Saviours Fury Unleashed

Warning: This chapter consists of violence, reader discretion is advised. 

~Alexie Ivanov~

A surge of anger coursed through my body; needless bloodshed was not something I favored, but witnessing the state Nari was in pushed me over the edge. Now, not only did I have to contend with a troubled teenager in my house, but also a group of brats. I strode back to the groaning boys, many of them crying out in pain, others struck with fear. I took a quick count; good, it seemed the entire lot was there. It saved me the hassle of having to fulfill my promise to them. Perhaps they weren't entirely worthless beings after all.

"Okay," I settled on a crate in the far corner, all eyes following my direction. "I see you guys have kept your promise, so I'll keep mine—I'll let you live." Faces lit up in hope, but I wasn't finished. "Sorry, correction—I'll let one of you live. I'll give you ten minutes; at the count of five, you'll fight amongst yourselves, and the last man standing goes home unharmed. Simple right?" Confusion and fear welled in their eyes. One of the boys spat, "Fuck you, man, I ain't fighting my homies!" With an eye roll, I started counting down, "5...4...3...2...1...and fight!"

For a few moments, they remained still, but soon, one boy stepped forward and punched his rebellious friend, knocking out his teeth. I chuckled, observing the swift betrayal that unfolded before me, proving once again the inherently selfish nature of humans, always striving to better their own lives. As the fight ensued, I kept a constant reminder of the time, and at the ten-minute mark, I instructed them to stop. Many boys were now on the floor, bloodied but with a persistent will to live.

As I approached the fallen boys, retrieving my knife from the side of one whom I had killed when he was trying to rape Nari, I nonchalantly pushed my hands deep into my pockets. In the shadows of the crates, I noticed a trembling figure. Amused, I walked towards him, crouching down to his level. This was the boy who had brought Nari here and had her luggage beside him.

"I'm sorry; I just wanted to steal her luggage," his words broken by sobs as he continued, "But they—" he pointed at the others, "had other plans. I didn't know. I'm sorry," he wept.

"Hmm," I said, deep in thought. "Okay," I chirped at him, finding the situation more intriguing. "So, you want to live now, don't you?" The boy nodded. "Very well. Now, do you see your friends there?" I pointed to the boys scattered in the alley. "Here, take this and go kill them." With a blank stare, he kept looking at me and then at my hand extending my knife to him. Raising a brow, I slowly started taking back my offered knife, only for his hands to clasp mine, taking the weapon, and dashing in a mad rage to finish off his "companions." It took some time, as the boy was weaker than others, but he had every advantage on his side, from the weapon to his opponents' weakened state. I checked my watch; it was half past midnight. I should be getting back now, I thought, looking at the crying boy sitting in the middle of a bloodbath.

Squatting next to him, I said, "Well done, boy. You are free to go" I said as I patted him back. But before the gleam of relief could further brighten his eyes, I snatched the bloodied knife away from him and carefully sealed it in a zip lock bag. "But now remember, if you get too smart, I have this that could destroy everything for you." I dangled the evidence of his crime in front of him. With a smirk, I left him.

Pulling out my cell, I had to make calls to two people—one whom I liked and another whom I despised talking to. After a few rings, the first person answered, "Hello, Doctor Jeon. I apologize for the late hours, but it's an emergency," I said. "Yes, thank you for understanding. Please meet me at my house in twenty minutes."

Dialing the phone again, this time I switched to a private line and adopted my Russian accent. "Hello, Handler. You know the alleys near Lot 75, yes? Those need some thorough cleaning. Of course, the payment would be through the usual methods" my call was curt and short.

Unlocking the car, I noticed a petite figure already deep in slumber, clutching tightly to the legal documents I had given her in a fit of rage. Brushing my fingers through my hair, I sighed. I didn't mean to be so rough with her, especially considering what she had gone through, but somehow she frustrated me. Slowly, I removed the tangle of hair that obscured her throat and rested my fingers against her veins to check her pulse. "A bit high, but it seems normal," I murmured before unraveling her tiny fingers from the papers and placing them in the glove box. I gave her one last look before sighing and securing her seatbelt, then drove back home.

~Nariya Patel~

The drumming buzzed in my ears, distancing me from the world. My body teetered on the edge, yet I stubbornly resisted succumbing to the embrace of a deep slumber devoid of pain and suffering. My senses heightened, reaching for the stars, as my fingertips discerned the plush yet firm leather beneath them. His aroma, against which I was pressed just minutes ago, permeated the confines of the car—musky, woody, with a subtle hint of sweet vanilla. A chuckle escaped my lips; it strangely suited him, encapsulating his entire personality.

His name was Axelie Ivanov, a revelation gleaned from the documents moments earlier when my vision remained frozen. The bold words etched on the pages explained how, overnight, he had assumed the role of my legal guardian, bestowed with such authority by my father for at least a year. Axelie would serve as my acting caretaker, overseeing both my finances and well-being until I reached legal adulthood or until my actual guardian, my father, made an appearance. Absurdity clouded my thoughts when I first perused my father's letter, dismissing it as another of his escapades where he would vanish for a few days only to resurface, intoxicated by some substance. However, this time was different. As a tear trickled down my cheek, I comprehended the gravity of the situation—my father was serious. Though he may not have been the best father, and there were times when I loathed him, he was now all I had left to reminisce about the happy memories with my mother.

Alexie Ivanov—a name that echoed with praises around our family dinner table, a memory from my younger days and a rare occasion when my father would beam with pride as he spoke of this boy. To me, Alexie was more than just a name; he was an unseen face, a source of jealousy. From the perspective of a ten-year-old, it was hard to understand why my elusive father, a man who often felt like a myth, returned on rare occasions only to shower praise upon a child who wasn't his own.

One particularly vivid memory lingered from my childhood. After eight months of absence, my mother insisted I show him my first-place certificate and trophy from a school cooking competition. I was nervous and reluctant that day, but as he began praising someone else in his speech that night, tears welled in my eyes. I lost all confidence; I no longer wanted him to be my father. That night, he had a flight to London, and the only comfort I found was in my mother's embrace. Her words played in a loop in my mind: "He loves you, he's doing it for us." I tried to believe her, but now I wonder if she repeated those words to convince herself rather than me.

Now, my eyelids weighed heavily as I cast one last glance at the alley. A solitary male figure emerged and made his way towards the car. A simple thought fluttered in my mind, "If this man could impress the great Dr. Patel, maybe he might be able to impress me." With that, darkness consumed me, drawing me into the depths of its melodic embrace.

I groaned as pain shot through my entire body, feeling as if I were a piece of jelly suspended high in the sky yet simultaneously sinking into the soft embrace of ocean sand.

"It hurts…" my coarse voice, unrecognizable to me, expressed the sharp flares of discomfort. I pondered aloud, "Am I in heaven?"

"No," a voice, both familiar and distant, replied.

A smile formed on my lips as I beckoned the voice closer, "Do you need anything?" it asked in a gentle tone. Feeling its presence right next to me, I pulled it towards me, enveloping myself in its embrace. It felt reminiscent of my mother's hug, the warmth that accompanied her lullabies whenever I fell ill. "Don't leave me, mama," I pleaded, hot tears welling up in my eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation, but then warmth surrounded me as the voice whispered against my ears, "I won't, moonpie." And then darkness engulfed me.