Hatred

We were in.

Did this mean the mission was almost over? Just like that? No, I couldn't afford to think that way. Not yet.

Handy worked the last mechanism with a practiced flick of his wrist, and with a heavy groan, the large door swung open. A stale gust of air seeped out from the chamber beyond, thick with dust and something else—something that made my skin crawl.

It was subtle, but we all felt it. A weight in the air, a quiet whisper in the back of our minds, an instinct screaming at us that whatever lay ahead was not meant to be disturbed.

We gathered at the threshold, eyes fixed on the thing waiting in the dimly lit chamber.

There, in the very center, it rested—a sword, black as the void, with veins of deep crimson threading along its blade like cracks in scorched earth. It lay upon a stone pedestal, or an altar, maybe. I wasn't sure what to call it, but the craftsmanship of the display only made the weapon seem more… deliberate. Like it wasn't just being stored here. It was being contained.

"This is it?" Talia muttered, stepping forward, her voice barely above a whisper.

As her fingers brushed the hilt, her body shuddered violently. The strength drained from her in an instant, and she staggered.

"Talia!" Tobias called, catching her before she could collapse. His grip was firm, his voice sharp with concern.

I tore my gaze from them, my eyes locking onto the blade. Its surface gleamed, slick and dark, like a beast's claw glinting beneath the moonlight.

"What happened, Talia?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

She looked up at me, her breathing uneven, a slight tremor in her fingers. "It… it sucked all my mana in an instant."

Sucked her mana? The words didn't fully register, not in a way I could understand. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but it sounded bad.

"You okay?" My concern slipped through despite my best effort to keep my tone steady.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, shaking off Tobias' support and standing straighter. "Just need a moment."

I nodded, choosing to trust her judgment, though the unease coiled in my chest refused to loosen.

"If it reacts to mana, then shouldn't we be fine?" I asked, but the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.

Talia frowned. "Dunno. What if it takes something else from you, like your life for example?" A new tension settled over the group. We were so close, yet now faced with a risk none of us had accounted for. To leave empty-handed after coming this far? That wasn't an option.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," I muttered, already stepping forward. I took a piece of cloth from Handy, wrapping it around my hand as I approached the pedestal. The sword loomed before me, its surface gleaming like obsidian drenched in blood. A deep breath steadied me. Then, with the cloth-wrapped grip, I reached out and seized the hilt. My fingers tightened around it.

And… nothing.

No pull, no sharp jolt, no sensation of something being drained from me. Just the cold weight of steel in my hand.

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding slipped from my lips. "Alright. Handy, wrap it up and carry it. The rest of you—" I glanced back at the others, their eyes still locked on the sword. "We're getting the hell out of here."

We moved swiftly, urgency pressing against our backs like a phantom urging us forward. Our boots struck the stone floor in quick, rhythmic beats, echoing through the underground chamber as we ascended the staircase. Each step was a breath held tight, a silent prayer that we wouldn't meet resistance before we reached the top.

The moment we emerged onto the factory floor, the atmosphere felt heavier, charged with an unseen tension. The wide, open space was eerily silent save for our own hurried movements.

Then A sharp click.

We barely had time to react before the factory's main door swung open with alarming speed. Every muscle in my body tensed as we instinctively took our stances, ready to fight or flee. My hand hovered over my dagger, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Elias came rushing in, breathless, his face pale under the dim industrial lights. "You have to get out. Now," he gasped, his voice tight with urgency. "Someone's coming. At least ten of them."

My stomach twisted. This was bad. We had to move.

But before we could even take a step—

Bang.

The factory doors were kicked open with a force that rattled the walls. Over ten people stormed in, their faces concealed by masks similar to our own. Fuck. Who the fuck is this? 

"What the..." I heard Tobias mutter beside me, his voice mimicking how I felt .

Who the hell were these people? They didn't wear the count's insignia, nor did they move like trained soldiers. A rival gang, perhaps? Another group hired to steal the sword? The possibilities ran through my mind like wildfire, but none of them gave me comfort.

Then the largest among them stepped forward, his presence radiating authority. His stance was relaxed, almost casual, but there was something about the way his men flanked him that set my teeth on edge. "You're probably wondering why we're here, aren't you?" he mused, his voice deep and thick with amusement.

The others turned to me, waiting for a response, but I said nothing, my jaw tightening as I let him speak.

"So," he continued, spreading his hands as if he were offering a deal instead of a threat, "we'd like to ask you to kindly hand over that sword." His tone was light, almost friendly, like he was doing us a favor.

I scoffed, folding my arms. "Oh, sure. You want our money too while you're at it?" My words dripped with mockery, but even as I spoke, my eyes flickered over him, cataloging every detail—

And then I saw it.

The ink, bold and unmistakable, coiling around his forearm like a serpent. A skull.

My vision narrowed, the world around me fading into a haze of red. The tattoo burned itself into my mind, more vivid than anything else in the dimly lit factory. My pulse pounded in my ears, a deafening drumbeat of rage. It was them. The bastards who had taken everything from me. The ones who had left my mother to bleed out on the floor like she was nothing.

