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Jake was awake in a second, unconsciousness sloughing off like water off a fish. The bruising and exhaustion of the body was nothing, swept aside to be forgotten.
You were screaming, writhing in the chair as Apollo stood behind you, hands on your shoulders like some entitled cabrón. Your shrieks strummed dark chords within Jake, stoking embers into destructive flames.
He didn't assess the room like Marc would have. He didn't count the men or find the angles. There was no strategy, no tactics.
Just unadulterated rage and the need to protect.
Jake surged off the floor and threw himself onto the nearest man, hands prizing away his knife and his gun as they tumbled onto the unforgiving marble. The knife sunk up into the man's ribs as Jake rolled off him. He squeezed off two rounds into another man before the rest realized what was happening.
Khonshu's armor crawled into place over him, but he didn't notice it, didn't feel it. It stopped short of his neck as he spun on his heel, the men all converging on him at once. The thrill of the fight danced through his veins as he discarded the pistol, lunging at the man who reached him first.
He flung him into two others, the man's bowie knife in his hand. Your screams spurring him onward, Jake slashed and stabbed, blood coating his hands and spurting over his chest and face. Rapid-fire gunshots roared past his head, some hitting him in the chest. He powered forward.
Unstoppable.
Men fell around him, gasping for breath or dead on impact. He mowed through them, drawing nearer and nearer to you and that pendejo who had his hands on you.
Two hulking bastards formed a wall between him and you, assault rifles in their hands.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll stop," one of them growled, finger curling around the trigger.
