Chapter 91: The Midnight Imperium (3)

The first floor was just as quiet as the ground floor. The corridor was longer here, lined with closed doors and ornate paintings. The lighting was dimmer, casting long shadows across the floor. And there were three guards present there.

Scar stayed behind a pillar as one passed. He waited for a second. Then he moved.

One guard disappeared around the corner. Scar followed stealthily behind him.

But then, the man suddenly turned.

Their eyes met.

For half a second, neither of them moved.

Then the guard raised his rifle to fire. But before he could pull the trigger, Scar threw his knife.

The blade flew straight into the man’s hand, disabling him and causing the rifle to fall to the ground.

The guard screamed, looking up at his pierced hand, the knife still embedded in between his palm.

Scar closed the distance quickly and drove his fist into the man’s throat, then followed with a brutal elbow to his temple. The man collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Scar retrieved his dagger and proceeded. He moved into a doorway, pressing himself against the wall.

A guard rushed past in a hurry... having heard the commotion. His weapon was raised, and his eyes were scanning the corridor.

Scar stepped out behind him and drove his knife into the back of the man’s neck, driving upward into the base of his skull. The guard dropped instantly, his body twitching once before going still.

The last guard arrived at the scene a second later, raising his rifle.

Scar threw the body of the dead guard at him; a projectile that caught the man off guard. He stumbled, his weapon swinging wildly.

Scar was already on him. He drove the knife into the man’s chest, twisted, and pulled it out. The guard collapsed to the ground instantly. Dead.

Scar looked down at the body, his breathing even.

The first floor was clear.

He continued upward, clearing the second floor with the same swift and stealthy execution he displayed since he arrived, leaving a trail of corpses in his wake.

He was a machine operating exactly as he had been programmed to be: Ruthless and Unstoppable.

Finally, he reached the top floor. The hallway stretched toward a large double door, and behind it was the master suite. His target’s quarters.

Scar approached the door quietly, holding his knife in his hand. There were no guards here, which made his advance a lot easier.

He took a deep breath, kicked the door open, and stepped into the room.

The master suite was luxurious, dimly lit by the amber glow of a desk lamp. Near the king-sized bed sat a desktop computer, its multi-monitor display cycling through the live security camera feeds of the entire estate.

"Took you long enough." A voice called out.

Scar froze. He turned his head to side.

Standing there was a tall and muscular man. He had dark messy hair and was in his late forties, with scars all over his face.

It was Rafael Santos. Scar’s main target.

He held a pistol in his hand, aimed directly at scar’s chest.

"I’ve been watching you since the moment you stepped into my compound," he said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Did you really think I would be that easy to kill?"

Scar didn’t answer.

Rafael examined him carefully before breaking into laughter. "The syndicate must be really desperate to send a child," he said, chuckling to himself.

Scar remained silent.

Rafael stopped laughing and frowned, agitated by the boy’s silence. "Are you dead, chico?" He asked impatiently. But then he shrugged. "Ehn, no matter. You’ll be dead in a minute."

Then without warning, he fired.

Scar threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the bullet. He rolled, came up, and lunged with his knife, aiming for Rafael’s throat. But Rafael was fast. He sidestepped and drove his fist into Scar’s stomach.

Scar gasped, the air knocked from his lungs. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall. He recovered his footing quickly and charged again.

Rafael swung his fist in a wide, vicious arc. Scar ducked beneath the arm, driving his knife deep into the man’s thigh. But Rafael wasn’t fazed by the wound. He slammed his heavy fist directly into Scar’s gut.

Crack.

Two of Scar’s ribs fractured instantly. He flew backward, crashing violently through a wooden center table.

Scar let out a sharp cry, coughing up blood as pain exploded through his torso. He tried to roll away, but the massive man was already upon him.

Rafael grabbed Scar by the collar, hoisted him effortlessly into the air, and slammed him against the bedroom wall.

Scar’s head cracked against the concrete, and for a moment, his vision blurred into a sickening wash of grey and black.

Rafael pressed the barrel of the pistol directly against his forehead. "Adiós, kid," he whispered.

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, Scar’s hands shot upward at the last second. He gripped Rafael’s wrist and violently twisted it outward, forcing the barrel away and causing the gun to shoot harmlessly into the ceiling. Then he hauled his knee upward, driving it straight into Rafael’s groin with a brutal force.

"Argh!" Rafael grunted, his face contorting in agony as he loosened his grip on both Scar and his pistol.

