"Perchance, do you know where my car is? And its condition?" My voice carried quiet urgency. I had no idea how I was going to move from this prison, but I knew one thing—getting to Easter would make everything easier.
She had always been there, through every tribulation, every storm. No matter what.
Before Doctor Ishaan could respond, I steadied my breath, forcing myself to stay grounded. Don't overthink. Don't panic. The solution is always inside—or through—the problem.
"It's on the third floor from the ground," she finally answered, bringing me back to the present. I didn't press on to know the condition. If she kept me safe through that accident, I presumed her to be just fine.
I felt the weight of that information settle.
"What floor are we on?" My mind sparked, eager to calculate—not just the distance, but the suffering left between me and safety.
"Fifth floor down from the third one," she explained. We were about to climb toward the fourth floor from the bottom—toward Easter our safety.
"Cover our backs," I instructed the soldier. I hadn't even had the time to know his name.
Doctor Ishaan was different. I knew her because of Sergeant Siyabonga. That man had a loud, big mouth. And sometimes—that's a good thing.
Every time I called her name, I'd remember him. It was strange how memory worked—some people linger longer, their presence stretching beyond life itself, holding on until something stronger comes along to push them away.
That's what makes a person stand out. Character. Identity.
But right now, memory wasn't my priority. Escape was.
"Yes, sir."
His words struck me like a misplaced beat, something I wasn't expecting. Was it delay, or was I simply thinking too fast? And what had I done to deserve such a soldier's salutation?
I had no time to dwell on the thought.
A ninja charged toward us—swift, ruthless—but my rifle was quicker. I fired, clean, precise. His body dropped. No hesitation.
We pushed forward, counting the floors beneath us. Fourth floor from the bottom. The garage was close.
Then—a gunshot.
It tore through the air, slicing into the chaos behind us.
A cold chill coiled around my spine, sliding from the base of my neck down to my waist. Danger. Instant. Absolute.
"No!" Doctor Ishaan cried out, her body jolting with instinct. She turned, wanting—needing—to check.
The soldier with no name was done.
"No, don't!" I snapped, gripping her wrist before she could make a move.
I didn't have to look. I knew who fired the shot.
Devilin.
A killer who never missed. A force that didn't allow survivors. I was the only exception to his rule. The only one who had slipped through his fingers.
And when he came after you, the best thing you could do—was run. That's what I had to do.
But Doctor Ishaan—she was too emotional. The moment that bullet landed, my words turned to noise, dissolving into the static in her mind.
I had to get her to move.
Fast.
I hauled her forward, dragging her with every ounce of strength I could muster. Saving her wasn't just about morality—it was about survival. She could be my scapegoat, the shield for the guilt I refused to carry for the lives lost in this hellhole.
Gunshots rang out behind us, sharp and relentless. I dared not look back.
But his voice—his voice—pierced through the chaos, blossoming in my ears like a storm.
"You can't run away, Contratino," he roared, his fury crackling like thunder. "You and I have unfinished business, remember?"
It wasn't just anger—it was possession. His words carried the weight of someone who believed the world bent to his will, as if he held it all on his fingertips.
I didn't stop. I didn't falter. But his presence loomed, a shadow that refused to let me go.
My past had finally caught up with me.
I should have killed him. I should have ended it when I had the chance. But I didn't. My mercy—my weakness—had come back to claim me. It wasn't just my life on the line now. It was my soul and another innocent soul.
Regret clawed at me, but I couldn't let it consume me. Not now. Not while I still had two limbs to run and a head to think. As long as I was intact, I had to keep moving.
"You are mine, Contratino!" His thunderous voice roared through the chaos, each word striking like a hammer against my resolve. "Not even Lucifer could claim you!"
The words wrapped around me, suffocating, invasive. It felt as though he wasn't just chasing me—he was inside me, a shadow that had burrowed into my very being.
Maybe he had.
But possession or not, I wasn't going to stop. Not until I was free—or dead.
I could face my past alone. I could finish the undone job, make things right. But the present demanded something else—a civilized consciousness.
I had to think beyond myself. In this case—Doctor Ishaan.
An innocent soul. Even if innocence itself is a fragile illusion, she was untainted in comparison. Her hands had not carried the burden of blood as mine had.
I had to sustain the light, the flickering candle in this abyss. I couldn't afford to sink into my own darkness. I needed something—someone—to keep me moving.
Soon, we reached the third floor—the ground level where Easter was. It was one of the largest garages I had ever seen, resembling a showroom, though the scent immediately gave it away—the unmistakable mix of old metal, worn-out upholstery, and lingering engine oil.
The garage housed both aged and brand-new cars, a strange contrast of history and modernity. Shadows stretched across the space, making it difficult to spot her. I called out her name, my voice cutting through the dim silence.
"Easter! Open the doors!"
She answered—my bright morning star, my beautiful creation, the one thing I could claim with pride, even if I were to leave this world behind.
We were about five metres to reach her. Gladness and joy struck me. A new hope, a new dawn, and a new day, promised if we kept on running.
She greeted me in flashing beams, her brilliance cutting through the chaos.
"There!" I exclaimed to Doctor Ishaan, excitement surging through me. Without hesitation, I pulled her forward, exhilaration bubbling inside me, I increased my sprinting pace, exhilaration driving me forward.
I almost rushed to the left door—then gunfire struck, sparks bursting in jagged warnings.
A clear sign.
We ducked right and surged forward, entering with urgency.
"Drive away!"
I didn't need to tell her to close the doors—she had already done it.
Smart enough to know that timing was everything.