The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Fifty-Seven

Blood drips down my fists, leaving a crimson trail in my wake.

Michael follows silently, a raised gun clutched in his palms. Even though I can't see him directly, I know he's staring at me. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, but not from the danger.

Curiosity twinkled in his eyes before, especially when I punched through the intruder's stomach so hard I touched his spinal cord. When I ripped it out and tossed it to the side, the other intruders descended on us in a flood.

Dozens of people dressed from head to toe in black rushed us. Wearing the same gear as the man from before, they're darkness moving. Ski masks, gloves, kevlar, cargo pants and steel toe boots—all black—with night vision goggles.

In this bubble of comfort, I've forgotten how the wolves will always descend. I've gotten too lax, and now, we're suffering the consequences. I hope Charlie and Chris come back soon.

While I know Michael and I can handle this, having backup would be great. Then maybe I won't feel so horrible about not feeling horrible about being covered in someone's bodily fluid. Glancing down at my crimson hands, I ready myself for the onslaught of attackers.

They came from the stairs, down the hall, and dropped in from the second floor. Smoke grenades erupt in a flurry of flashes. Michael dove away, quickly closing his hands around his ears and doing his best to moderate his breathing. Briefly, I throw a look his way, but he can't see me through the fog.

Sadly for them, the smoke grenades don't work on me.

Iris' calm, meditative voice announces the number of attackers while my system catalogs them rapidly. They are taller than me, but shorter than Michael, with burly arms and mountains of well-trained muscle. Their swagger exposes them as overly confident.

After all, who would be worried about one woman and one man against a dozen of well-trained fighters?

They'll learn their lesson—one at a time. I'll be the consummate teacher. Offering to help them learn about the dangers of soft tissue and how quickly their lives can end, but I won't be too rough.

Something in the recess of my mind disagrees. It wants out. To rage and destroy and make them rue the day they came after me.

Silently, I agree to show leniency.

Well, I considered mercy until Michael coughed.

It was a ragged sound, drowned out by shouting and stomping footsteps. Yet, I'd heard it as if he were next to me instead of across the room. My control and neatly organized thoughts went to shit.

Something inside of me snapped—tore into a million pieces and kept tearing without yield. Darkness wasn't something I saw in the night air. It was within me, too, unfurling like spilled ink on paper. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The natural blue of my system slowly went lost color to a crisp black and white, then bled to yellow and orange before becoming as vermilion as the blood on the floor. Then, my body moved on its own. I attacked with a ferocity I didn't know I possessed.

Two intruders stand near the open doorway, guns raised and pointed in my direction. Sadly, it doesn't help. I hit them hard.

The first takes my fist to his face. A sickening crunch echoes as his skull caves in. His friend shouts, but I don't care to analyze his language. Instead, I round on him and sweep his feet out from under him.

Gunfire rattles as he falls backward. His gun swings upward and bullets cut through the second floor. He's heaving an angry breath and struggles to remove his finger from the trigger. Was he an amateur?