Blood and Mud

[Finn's POV]

The ruins of the old church loomed before us, its skeletal remains swallowed by the night. Crumbling stone and rotting wood stood like forgotten tombstones, casting long, jagged shadows beneath the moon's pale glow.

The clearing stretched wide, open enough for a battlefield. Enough for blood to be spilled. And there would be plenty of that before the night was over.

My gaze locked onto Rowan. Even in the dim light, I could see the tension coiled in his frame, his movements precise, measured—like a man who had already decided how this night would end.

I had heard about his fight with Elias, the bitter words exchanged, the fractures deepening. The two of them were bound by blood, yet worlds apart—two halves of the same coin, forged in fire but shaped by different hands.

A flicker of movement in the periphery caught my eye. The shadows at our sides weren't empty. The Spiders were here. Lurking. Watching.

I let my eyes sweep over them, counting at least twenty—maybe more hidden beyond the reach of the torchlight. Valerie wasn't holding back.

Maybe she had more faith in this plan than we'd given her credit for. Either way, the night was waiting. And death was coming.

Tonight, for the first time, I wouldn't just watch. I wouldn't just react. Tonight, I would fire back.

And somehow, I knew he would be here. That scarred bastard who killed Cade. The one who ripped away his future, his dreams, his life.

The thought of him sent heat surging through my veins, anger curling tight in my chest. But revenge would have to wait. Right now, survival came first.

I scanned the faces around me, knowing that by dawn, many of them would be gone. The thought settled in my gut like lead. I just had to make sure I wasn't one of them.

Footsteps pounded against the dirt. A boy, barely fifteen, sprinted into view, breathless. "They're coming. I counted at least twenty."

Rowan didn't flinch. His face was carved from stone, his body a coiled wire of tension. He swept his gaze over us, measuring, calculating. Then, with a quiet nod, he spoke.

"This is it. Focus."

His voice carried through the night, steady, unshaken. The Spiders melted back into the shadows, vanishing like ghosts.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, pressing down like the weight of an unseen hand. Then, through the dim haze of night, movement. A shifting of shadows.

And then I saw him.

Joey.

The bastard was massive—easily over seven feet tall, built like a goddamn fortress. He moved with a slow, deliberate confidence, flanked by at least twenty men.

This was the guy Rowan wanted to take on? Yeah, good luck with that.

They came to a stop a few yards ahead, the air between us crackling with unspoken violence. Joey's grin split across his face, all teeth and arrogance.

"Well, what do we have here?" His voice was deep, rough, carrying that lazy kind of menace that made the hairs on my arms rise. "You knew we'd be stopping by?"

Rowan didn't flinch. Didn't so much as blink. His posture stayed loose, almost indifferent, but there was steel beneath the surface. A stillness that spoke of control.

"Hard to miss," he said, voice smooth, casual. "Kind of hard to sneak around when you're built like a goddamn house."

It could've been a joke. Maybe, in another setting, it would've been. But there was no humor in Rowan's tone. Just cold, flat certainty.

The kind that promised blood.

They stood locked in place, a standoff carved from stone, the weight of impending violence pressing in from all sides. Twenty men against us. The kind of odds that promised bodies in the street before the night was over.

Joey tilted his head, the grin stretching wider, sharp with cruel amusement. "So... what's the plan here?" His voice was almost playful, but there was something ugly underneath. "You gonna beg for your life? Or do I get to have a little fun first?"

It was unsettling, seeing that kind of grin on a man built like a beast—towering, thick-muscled, a human wrecking ball.

Rowan didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Instead, he exhaled slowly, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips.

"Oh, Joey," he murmured, voice steady, certain. "You have no idea."

The words were the signal.

Every muscle in my body coiled, breath catching in my throat. The shift was immediate—subtle, almost imperceptible. A twitch of fingers. A tightening of grips on weapons. A slow inhale, one last breath before the plunge.

Then the world erupted.

The Spiders lunged from the darkness, shadows twisting into bodies, knives flashing. Twenty against twenty. But they had us.

We broke into a sprint. Rowan locked onto Joey without hesitation, a predator scenting blood. I went for the nearest man, blade firm in my grip—but my mind was elsewhere, searching. Looking for him. The bastard who took Cade.

A metal bat gleamed in the dim light, swinging toward me fast. I barely registered the movement before instinct took over. I surged in, caught his wrist mid-swing, momentum carrying us forward.

I struck. Or tried to.

Pain exploded across my jaw before my knife even landed. A solid punch—fast, brutal. My vision blurred, the world tilting.

Chaos roared around me. Clashing steel. Shouts. Bats swinging? I barely had time to process before something heavy slammed into my ribs. His bat.

