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She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Just for a second, in a naive, childish belief that something might change once she regains her vision.
But the iron smell never disappeared, nor did the panicked whispers behind her. The cold reality wasn't going anywhere. The simple truth she had to face once again.
She was too late.
Scarlet trails blurred across the dark asphalt like twisted watercolors. Mutilated bodies lay scattered here and there, perfectly diced flesh pieces. Not a single person with intact limbs.
And once again, he was right... This time they managed to piss off a real deal.
The growl of thunder echoed her boiling emotions. Mary gritted her teeth, ignoring the first raindrops.
Wet hair stuck to her cheeks. A helpless curse fell on a deaf ear.
The rain grew with every second, strong enough to wash the blood from her hands, too weak to give her any sense of purification.
But she had no time to mourn.
Almost mechanically, Mary reloaded her guns, an old habit to snap her to her senses. A quick status report over the comm, then curt orders. Not allowing her voice to shake even once.
Her new squad stayed behind to retrieve the fallen, obedient to her command. No volunteers to follow her, no hotheads with a dying wish.
Good. One was more than enough.
Mary sighed, casting one last glance over her shoulder. The rookies huddled together, looking like a bunch of wet puppies, comically out of place in the bloody carnage. Nice guys, but still inexperienced and green. Probably just realizing what they'd signed up for.
Too bad, nowadays Darkcom didn't have much of a choice. The core forces were still stuck in Makai, meanwhile the new teams consisted of two types: former mercenaries seduced by money or young dreamers looking for fame.
While Mary simply didn't trust the former, the latter made her heart clench — every time she was told how happy they were to work under her command, how inspiring her example was, as if she were a goddamn superhero…
Fucking Baines and his paid media.
Turned out it was so easy to twist the narrative, to scratch an unwanted name, to give her all the glory while wiping someone from existence.
As if you have any right to complain.
After all, if it weren't for her, he might still be here, savoring his life, munching on pizza to cope with daily bullshit.
Mary felt sick. Maybe the endless bloody road was getting to her.
Shaking her head, she tried to focus on her current task, weighing all the information.
After discovering an unregistered rift between realms, a team was sent to investigate. No survivors. The killer's signature was eerily similar to the previous detention facility attacks.
Mary furrowed her brows. That wasn't enough. Not a single camera had captured the attacker, just a blurry spark and the falling corpses.
She needed more clues, anything to figure out what they were dealing with.
The long alley allowed her to move stealthily, hiding in the shadows, observing the environment. The portal to Makai was getting closer, and she was baffled to note how her heart rate increased.
Something was off. The cold manner of execution deeply unsettled her. A practically calculated carnage. Normally demons just give in to rage, devouring their prey. But this demon clearly wasn't driven by primal instincts. As if it was acting according to some twisted strategy: freeing prisoners, destroying military equipment, weakening Darkcom's core, spreading terror among soldiers.
Cold mind on the edge of pure psychotic ruthlessness.
I swear if it's another White Rabbit in the making—
The air shifted. Skipping a beat, Mary pressed herself against the wall, gripping the gun tighter.
In the gathering darkness, she spotted a silhouette.
The area was already cordoned off to avoid any curious souls. Mary narrowed her eyes, pressing the night-vision goggles to her face.
Despite the washed-out image, she could clearly tell that it looked like a person. A tall man, standing with his back toward her.
A shapeshifter, maybe?
Mary didn't forget her encounter with Plasma. Besides, the relaxed posture spoke louder than words.
That's not a cornered beast. More like a confident predator.
And she damn hoped she wasn't falling straight into his trap.
Her rationality screamed not to get any closer. But if this psycho had a human form, she needed to see his face. At least a glimpse, to know for sure that he hadn't infiltrated Darkcom yet.
Embraced by the protective shadow of the wall, Mary stared at the broad back.
Come on, turn around, you sick bastard.
The demon didn't answer, but the moon heard her twisted prayers, finally peeking out from the clouds. The light swirled across the wet asphalt. And Mary's eyes widened.
For a brief moment she forgot how to breathe. A hot wave of panic ran down her spine.
She recognized his silver hair.
“You could come with me if you want!”
“No…”
Stepping back, Mary staggered. Registering the puddle too late.
The man sighed, straightening his shoulders. And then slowly turned around.
Even under the downpour, his damped hair didn't lose its silver glow. Tall, muscular build. Light skin. And icy-blue eyes.
“It can't be…” she whispered, biting her lip.
She couldn't recognize him. The soft warmth was gone, replaced by pools of cold disdain.
No, he can't be here.
She shook her head in disbelief.
He's far away. Shackled and immobilized.
Because of her.
The eyes didn't blink. Cold sweat trickled down her neck as she clutched her gun, realizing too late that the staring contest was mutual.
“What have you done, Mary?”
“I'm your masterpiece…”
The familiar voices laughed in her head, mocking her trembling fingers. Same fingers that committed patricide and caused Rabbit's insane vendetta. How many lives did she ruin at this point? One more, one less.
But not him… Did she push him this far?
Mary felt her legs give way as she slowly slid down the wall.
The man took a step toward her, his hand moving slightly, revealing the scabbard.
There was no escape. She always knew that all her victories over him were due to his stupidly kind heart. Even when he broke her gun and chased after her, when he slammed her wrists to the wall and questioned her… She felt no fear. In the end he was just a cocky kid who, despite his big mouth, was incapable of real violence.
But the person in front of her was different. The calm murderous aura left no hope.
“You're not…”
It was his face. But it wasn't him.
“Dante!”
The man froze.
Just for a second, something shifted in his expression. He tensed. And then quickly ran his fingers through the wet hair, brushing them up.
“Foolish woman,” a stranger's voice grumbled before he fixed his eyes on his target again.
Just in time to meet a hurled grenade.
Finally her survival instinct kicked in.
The smoke curtain lasted only a second, but it was enough to push off and leap onto the roof.
The coming blast didn't keep her waiting. Mary yelped, losing her balance. The building beneath her shook with a roar, splitting in two.
Not turning around, she started running, jumping over the crumbling surface. The mocking laugh rang in her ears.
“Pass the greetings to my little brother!”
The unusual blue color, the odd choice of weapon...
She cursed under her breath.
Of course it wasn't him. How could she even mistake them?
Because this idiot always called him an older brother.
Because you haven't seen him in months.
Because you wanted to see him again.
Her subconscious had no mercy, whispering unnecessary things. She brushed them off. Reality was cruel. Just as cruel as the eyes of Dante's long-lost twin.