Scar dropped to the ground, grabbed the fallen pistol, and aimed at Rafael’s head. But Rafael knocked the pistol from Scar’s hand before he could fire, sending it skittering across the floor. Then he grabbed Scar by the neck, slamming him against the wall again.

"You’re fast, chico," the kingpin growled as he squeezed Scar’s throat, tightening his grip and slowly crushing the boy’s windpipe. "But you’re not fast enough."

Scar choked as his vision slowly faded. His small hands clawed desperately at Rafael’s grip, trying to break free. But the man’s strength was overwhelming. He was bigger, stronger, and more experienced.

The edges of Scar’s vision began to darken. His lungs burned, screaming for air that refused to come. His legs kicked weakly, uselessly, against the man’s massive frame.

This is it, a small voice whispered in his mind. This is how we die.

Scar gasped weakly as his pulse began to weaken. He resigned himself to his fate, letting the darkness claim him.

But then, his eyes caught something below.

His knife.

It was still lodged in Rafael’s thigh, the handle protruding from the man’s leg like a dark flag. The blade was sunk deep into the muscle, and blood was slowly trickling down Rafael’s leg, staining his trousers.

Scar’s hands stopped clawing at the arm choking his life away. He reached downward, his fingers stretching toward the knife. His arm trembled with the effort, his muscles screaming in protest. Rafael was still crushing his throat, cutting off his air, his strength fading with every passing second.

Scar’s vision began to tunnel. The room darkened around him, the edges of his consciousness slipping away. But he wasn’t going to give up now. Not when he knew he still had a chance to live. To survive.

He summoned every ounce of strength his body had left and pushed his arm forward, gripping the hilt of the knife firmly.

Rafael felt it. He looked down, his eyes widening in realization.

But it was too late.

Before he could react, Scar pulled the knife out in one smooth motion and immediately directed it straight into the man’s neck.

Shnkk!

The blade pierced through flesh, muscle, and cartilage, sinking deep into Rafael’s throat. Blood exploded from the wound, spraying across Scar’s face.

Rafael’s eyes widened, staring at Scar’s face in shock. His grip on Scar’s throat loosened slightly, but he still held on.

Scar gritted his teeth and pushed the knife deeper into his neck. Rafael coughed up blood, choking violently. His grip loosened completely, and he stumbled back, dropping Scar to the ground.

Scar hit the floor, gasping for air. He coughed violently, trying to catch his breath. His eyes were red and swollen, tears streaming down his face from the lack of oxygen.

A few feet away, Rafael stood swaying on the spot. He was choking and drowning in his own blood, but he kept standing. Then, with a trembling hand, he reached up, gripped the handle of the knife, and ripped it out of his throat, tossing it aside.

For a heartbeat, he just stood there, staring blindly forward. Then his knees shattered beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, a massive pool of blood instantly spreading outward from beneath his head.

Scar slowly stood up, his body screaming in protest. His ribs ached. His throat burned. His lungs still struggled to draw breath. He walked over to the fallen kingpin and knelt beside his body. He pressed two fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse.

He felt nothing.

The man was dead. Rafael Santos was dead.

His mission was a success.

Still kneeling beside the corpse, Scar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small burner phone. With his fingers smeared with blood, he pressed speed dial.

The line picked up on the first ring and Scar spoke first.

"It’s done." He said simply.

"Good." A cold, satisfied voice answered from the speaker. "You’re officially one of us now. Return back to base, we shall celebrate your success." There was a brief pause, then the voice added: "Also... good job, Scar."

Then, the line went dead.

Scar lowered the phone. He stood up, walking over to where his knife lay discarded on the floor. He picked it up, wiped the blood off, and slid it securely back into his belt holster.

He cast one final glance down at the body of the crime lord. Without a shred of hesitation or emotion, Scar turned and walked out of the suite, heading back out. He moved through the mansion, his footsteps silent against the marble floors. The bodies of the guards he’d killed earlier lay scattered where he’d left them, their eyes glassy and unseeing.

Scar stepped over them without a second glance. He reached the side entrance he’d used to enter and slipped out through the doorway.

The rain had already stopped. The clouds were beginning to part, revealing a sliver of moonlight.

Scar scaled the estate wall again, his fingers finding the holds even through the numbness in his hands. He dropped onto the other side, landing in the wet grass outside the compound, and disappeared into the bushes.

He had won the battle tonight. He had survived.

But this was only just the beginning.