The two surviving assassins staggered through the dense forest, the weight of their injuries dragging them down with every step.
Blood dripped steadily from their wounds, painting a grim trail on the dirt path behind them.
Despite the burning in their lungs and the searing pain in their bodies, fear drove them forward.
"I still can't believe it," Garth growled through gritted teeth, pressing a trembling hand to the jagged gash on his side. "How the hell did one man — one fucking man — do all that?"
"Shut it," Calen snapped, though his voice lacked its usual edge.
He was struggling just as much, his left arm hanging limply by his side, likely fractured.
His movements were slow, deliberate, as he leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree.
"Keep your voice down. If he's still close, we're done for."
Garth glared at him but didn't argue. The raw fear in Calen's voice was enough to silence his complaints.