Phantom at War
Somewhere Over the Atlantic – 4:45 A.M.
The private jet hummed steadily, slicing through layers of predawn clouds.
Nox leaned back in his seat, crimson ear studs catching the cabin light as he tightened the strap on his duffel. Cash. Silencers. Souvenirs. The lighter.
The mission was clean. Every mark fell in time.
Now it was over.
And he was going home.
He didn't message Leo. Didn't call.
But the ache under his ribs was too sharp to ignore.
He strapped in as the city lights of home grew near.
Villa Grounds – 4:52 A.M.
War wasn't supposed to come here.
Leo crouched behind a shattered statue pedestal, blood trickling down his arm from a fresh graze. Bullets screamed overhead. The night sky lit up in violent flashes.
Dominik's leg was shot. His father had taken one to the lower spine and passed out cold, body slack over Dominik's shoulder as he dragged him toward the reinforced safe room.
Leo had cleared one side of the garden before another wave pushed in. Enemy factions, unknown crest, heavily armed—too many, too sudden.
Dominik's voice was hoarse as he pressed his back to the safe room door, his gun shaking in his grip. "Where the hell is he?!"
He was cornered. Blood loss was making his vision double.
His father wheezed beside him, half-conscious.
One attacker turned the corner, rifle raised.
Dominik screamed in his head—I need you, Nox.
Villa Roofline – 5:01 A.M.
The first bullet hit a man in the temple.
The second dropped another mid-sprint.
No warning.
No sound.
Just death.
Like a ghost in bloodied black, Nox descended the side of the villa, his crimson heart navel piercing flashing under the garden lights. His face was unmasked now—expression sharp, hollow, precise.
Every man without a tiger-neck tattoo dropped where they stood. Knives to throats. Silenced shots to the head. No hesitation.
Leo, bleeding behind a toppled marble bench, looked up just in time to see a gun raised toward him.
Everything slowed.
Nox saw it.
He ran.
The bullet grazed his waist—hot, tearing.
He didn't stop.
He pulled the trigger mid-motion, spun, and the last man collapsed.
Smoke curled from his barrel.
He stood above the bodies, eyes locked on Leo.
Blood soaked his side. His breathing was calm.
"I'm back."
Leo blinked once, stunned and silent.
Then exhaled shakily—half relief, half adrenaline.
"You took your time," he rasped.
Nox didn't smile.
But he knelt beside him, checked the wound, and finally whispered—
"You didn't die. Good."
Behind them, Dominik sobbed dramatically into a blood-soaked handkerchief. "It's always the knife wounds with you two—why can't you just emotionally damage each other like normal people?!"