The night split open with fire and steel.
Draven's men surged forward, shadows against the blaze of the burning warehouse. This was not a negotiation. It was a slaughter.
The Black Veil's guards barely had time to react. The first few dropped before they even realized what was happening—throats slit in the dark, crossbow bolts burying themselves into flesh before alarmed shouts could even escape their lips.
Then, the real fight began.
"Push forward!" Draven barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. "Don't give them time to regroup!"
His men needed no second orders.
They crashed into the Black Veil's defenses like a wave of pure violence, blades flashing under the dim torchlight. Steel met steel, bodies collided, and the warehouse became a battlefield of frantic, brutal combat.
A Black Veil enforcer rushed Draven from the side, a curved dagger gleaming in his grip. Fast. Well-trained.
Too slow.
