Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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Settling of scores
The violent hostility of animals tainted by the blood curse had been mentioned multiple times, but they couldn't understand what Chris was doing in such a place. Was he trying to delay the group? Or had the Holzmanns simply used him to achieve their goals and, no longer needing him, left him to his fate?
The ex-officer crawled backward on the ground, writhing in agony and rage. Nick was the first to approach, aiming his pistol straight between the traitor's eyes. Kira followed closely, bow drawn and arrow nocked, ready to fire.
Chris, battling both physical and emotional torment, raised his machine gun toward them, but his aim was off. Nick put a bullet in his shoulder, forcing him to stop and recoil. His hand didn't waver as he punished the man for his crimes, even if Chris had been under an evil influence the entire time.
Nick turned to Kira, his icy gaze questioning.
"Well?" he said. "I'd really appreciate it if you could explain what exactly you plan to do."
"There's something strange about him," Kira said, keeping her bow at the ready. "He's already reached the peak of decay, but... there's still some reason left in him."
"So what?" Nick snapped, raising his voice. "We're not dragging this scum to justice. Let's just get it over with."
Chris, sweating and clutching his wounds, let out a deranged laugh. His crimson pupils glowed brighter, and it seemed as though only the unholy fluid coursing through his veins was keeping him alive.
"Go ahead, Deisler," the ex-officer snarled, his voice thick and broken. "Haven't you been waiting for this moment for years? Ha... You ended my life long before I got to this point," he paused, swallowing hard and coughing in agony. "Because of you, my Lena is gone."
Kira's eyes widened at his words, but Nick remained impassive. His voice was flat when he replied:
"For the last damn time, Schreiber," he said, pressing the barrel of his rifle under Chris's chin, "I had nothing to do with that attack."
Chris locked eyes with him, his expressionless face as cold as ever. He gritted his teeth, holding his breath; every time he looked at his former partner, the memory of his fiancée came rushing back like a stab to the heart. The loss of something so precious haunted him.
Even in his corrupted state, he remembered the truth—Lena had died in an attack orchestrated by an Islamic group in retaliation for a covert German anti-terrorist operation in a club near Düsseldorf. He knew it wasn't fair to blame Nick; he hadn't been directly involved. In fact, it was thanks to Nick's intel, after turning himself in, that the perpetrators were caught and the gang dismantled.
But Chris couldn't erase the fact that, for over a year, he himself had served that terrorist group. How could he ever forget that? Now, there was no one left who cared for him. His former comrades despised him, and the Holzmanns had discarded him the moment he was no longer useful.
