Still mid-air, her voice shattered through the chaos—a piercing scream that struck my eardrums like a siren of pure terror.
"Contratino...!"
I had no answer—no breath, no certainty—only the unknown rushing up to meet me.
I braced for impact, but luck played its card.
The pavement caught me, and I hit the ground with force, tumbling backward in a flurry of unplanned somersaults. My body twisted, momentum carrying me through the unpredictable roll until I skidded to a stop.
Pain flared through me, but I was alive. Alive.
Doctor Ishaan's voice trembled, her horror multiplying with the sight of my reckless descent.
"Are you okay?"
Her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide, teetering between shock and tears.
She was terrified—not just of the fall, but of what it might have meant.
I exhaled sharply, tasting the raw air, and forced a grin despite the ache screaming through my limbs.
I pushed myself upright, shaking off the shock—not the kind of fall one would expect from a seven-story building, but enough to rattle my bones.
I took a step, forcing myself toward the position where I needed to act, but the second my weight shifted—pain tore through my ankle like fire.
"I...!" My voice faltered, the sudden jolt stealing the breath from my lungs. The sharp, familiar sting told me exactly what had happened.
I knew this pain. I had lived this pain.
Years ago, when soccer ruled my life, I had sprained my ankle countless times.
This was no different.
Doctor Ishaan's voice cut through my haze. "Are you alright?"
Concern etched across her face, her gaze locked onto my strained expression. She could see it—the pain, the hesitation, the fleeting moment of weakness.
But pain was nothing new to me.
Pain was a companion.
And I wasn't about to let it slow me down.
I limped to my desired spot, each step laced with excruciating pain. The fire in my ankle burned with ruthless intensity, but I gritted my teeth, forcing myself forward. This wasn't the time for weakness.
I looked up, breath shallow, pulse hammering in my ears. Doctor Ishaan had to jump. Now.
"Jump!" My voice was sharp, urgent.
She didn't move.
"I am fine, jump!" The desperation laced my words, turning them into something akin to a plea.
"No, I can't!" Her voice came back defiant, cracking slightly under pressure. "I'm afraid of heights!"
A curse twisted on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. There was no time for this.
"Just jump! I will anchor you!" I swore it with everything I had, but deep down, uncertainty gnawed at me. Would I be able to hold her weight?
The distance was brutal—she'd come at me with force, too much force.
I knew the risks.
I knew that if I caught her wrong, I could break my hands, maybe even snap a bone in me.
But I also knew that if she hesitated too long, if she let her fear paralyze her—Devilin's wrath would be waiting.
And between fear and Devilin, there was only one real choice.
Leaving her behind wasn't an option. Devilin would tear her apart—literally. He'd reduce her to pieces and send them to me as a twisted trophy. That's who he was—a crazed, unhinged psychopath.
"Do it, I beg you!" I roared, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation.
She shook her head violently, her fear spilling over. "No, I can't! I'll die before I reach you!" Her voice was choked, trembling, gurgling with terror.
I clenched my fists, anger and panic colliding within me. "For Christ's sake, are you nuts?" I snapped, my voice rising. "Look at that thigh! Look at that half a body!"
I pointed behind me, at the grotesque evidence of Devilin's handiwork. The carnage was undeniable, the horror etched into every bloodstained inch of the scene.
Her swollen, red, watery eyes followed my gesture, and I saw the realization hit her like a wave.
"Do you want to end up like them?" I demanded, my voice cutting through her fear like a blade.
My illustration of the carnage had struck her deeply, amplifying the terror she had awakened to on this fateful day. The horror etched itself into her expression, her swollen, watery eyes betraying the fear she could no longer suppress.
I saw it—the exact moment she retracted her gaze, unable to bear the sight any longer. My words, my pointed example, had done their work. Convincing her wasn't just about logic—it was about forcing her to confront the reality she couldn't escape.
"Please, catch me!" Her voice trembled, teetering on the edge of desperation.
"I will catch you," I said firmly, giving her my word.
"Promise!" She pushed, her fear refusing to let go.
I exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Lady, we don't have that luxury right now!" My voice was edged with urgency, trying to cut through her hesitation.
"Promise," she repeated, unwavering.
I clenched my jaw, knowing there was no time to argue. "Fine, I promise. Now jump!"
I assured her with every ounce of conviction I could muster, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve.
The gunshot shattered the moment, its echo slicing through the air like a blade. Her words hung unfinished, suspended in the chaos.
I saw it—the bullet tearing through her left shoulder, the spray of blood splashing out like liquid fire. The force of the impact was brutal, pushing her forward, her body losing balance.
She toppled over, her legs slipping from the protruding windowsill she had leaned on moments before. The world seemed to slow, every detail etched into my mind—the horror, the helplessness, the inevitability of her fall.
The scene was a collision of fear and fury, and I knew this was far from over.
I couldn't recall where the strength came from—how I managed to catch her, to stop her from smashing her head against the unforgiving ground.
We fell together, her weight pulling me down as I cradled her in my arms. The pavement greeted me harshly, my body absorbing the impact. My backside hit hard, sending a jolt of pain through me, but I didn't care.
She was safe.
For now, that was all that mattered.