An Understated Dominance (Dustin Rhys)

The sounds of battle echoed under the streetlights. Shouts of pain mixed with the clash of weapons could be heard. Five figures were locked in a deadly struggle, and blood splattered across the ground.

The fight raged for nearly half an hour until the noise gradually subsided. The five figures lay motionless in pools of blood.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights, three of the black-clad assassins were confirmed dead. One’s neck was snapped, another’s chest pierced, and the last had bled out from a fatal wound.

Jovian and Boston were in no better condition.

Boston was soaked in blood. His body was riddled with deep cuts, some so severe they exposed the bone beneath.

Jovian wasn’t much better. His abdomen and shoulder were slashed. His right arm had been severed, and he was left in a pitiful state.

Boston coughed. After taking down the last assassin, he collapsed to the ground. He gasped for air as blood poured from his mouth.

His chest and abdomen were torn open, and his organs spilled out. He was pale, and his breathing was shallow and erratic. His life was slipping away.

“Boston… Boston!” Jovian cried out. He staggered to his fallen comrade’s side while clutching his own wounds.

He hurriedly pulled out a tablet and tried to feed it to Boston. He then tore strips of cloth from his shirt to try and stop the bleeding. But Boston’s injuries were too severe. The tablet had no effect, and the makeshift bandages did little to stop blood flow.

tried to lift Boston. But with only one arm, he struggled

“I’m done for… You need to go while you still can. Take care of

make it. We’ve been through hell together-Red Tombsea, remember? You’re not dying

teeth as he struggled to lift Boston onto his back. Blood stained the ground as he limped toward the

lolled to the side. His body turned

Wake up!” Jovian shouted, but there was no

still as if he had simply fallen asleep. Jovian stopped in his tracks, and his heart was

had been dragged into

crossed paths with those wolves in human clothing. Maybe

by despair, the roar of engines cut through the night. Several black SUVs screeched to a halt and

flew open, and a dozen masked assassins in black poured out.

the group, Ronan Barley, glanced at the bodies of his fallen comrades and frowned. “You took

Sir Prescott send you?” Jovian growled through clenched

coldly. He gestured

command, the assassins lunged

Jovian charged at them with what little strength he had left. His remaining arm swung wildly as he