UNWILLINGLY HIS

Dark Aegis

The silence in the room was deafening, the tension thick enough to suffocate anyone who dared breathe. The leader of the terrorists stood with his hand now again hovering near Samaira’s neck, the knife glinting under the flickering light. Samaira’s calmness had already unnerved him, but her laughter, soft as it was, had rattled him beyond belief. But now, as the minutes ticked by, a new realization hit him like a cold gust of wind.

One of his men, hurried and clearly out of breath, rushed into the room, his face pale.

“Sir… we’ve figured it out,” the man panted, eyes wide with shock. “It’s… it’s Dark Aegis. Their group is here. And worse…” His voice trailed off, as if the next words were too dangerous to speak.

The leader’s brows furrowed, confusion overtaking his anger for a moment. “What do you mean, Dark Aegis? What are they doing here?”

The terrorist’s voice was thick with disbelief. “Their leader, the King, is here. With them.”

The room went still at the mention of the King. Everyone knew the stories, the rumors, the dangerous myths surrounding him. But to hear that he was in the vicinity—this close to the situation—left the leader struggling to comprehend what was unfolding.

“But… why?” The leader’s voice shook, the tension in his throat rising. “If they’re here, why? What does the King have to do with us? To them?” His thoughts were running wild. Few knew the true identity of Dark Aegis’s King. A shadow in the underworld, a master manipulator who orchestrated everything from behind the scenes. He didn’t get involved in petty matters, certainly not in something like this.

“Arrange a meeting,” the leader barked, his confusion boiling over into frustration. “Bring him to me. Now.”

Without waiting for a response, the man scrambled to obey. The air in the room thickened with anticipation as the minutes passed like hours. The leader’s eyes never left Samaira, his frustration building with every second. What the hell is going on?

Moments later, the door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped inside—his face hidden behind a sleek, dark mask. The figure moved with an air of controlled menace, his every step calculated and deliberate, as though he was always in control of every situation.

The room fell silent. The terrorists, who were already on edge, stiffened at his presence. Samaira, however, felt an unfamiliar sense of calm wash over her. Her heart skipped a beat as recognition struck her. She didn’t need to hear a word from him to know who he was. His mere presence was enough.

The leader’s tone shifted immediately. The arrogance and fury in his voice evaporated, replaced by a strange, almost reverent politeness. He straightened, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and awe. “What is this? Why are you here? Are you here to help?”

The masked man didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicked to Samaira’s neck—where a small cut had already begun to bleed. His eyes locked with hers, and that instant was all it took for her to know that he was the one who had come for her.

A small, warm smile tugged at her lips, one that the others in the room couldn’t see but that the masked man caught in an instant.

Without another word, he took one fluid step forward and, before anyone could react, kicked the leader of the terrorists to the ground. The force was enough to send him sprawling, his face slamming against the cold concrete floor.

The men around the leader stood frozen for a split second, their shock palpable. Then, with desperate urgency, one of them shouted, “Attack! Get him! Now!”

But it was already too late. Before they could even raise their weapons, the masked man’s men had already descended upon them, their movements swift, efficient, and deadly. The terrorists who had once been in control of the room were now reduced to nothing more than bodies on the ground, incapacitated without a single hostage harmed.