Chapter 33
**Orian POV**
"*East sector is clear."
"*West is secure*."
"*North is clear.*"
"South is clear*."
The reports keep pouring in. My men and I have breached the compound from all sides, my forces swept through, creating chokepoints, forcing the last of Gaza's soldiers to the inner ring. Where Gaza himself is holed up in a secure bunker. Prior to the invasion, we collapsed the emergency tunnels that would've led him to safety faster than we could reach him. He was well-prepared for any threat.
But he wasn't prepared for me.
The entire compound is protected by a broad embankment raised as a fortification surmounted by a parapet. The multifunction walls with watch towers are now swarming with my snipers, observing from the defensive boundary of the ramparts. Soon, this entire compound will be a grave filled with the stench of rotting carcasses, a burning mirage of eternal damnation. And it was Gaza who lit the fire that brought me here, a reaper ready to collect new souls.
We are now three levels in. At the edge of the epicentre.
My troop and I travel in close-quarters, moving crouched and fast. We advance close together, arranged for the tactical concentration of force. Armed with automatic weapons with various optics and detachable accessories, fitted with an under barrel grenade launcher.
Gaza's foot soldiers are all equipped with AK-103 assault rifles. Russian.
I hold up a fist. The two rows behind me halts.
Shoulder to the wall, I peer around the corner. The tsuka, the hilt of the sword, is extended from my rear. The last corridor to the vault where Gaza's being kept is accessed by a ingress fortified with a retinal and biometric palm scanner, which means we need one of them alive. The passage is long and brimming with die hard loyalists ready to protect him to the bloody end.
I give the signal and we all put on our full-face gas masks. I unclip a smoke grenade from my covert tactical vest; the device is rigged with an external fuse. I ignite it before I expose myself and fling it—the grenade goes hurtling through the air before it explodes with a clangourous bang, bursting with white phosphorus that rises like a living vaporous being, ready to devour everything in sight. It spreads quickly, ravenously and densely. A fog growing into an instantaneous white cloud of concealment.
We breach. We storm through, charging inside weapons blazing, scattered bright flashes illuminate the pale haze. A cacophony of gunshots ricocheting like we're in the heart of a thunderhead. An orchestra of sporadic gunfire followed by mindless screaming in blind desperation. More shots thunder through the smoke, screams tearing through, their lives evaporating with their last breath. They are just target practice at this point; the gas clogging up their lungs, distracting them with a fit of frame-wracking coughs.
In the midst of the fray, Ryo shot once at one of them. The bullet breaks through the lower bone of his eye socket, sundering the skin just in front of his left ear. He staggers back, then drops down into a sitting position, blood gushing down his cheek. His left eye wouldn't focus.
But he's still alive.
Eventually, silence cuts through the chaos. The cloud descends, the smoke begins to fade, and the crumbled ground is littered with sprawled corpses. The stone walls decorated with a fresh coat of red, the air tinctured with a pleasing metallic tinge.
Another goes up to the soldier Ryo spared. He grabs him by the scruff of his collar, hauling him to his feet and shoving him towards the stainless-steel door that's bolted into solid bedrock. With a barrel to the back of his head, he opens the door under duress. After an approved retinal and palm scan, it grants us entry. The moment the door begins to open inwardly, a shot to the back of his head drops him to the ground.
I enter first. Climbing down a flight of narrow and creaky steps.
I re-emerge, greeted by an arch of combatants with their rifles trained at my chest, barking Spanish at me.
I calmly cross my arms, letting out a short burst whistle.
In the same span, they're bullet-ridden by a rapid onslaught. They collapse to the ground.
I stroll inside, unsheathing the sword from the scabbard integrated into the back of the vest. I allow the blade to scrape against the earthen grey floor, cold carbon steel dragging behind me menacingly. The bunker is impressive, built to sustain a ballistic missile even if the military were ever to sanction an airstrike. Just like cockroaches, they would survive.
I remove the mask, chucking it aside.
His family is huddled up in the lounge area. All of them are on the ground, an older woman using her body to shield a younger girl and two little boys. I make my way to them unhurriedly, listening to the percussion of clomping boots as the men troop inside to secure the interior. All of their masks now positioned on top of their heads.
I stand over the entangled group. A shadow of death cast over them.
"Where is he?" I ask once.
The older woman turns her head to launch a glob of spit at my feet.
I glance down. A smile carves itself on my face.
I look up and order four of my men to pin down each of them. My command becomes flesh. The mother frees a banshee-like cry as they tear them apart, holding each of them down on their knees, arms behind their backs.
I go to the woman. I use the tip of the blade to raise her chin, forcing her gaze. Her eyes raging with raw hatred. I say nothing, I merely stare back at her emptily and expectedly. Moments fraught with cold comprehension and held-back tears ensue before she yields, her head hanging, droplets wetting the floor.
"Stop."
I turn around, Gaza reveals himself from a secret compartment, lifting up a placating hand.
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