UNMASKED

CHAPTER 16

THIRD PERSON'S POV 

The train rattled beneath her feet, its steel frame a cacophony of clanging metal and grinding wheels. Demon stood at its center, blood dripping from the spear embedded in her shoulder. Her breath was shallow, her movements sluggish, but her eyes burned with malevolent determination. 

Pain was irrelevant—a mere whisper drowned in the symphony of chaos. Her mind churned with cold calculations, weighing the consequences of pulling the spear. Blood loss would weaken her further, yet leaving it was an irritant, a reminder of her human fragility. 

"Not yet," she murmured, her voice as sharp as the edge of her scythe. 

The enemies pursued relentlessly, their numbers a tide threatening to engulf her. Demon leapt from one car to another, her movements calculated but tinged with exhaustion. Each swing of her scythe was merciless, cutting through the throng like a reaper harvesting souls. 

As the train hurtled into a ravine, Demon jumped. She landed with a roll, coming to her feet amidst a grove of trees. The world seemed to hold its breath, the quiet before the storm. 

She glanced at the explosives she had planted earlier. The traps were everywhere—hidden beneath loose soil, concealed in broken machinery, even rigged to the surrounding trees. A cruel smirk tugged at her lips. 

"Let them come." 

Demon’s voice was a whisper of malice, her bloodied hands working to prime the detonators. She didn’t care about collateral damage. This was war, and in war, there were no innocents. 

Far from the battlefield, Ice stood in his command center, his face twisted in fury. On the screen before him, Demon’s bloodied form prowled like a predator in the forest. 

"She’s luring us," one of his officers said, their voice quaking. 

"Of course she is," Ice spat. "She’s always five steps ahead. But not this time." 

With a sharp gesture, he motioned for a broadcast to begin. 

The screen flickered. Demon’s bloodshot eyes narrowed as the image of John and Lloyd appeared. 

They were tied to chairs, their faces battered and bruised. Yet, even in their broken state, their eyes were defiant. 

"Demon..." Lloyd rasped, his voice weak but unwavering. "Don’t stop. Finish this." 

"Don’t waste this fight on us," John added, his lips curling into a small, bloody smile. "You’re stronger than this." 

Ice stepped into the frame, his expression a mask of cold cruelty. 

"You think you’re untouchable, Demon?" Ice sneered. "That you can do whatever you want without consequence?" 

Her grip tightened on the detonator in her hand. 

"Let them go," she demanded, her voice low and venomous. 

Ice’s smile widened. "Why would I do that when it’s so much more satisfying to see you suffer?" 

Without warning, he raised a gun and pointed it at Lloyd. 

"No!" Demon screamed, her voice cracking. 

Ice didn’t hesitate. The gunshot echoed. Lloyd’s head slumped forward, his blood pooling at his feet. 

John cried out, thrashing against his bindings. 

"You bastard!" 

Ice turned to him next, the barrel pressed against his forehead. 

"And now you," he said coldly.