danger

15: Blood and Vengeance

♡

Seokjin's grip on Minjun was unyielding, his arm a vice around the boy's fragile frame, keeping his face pressed firmly against his side. Every tremble beneath him was a testament to the chaos unfolding around them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the carnage.

Gunfire erupted in an unforgiving chorus, sharp and deafening, each blast ringing in Minjun's ears, the sound grinding through the fabric of Seokjin's sweatshirt like nails on a chalkboard. There was no time to process, no room to think. The situation was a mess of violence and blood, as bad as it sounded—and then some.

A squad of four assassins had infiltrated the dining room, their black, heavy-duty uniforms gleaming like shadows as they stormed in, weapons gleaming with malice. They barely got a step in before the blood started to flow. The largest of them—a brute of a man—managed to plunge a blade into Jimin's shoulder, but that only fueled the boy's fury. With a swift, lethal twirl, he shot the man through the jaw, the impact as brutal as a thunderclap.

Two more fell within seconds, their lives snuffed out by Namjoon, who, in his ever-vigilant protector role, fired with deadly precision. His first shot had been a prayer for his gang's survival, and it hit true—two assassins, dead before they had a chance to register their own demise.

The last one—a tall, athletic woman—closed in, her gaze locking onto Seokjin, the vulnerable target she thought was easy prey. But her pursuit was short-lived. With a swift, merciless shot from three of his gang members, her head was reduced to nothing more than a blood-soaked mess, her death as sudden as it was spectacular.

The air hung thick with disbelief as Mamamoo's retaliation came too late. Hwasa's bullet scraped across Jungkook's shirt, but his response was immediate, his sickly grin turning into a predatory snarl as he levelled his pistol.

Hwasa, out of breath, looked for any hope of reprieve. But there was none. Jungkook's bullet flew with surgical precision, right between her eyes, ending her life in an instant.

Six against three. The odds were swiftly becoming insurmountable.

Jimin, still nursing the blade embedded in his shoulder, evaded another bullet as Wheein's gunfire sent rounds in his direction. The boy's reflexes were razor-sharp, even with a bleeding wound slowing him down. He reached into his coat, pulling out a handful of six-edged shurikens, the cold metal glinting in the chaos.

Wheein froze. For a second, she couldn't comprehend the speed at which he moved—his hand a blur, flicking the shurikens with deadly aim. The stars embedded in her body before she could even register the danger. One sliced through her windpipe, another lodged into her collarbone, and the third ripped straight through her face. She crumpled, gasping in horror as her life drained away, her last moments marked by an explosion of crimson.

Jimin didn't hesitate. With a cold efficiency, he pulled his revolver and ended Wheein's suffering with a clean shot, the explosion of brain matter reverberating through the room.

"Shit, nice one," Yoongi called out, his voice a twisted mix of admiration and amusement. He marched past Jimin, machete in hand, eyes cold as ice. Yoongi's role as the torturer made him a walking arsenal, and he took full advantage. With a swift motion, he swung his machete down the length of Solar's spine, eliciting a sharp, agonizing scream as she crumpled in agony.

Moonbyul, enraged by the brutal display, whipped her gun around, aiming straight at Yoongi's face. But her shot was off, the bullet tearing through the air as Yoongi danced away, his movements a graceful yet lethal blur. The bullet struck him in the hip, and he dropped to the floor with a grunt.

Solar, fighting through the pain, grabbed Yoongi's machete, her determination to take him down outweighing the agony coursing through her body. But as she lunged, a switchblade shot through the air, embedding itself in her cheek with a sickening crunch.

She spun, fury burning in her eyes, but her defiance was short-lived. As she opened her mouth to shout, blood poured from the wound, drowning her words. Yoongi wasted no time, reclaiming his machete and driving it deep into her belly, watching her body crumple in a heap on the floor.

"Please... please," Solar gasped, her voice barely audible as she lay exposed and broken.

Namjoon approached her with cold, calculating eyes. Kneeling down, he met her lifeless gaze and spat, "You're scum." The words barely left his lips before his boot slammed down on her face with brutal force. The sickening crunch of her skull under his heel was the final punctuation of her life.

He didn't stop there. With an almost bored expression, he picked up Yoongi's machete and sliced through her skull, the blade cutting through her head like butter.

"That was—"

"Epic!" Taehyung cheered, breaking the tension with his usual irreverence.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the interruption, turning his gaze toward Seokjin, who was still cradling Minjun with a protective urgency. The boy's face was buried in Seokjin's side, his body trembling with aftershocks of fear and confusion. Minjun's wide eyes flickered, trying to process the brutal massacre around him.

"How's Minjun?" Namjoon asked, his voice sharp.

Seokjin loosened his grip slightly, allowing Minjun to sit upright. His eyes darted around the room, unable to make sense of the chaos. But the blood, the bodies, the cold brutality—none of it seemed to faze him.

"I'm fine," Minjun said, his voice strained, his gaze locking onto Jimin, who was still clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Hurt," he whispered, voice faltering with concern.

Jimin gave him a strained grin. "I'll be fine. Yoongi'll fix me up."

Seokjin gently rubbed Minjun's leg, the tenderness a stark contrast to the violent scene surrounding them. "Jimin will get patched up soon. Just hang in there, Minjun. We'll get through this."

But the room was far from safe. The battle wasn't over.