Rescue Part 2

"You took a blond girl earlier," Ken pressed the blade a little tighter. "Tell me where she is." 

"T…Third floor," the man stammered, swallowing hard. "Boss Don's office." 

"Be specific. Which room? How do I get there?" 

The man gasped as the knife grazed his neck. "End of the hall...last door left. Says 'Main Office.' Two guards outside. That's all, I swear. Please… don't kill me."

"Good," Ken nodded. 

Without mercy, he sliced the knife clean across the man's throat. It opened him like a zipper. 

There was no scream, just a wet gasp and the hiss of air trying to escape past the blood. It came pouring out, dark and thick, soaking his shirt, the floor, everything. 

The man's eyes widened, blinking fast, trying to make sense of what just happened.

His hands clutched at his neck, trying to hold it all in. But it was too late for prayer, too late for anything.

"Devour," Ken whispered, and the corpse collapsed inward, bones and flesh disintegrating into his palm. 

Only the clothes remained. He swept them into the corner with his boot, not bothering to look back, and headed straight for the third floor. 

But just as he reached the stairwell, gunshots cracked outside. It had already escalated. 

Ironically, it worked in his favor. He heard boots pounding the stairs and voices shouting orders to move down. 

'This is my chance,' 

He didn't have time to be careful. . If he was going to move, now was the perfect chance. 

Ken bolted down the hallway, moving fast. 

Most of the people he passed barely glanced at him, too distracted by the commotion. 

Until one thug recognise him . 

"Intruder!" 

The few stationed guards were alerted. They moved to intercept. 

Two from the left. One more from a side hallway. Another charging in from behind. 

He dashed forward before the first even had time to aim. His fist cracked across the man's jaw, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing into the wall. 

The second barely had time to react before Ken quickly turned , driving a brutal elbow into the neck area. 

A big man tried to tackle him from behind. 

Instead of fighting it, he moved with the momentum. He ducked low, grabbed the man's arm, and twisted his body. In the same time frame, he flipped the attacker over his shoulder. 

The thug crashed onto the floor with a loud thud.

'No time to relax'

Another guard came in swinging with a metal baton. Ken ducked, the weapon whistling inches above his head, and drove a fist into the man's gut. He followed up with a brutal knee to the chest, then a downward kick. 

Ken knew more reinforcements could show up at any moment, so he didn't slow down. Anyone in his path was taken out. 

Two guards blocked the door ahead, both armed and already raising their guns. 

Before they could shoot, he grabbed an unconscious thug and used the body as a meat shield. 

Bullets tore through the body, but he kept moving, closing the distance in seconds. 

With a roar, Ken charged forward and slammed the dead body into both guards at once. The force knocked them off their feet and sent them crashing into the door. 

Don stood behind the desk, gun leveled at Nathalie's head. She trembled, lips split and bleeding from a slap.

Her skin was marked with bruises. Fresh ones on her face, already turning dark purple, and smaller ones along her arms. 

"Brother!" Tears spilled down her face the instant she saw him. Masked and bloodied as he was—she still recognised him.

"BASTARD!" he shouted, fists clenched. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" 

"So you ain't dead yet," Don sneered, pointing the gun straight. 

"Let her go!" Ken flung a nearby object, striking Don's hand the moment he pulled the trigger.

bang!

The shot went wide, and the gun skidded across the floor.

Using that split-second opening, he charged in, ready to finish it with a kill. 

But then— 

bang!

Bullets slammed into his back like a hammer. His body jerked forward, balance lost, and he crashed to the floor hard. 

"Brother!" Nathalie screamed, voice trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide, and she reached out as if her bare hands could stop the bullets. "Please—no!"

The shooters closed in, standing over his body with cold, mocking grin. 

"Kill that bastard," Don ordered, and his subordinates happily followed. 

Bullets slammed into his back, tearing through muscle and bone. His arms jerked as rounds shattered them, and one hit him perfect in the head.

Blood sprayed. Flesh ripped. They weren't just trying to kill him—they wanted to desecrate his corpse until it was no longer recognisable. 

When it was over, what was left of him barely looked human. Just a broken corpse, riddled with holes. 

"NO!!!" Nathalie screamed, her voice shattering as she completely lost control.

Blinded by tears, she ran at one of the gunners. Her hands fumbled for his weapon, clinging to it with all her strength. 

"Let go, bitch!" the man yelled, trying to shove her off. 

But she wasn't thinking clearly. Her mind was blank with rage and grief. 

They struggled for a couple of seconds before. 

bang! 

The gun went off. 

Nathalie staggered. 

Not from the pain. Not yet. Pain comes second. Shock gets there first. 

Blood spread across her stomach in a warm, crawling bloom, thick and dark, soaking into the fabric like spilled ink on paper. 

"Is this my blood?" She stared down in shock, struggling to understand the pain blooming in her abdomen. 

Then her knees gave out. Just dropped, like a puppet with the strings cut. She hit the floor hard enough to make a sound—a thud. 

Her trembling hand reached out, desperate, stretching toward the only thing that still mattered in the world. Ken. 

"Brother…" she whispered, blood slipping from her lips. "Let's… be together again… in our next life."