The impact sent me sprawling. Ground rushing up. Ears ringing.

Dazed. Winded. But still breathing. For now.

I had to move. Now.

My fingers scraped against cold steel, finding my fallen knife. I spun, barely registering the blur of movement before me. He was already charging, bat raised, ready to finish what he started.

I didn't stand. I lunged—low, fast—straight for his legs.

He wasn't expecting that.

We crashed into the mud, bodies colliding with a sickening thud. Grit filled my mouth, the scent of damp earth and blood thick in the air.

Before he could react, I swung. Fist to his face. Once. Twice. Again. And again. Bone crunched under my knuckles.

Dazed, he blinked up at me, confusion twisting his features.

I raised the knife. This was it.

I drove it down—

His hand shot up, catching my wrist mid-strike. His grip was iron, a sharp snap of awareness flashing in his eyes.

A fist slammed into my cheek, but I didn't let up.

I pushed down with my left, forcing the blade closer. He gritted his teeth, both hands straining to keep me back. Bad move.

I rained down punches with my free hand, knuckles smashing into his nose, his jaw, his temple. He flinched, grip slipping for just a second.

Another mistake. I pressed harder. He buckled.

The knife flashed.

A wet, gurgling gasp filled the air as the blade sank deep into his throat.

One down. More to go.

Before I could stand up, a boot crashed into my shoulder, launching me off the body and into the mud. Pain ripped through me, cold earth swallowing my limbs.

I barely had time to look up.

A figure loomed above—barehanded, poised to crush me where I lay. His silhouette was backlit by firelight, almost angelic. A cruel, merciless angel.

Then, a blur.

Talia.

She moved like a force of nature, faster than thought, faster than breath. A storm in motion.

She slammed into him, knocking him off balance, sending them both spiraling into the dirt. Limbs tangled. Bodies colliding.

I sucked in a sharp breath, lungs thick with the taste of blood and earth. My vision swam, the sounds of battle dull against the roaring in my head.

Then—

I saw him. And he saw me. That scar. That unmistakable scar.

The world funneled to a single point. My heartbeat pounded in my skull, drowning out everything else.

Rage coiled in my gut, white-hot, blinding. I was on my feet before I even knew I was moving.

Running. Straight at him.

A roar tore from my throat as we collided.

I swung first—a left hook, fast and vicious. He saw it coming, guard snapping up just in time to block.

His knife flashed toward my face. A split second to react. I twisted, barely slipping past the glint of steel.

Nothing would stop me.

I lunged, my own blade slicing for his exposed armpit. A clean kill if I landed it. But his arm snapped down, catching my wrist before the blade could sink in.

Teeth clenched, I wrenched back just as his knife lashed toward my gut. Sharp. Precise.

I barely dodged, his blade missing me by an inch. Breath ragged. Heart hammering. I would kill him. Right here. Right now.

I swept low, aiming for his legs. My foot connected—shallow, clumsy—but enough to make him stagger.

I took the opportunity, lunging at his face. My knife sliced across his raised arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Not enough. I wanted more.

He snarled. "You fucker—"

I barely heard him.

He stabbed again. I twisted back, trying to dodge—

But then—impact. A body slammed into me from behind.

Shit.

I staggered forward, straight into his waiting blade.

Fire tore through my gut. A sharp, searing agony. My breath hitched, the world narrowing to the white-hot pain radiating from my stomach.

But I didn't let go. I wouldn't go alone.

His fingers tightened around the hilt, trying to wrench the blade from my gut. But I clamped down on his wrist, locking him in place.

I bared my teeth in a grin. For the first time, his eyes widened—not with rage, but fear.

Good.

My knife flashed, plunging into his side, a mirror of my own wound. His breath hitched, but he wasn't dead. Not yet.

I slammed into him, throwing my weight forward. We crashed to the ground, mud swallowing us whole. My chest heaved, my vision blurred, but rage kept me moving.

I rolled over, straddling him. Then came the punches. Fists landing like hammers, fueled by everything I had buried—anger, grief, exhaustion. I hit until my knuckles split, until my breath came in ragged sobs, until I couldn't see anything but red.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest. His knife, again. Fuck.

I had to end this. Now.

I wrenched my own blade free and slashed, a clean, vicious arc across his throat. His eyes bulged. A wet, gurgling rasp slipped past his lips, blood spilling fast, too fast.

Then, nothing.

I sagged, my body finally registering the wounds, the blood loss. Cade... do you see? I got him.

I tried to rise, but my legs buckled. The ground rushed up to meet me, cold and slick beneath my fingers.

Flashes of faces swam through my mind—ghosts of the past, the dead I couldn't bring back. Mary. I'm sorry... I couldn't avenge you.

But at least I got back for Cad—.