Heat surged up my neck, a fire so intense it made my skull throb. My hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into my palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the fury coursing through my veins.

"It was you," I spat, my voice sharp as broken glass, slicing through the air. The room seemed to drop in temperature, my words freezing everyone in place.

I felt their eyes on me—my crew, the intruders—confusion flickering in their expressions, but I didn't care.

One of the thugs scoffed, his brows furrowing. "What the hell is this guy talking about?"

I ignored him, my gaze locked onto the leader. "You let her die," I growled, my voice raw, cracking under the weight of years of hate. "Like an animal. And you will die for it."

The bastard had the nerve to look confused, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head. Then, like a blade slipping between ribs, recognition dawned across his face.

"Oh… you couldn't mean Tony's wife, right? And you're their kid?" A slow, mocking grin spread across his lips, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. Then he laughed—laughed. A deep, taunting sound that echoed off the factory walls. "Hah… ah, her screams…"

His words hit like a hammer to the chest, shattering whatever fragile restraint I had left. My vision tunneled, everything sharpening into a singular, blinding focus—his throat, his blood, my blade. My fingers twitched by the hilt of my dagger, aching for release.

I flicked my gaze to Elias—just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge what I was about to do. Something reckless. Something stupid.

Talia's voice barely cut through the storm in my mind. "Captain, we have to go—"

But I was already moving.

Rage propelled me forward, my body a blur of instinct and fury. My dagger gleamed in the dim light, already drawn, already thirsty.

Footsteps pounded behind me—my crew, reacting, shouting—but their voices were distant, drowned out by the roar in my skull. The leader's grin widened, his posture shifting, ready. The sick fuck wanted this.

Fine.

My arm slashed through the air, my dagger slicing toward his throat. But he was fast-faster than I anticipated. He dodged my strike and retaliated, a strong blow to my ribs. It sent me stumbling. Now, only chaos, remained from the previous equilibrium, screams, shouts, punches. But my eyes were only for him, that fucker.

I shot forward again, my dagger aimed for his gut. A sure strike—fast, precise. But the bastard was faster.

His hand shot out, catching my wrist in a vice-like grip. Before I could twist free, his other fist slammed into my ribs. Hard. Pain flared through my side, white-hot and breath-stealing. The air was knocked from my lungs as I staggered, my grip on the dagger loosening.

"Pathetic," he sneered.

Then his knee drove into my stomach. My body folded with the impact, bile rising in my throat. Before I could recover, he wrenched my arm behind my back and twisted. My vision flashed white with pain.

I barely had time to register the fight raging around me.

Talia was on the ground, struggling to push herself up, blood smeared across her cheek. Handy was still standing, barely, his breaths ragged, The sword still in his arm. Tobias was grappling with two men, but even he was slowing, his movements sluggish. Elias had been knocked flat, a boot pressed to his chest.

We were losing. Miserably

I thrashed against the leader's grip, fury still burning through me, but it didn't matter. He slammed me down onto my knees with ease, his strength overwhelming.

"You really thought you could win this?" His voice was mockingly gentle, like he was amused by my foolishness. "Poor kid. All that anger, all that fire… and for what?"

Behind him, one of his men lifted the sword from Handy's fallen grasp. The black blade glistened in the dim light, its crimson veins pulsing—almost like it was alive, like it knew it was being stolen. The sight of it in their hands reignited the rage in me, hot and blinding. I fought harder, wrenching at my arm, trying to free myself, but the leader only laughed.

"You're a bitch , little man, just like your father was. " he murmured, his grip tightening.

Then he drove his fist into my face.

The impact sent me reeling. My ears rang, my skull felt like it had cracked open, and for a moment, the world blurred into nothing but pain. I barely registered the warmth trickling down my chin—blood. Mine.

I barely discerned the sound of others being forced down beside me, all of us broken, beaten.

But I did hear his voice.

"Consider this mercy," the leader said, stepping back, motioning for his men to move. The sword was now securely in their hands, our entire mission shattered in an instant. "Stay down, forget about this, and maybe—just maybe—you won't end up like your mother."

Another laugh. Another wave of sick amusement from his men. They turned, their boots echoing against the factory floor as they moved toward the door, as if we were nothing more than an inconvenience.

They thought it was over.

I spat blood onto the ground, my vision still swimming, my body still aching, but my voice was clear.

"You think this is done? This is war, you heard !?"

The leader paused, glancing back at me with mild curiosity.

I pushed myself up onto my knees, every movement slow and agonizing, but I refused to stay down. I met his gaze with all the hate I had left in me, every ounce of fury I had carried for years boiling over.

"Imma fucking slaughter you for what you did to her!"

"I'll be waiting, then." Then they were gone, the factory doors swinging shut behind them, leaving us in the wreckage of our own failure.

Silence settled over the room. I let my head drop for a moment, my breath shaking, my body aching. Then I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

We lost.