The door to Mark's room burst inward, not with a gentle creak, but with a violent splintering sound. Silhouetted against the inferno raging behind him, Gunther filled the doorway, his massive frame radiating raw fury. Smoke billowed past him, stinging Jack's eyes and burning Tara's throat.
"You!" Gunther roared, his single eye blazing with murderous intent, fixed first on Jack, then on Tara, who stood frozen by the table. He lunged, a bull charging, surprisingly fast for a man of his bulk.
Jack, though momentarily startled by Gunther's sudden appearance, was ready. The **fire axe** he'd grabbed earlier was already clutched firmly in his hands, its heavy head feeling like a natural extension of his arm. He met Gunther's charge not with a wild, desperate swing, but with the calculated footwork of a **boxer**. He sidestepped the initial rush, letting Gunther's momentum carry him past, then snapped out a quick **left jab**, connecting squarely with the side of Gunther's jaw.
The blow, while not enough to fell the larger man, momentarily rocked Gunther. He grunted, a sound of surprise and annoyance, then turned, his features contorted into a snarl. This was no ordinary fight; it was a brutal dance of desperation in a burning tomb.
"Get out, Tara!" Jack yelled, his voice strained as Gunther recovered, dropping into a low, **wrestling stance**. This was Gunther's domain: close quarters, where his immense strength and grappling proficiency truly shone.
As Gunther pressed forward, he revealed his chosen weapon – a wicked, gleaming **kukri knife**, drawn from a sheath at his hip. The curved blade glinted ominously in the flickering light of the flames. This was a man who preferred brutal efficiency in a fight.
Jack, however, was already moving. He knew he couldn't afford to get entangled in Gunther's powerful embrace. He used the **fire axe** more as an extension of his reach, a heavy bludgeon rather than a sharp cutting tool. He kept his feet constantly shifting, bobbing and weaving like a professional boxer, his focus on maintaining distance. Gunther lunged, the kukri flashing, aiming for Jack's midsection. Jack deftly **slipped** to the side, pivoting on the balls of his feet, then brought the blunt side of the axe head around in a wide, sweeping arc, forcing Gunther to block with his forearm. The impact sent a jarring shock up Gunther's arm, but he absorbed it with a grunt, his formidable build shrugging off the blow.
Meanwhile, amidst the escalating chaos, Tara, driven by an instinct far stronger than fear, saw her chance. While Jack and Gunther circled each other, a whirlwind of fists, axe, and knife, she seized the opportunity. Her eyes, still blurred with tears, found Mark. He lay unnervingly still on the table, the grotesque veins prominent on his limbs, his breathing shallow. The intense serum had apparently rendered him unresponsive, temporarily quiescent, almost as if he were in a death-like trance.
Taking advantage of the narrow window of distraction provided by the furious combat, Tara slipped silently towards the table. The metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of smoke filled her nostrils, but her focus was absolute. She moved with a desperate grace, her entire being concentrated on reaching her husband. Each step was deliberate, silent, her presence almost ghost-like in the periphery of the violent struggle. Jack and Gunther were too consumed by their deadly tango to notice her quiet movement.
Gunther, infuriated by Jack's agility and the stinging blows he'd absorbed, pressed his attack. He feigned a lunge with the kukri, then, with surprising speed, dropped low, aiming for Jack's legs, clearly attempting a **takedown**. This was textbook wrestling, designed to bring an opponent to the ground where Gunther's superior strength could dominate.
But Jack anticipated it. He moved backward, his **footwork** quick and precise, keeping just out of Gunther's reach. As Gunther recovered, Jack unleashed a rapid **one-two combination**: a sharp left jab to Gunther's head, followed by a powerful right cross that glanced off Gunther's shoulder. The axe, though heavy, was wielded with surprising speed, its length keeping Gunther's dangerous knife at bay.
The room was filling rapidly with smoke, thick and choking, stinging their eyes and burning their lungs. The roar of the fire outside intensified, growing louder, more menacing. Walls began to crackle, plaster flaking from the ceiling. They were fighting in a death trap, and time was running out.
Gunther, frustrated by Jack's evasiveness, changed tactics. He roared, a guttural sound of pure rage, and abandoned the finessed wrestling moves. He simply charged, a human battering ram, the kukri held out defensively. His goal was clear: overwhelm Jack, pin him against a wall, and then use his brute force to finish the fight.
Jack met the charge head-on, bracing himself. He knew a direct clash with Gunther's raw power would be suicidal. Instead, he used the axe as a lever, jamming the blunt end against Gunther's chest as the larger man collided with him, using the force of Gunther's own momentum to pivot and deflect the attack. The move spun Gunther slightly off balance, creating a momentary opening.
Seizing the opportunity, Jack didn't hesitate. He swung the axe in a wide, powerful arc, aiming for Gunther's side, where his ribs would be exposed. Gunther, caught off balance, grunted and twisted, barely managing to bring his arm up to block, the axe head slamming against his bicep with a sickening thud. A pained roar tore from Gunther's throat, and the kukri clattered to the floor, knocked from his injured hand.
The impact sent Gunther staggering backward, his face contorted in agony. He clutched his arm, his single eye blazing with a newfound, almost feral desperation. The loss of his weapon was a significant blow, evening the odds somewhat.
As Gunther nursed his arm, regaining his footing, Tara had finally reached Mark's side. She knelt beside the table, her hand trembling as she reached out towards him. The sight of his distended, veiny body was horrifying, but she forced herself to push past the revulsion. She had to know. Was he still there? Was there any hope?
Jack, seeing Gunther momentarily incapacitated, didn't press his advantage. He kept a wary distance, the axe held ready, his eyes darting between Gunther and Tara. The fire was growing, the heat becoming unbearable. They needed to move, and fast.
Gunther, however, was not one to yield easily. Despite his injured arm, he lunged again, a desperate, guttural cry escaping his lips, now aiming for Jack's throat with his good hand, intending to grapple and choke him. This was the raw, brutal desperation of a cornered beast.
The fight raged on, a primal struggle for survival amidst the roaring flames and suffocating smoke. Jack, exhausted but resolute, prepared to meet Gunther's final, desperate assault. All the while, Tara, oblivious to the renewed violence, knelt beside her husband, her hand hovering over his still, transforming body, searching for a sign, any sign, that the man she loved was still within.
Away from the desperate struggle consuming the inner rooms of the base, Maarg was running, pushing his exhausted body towards the raging inferno. The air grew thicker with each frantic stride, a choking mixture of **ash** and the sickeningly sweet scent of **burning flesh**. His eyes stung, watering against the dense smoke that coiled and writhed around him.
He met Andy halfway, the latter's face smudged with soot, his chest heaving. "Andy! What's the situation?" Maarg gasped, struggling for breath.
Andy bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in ragged breaths. "Gabby... he's still in there," he panted, his voice hoarse. "He's fighting a group of them, drawing them away. He hasn't made it to the rendezvous point yet." Andy straightened up, his gaze intense. "You should... you should go help him. He's buying us time."
A cold dread settled in Maarg's stomach. Gabby's reckless bravery was admirable, but also terrifying. He nodded grimly, turning his focus back towards the roaring blaze, the sounds of distant shouts and crackling flames urging him onward. The rescue wasn't over; it had just grown far more dangerous.