sulking at the implication. Amused, Deathstalker finally opened his mouth and accepted the cereal.

"You two are our last resort if everything else fails," he added, this time serious. "Now leave me alone. I need to do my job."

Viper huffed but didn't argue as Deathstalker turned back to his rifle.

They were camped on a hillside overlooking a wide river—the largest in the country. Across the river, nearly a mile away, was the capital.

His target was a thirty-year-old woman. She would appear at any moment.

There she was.

Through the scope of his rifle, Deathstalker spotted the bus carrying the woman. It had just emerged from an intersection and was slowing down near a bus stop. As usual, the woman sat in the middle of the bus, near the window, her gaze distant.

When the bus finally stopped, Deathstalker counted to ten. Then, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet launched forward, crossing the river in a perfect trajectory.

As it neared the other side, it zipped past the road, adjusting height slightly to avoid an oncoming car.

The bus doors were still open, allowing passengers to board. The bullet made a sharp U-turn and shot inside.

"Ack!" A girl yelped, clutching her shoulder as a sudden, sharp pain struck her. The fabric of her coat and sweater ripped apart, revealing a wound she couldn't explain.

Meanwhile, the true target remained unaware.

The bullet continued down the narrow aisle between seats. Then, in one final sharp turn—

It burrowed through the back of the thirty-year-old woman's head.

"Aaaaaaah!"

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the bus as a horrified passenger found herself drenched in blood and brain matter.