Godhunter #1

Cira sat on the edge of the medical cot, pulling on her combat boots with slow, deliberate movements. Her left arm still throbbed where the burn wound stretched over her bicep, and every shift of her right arm sent sharp jolts of pain through the half-healed gash. Her leg was stiff, the bullet wound a constant reminder of just how fragile even the strongest fighters could be.

The doctor approached, holding a tray with several small vials and a neatly folded pouch. His sharp eyes scanned her as if calculating just how far she could push herself before breaking again.

«You're technically good to go,» he said, setting the tray down beside her. «But your body's not ready for this mission, no matter how much adrenaline you're riding on.» He pointed to the vials as he spoke. «Pain Nullifiers—take these sparingly or they'll dull your reactions. Bio-Fix Serum for emergencies if anything tears open. And Neuro-Stim Enhancer to keep you alert when your body wants to give out.»

Cira picked up one of the vials, rolling it between her fingers as the liquid inside caught the light.

The doctor's tone softened, though his expression remained firm. «Your wounds are patched up as best as they can be, but they're still at risk of reopening under stress. And the pain…» He let out a slow breath. «It won't be gone for a long while, no matter what you take.»

Cira nodded, slipping the vials into the pouch before fastening it to her belt. «I'll manage.»

The doctor crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. «This isn't about managing, Cira. If you push too hard, you'll break. And broken fighters are no good to anyone—not to the mission and certainly not to themselves.»

She paused, gripping the edge of the cot to steady herself as she stood. Her leg wobbled, but she forced it into submission. «I don't have the luxury of resting.»

The doctor shook his head but didn't argue further. As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.

«Don't let your pride get you killed.»

Cira didn't look back. «I won't.»

Cira replayed Taros' briefing in her mind as she made her way toward the armory, her boots clicking softly against the concrete floor. The weight of the vials at her hip felt heavier than it should have, as if they carried the full gravity of what lay ahead.

A high-security prison. A missing Godhunter. A mission as dangerous as it was essential. She couldn't stop hearing Taros' words: ‹This mission isn't just dangerous; it's borderline suicidal.›

Her grip tightened on her sleeve as she limped down the hall, forcing herself to focus on the steps ahead rather than the throbbing pain radiating through her leg. Her heart pounded, but not from exertion—it was anticipation. Anxiety.

Cira's thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling her name. She turned her head to see Liora striding toward her, her expression serious but tinged with something softer—concern, maybe.

«Heading to the armory?» Liora asked, falling into step beside her.

«Yeah,» Cira replied, her voice clipped. She glanced at Liora's rifle strapped across her back, the weapon gleaming under the dim hallway lights. «You ready?»

«As ready as I'll ever be,» Liora said, her tone light but with an edge that mirrored the tension in the air. «What about you? You've been limping more than usual lately.»

«It's fine,» Cira muttered. «I'll manage.»

That's not the same as being fine," Liora countered, her voice dropping to a gentler tone. "You don't have to push yourself so hard, you know."

Cira tightened her jaw but didn't respond. They walked in silence for a few moments before Liora spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

«I volunteered for this mission because I believe we can pull it off,» she said. «But I also know it's not about Riel for you. Is it?»

Cira hesitated, as Liora opened the Door to the arnory. «No,» she admitted. «It's not.»

~~~~~~~~~

Cain paced the dimly lit chamber, his boots echoing softly against the metallic floor. The air was stale, thick with the faint tang of blood and sweat. In the center of the room sat Riel — that was apparently the Name of the Godhunter as Abel found Out —, slumped in a reinforced chair. His wrists were bound tightly to the armrests, his once-proud frame reduced to a gaunt shadow of its former self.

Cain's bionic eye flickered, adjusting its focus as he studied the man before him. Riel's face was bruised, his lip split, but his eyes still burned with defiance. It was that spark that irritated Cain most. After all this time, after everything, Riel still had fight in him.

«You're resilient, I'll give you that,» Cain said, his voice calm, almost conversational. He stopped a few paces away, leaning casually against the wall. «But resilience only gets you so far, doesn't it?»

Riel didn't respond, his chest heaving as he took shallow, labored breaths.

Cain clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. «You know, I don't enjoy this.»

«Could've fooled me,» Riel rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with sarcasm.

Cain smirked, pushing off the wall and walking closer. «I'm trying to give you a chance. You just have to tell me what I want to know.»

Riel laughed weakly, the sound hollow. «You mean sell out my people? Not a chance.»

Cain leaned down, his face mere inches from Riel's. «Your people left you, Riel. They haven't come for you. How long has it been? Weeks? Months? Face it—they've already written you off.»

Riel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Cain straightened, his expression hardening. «We've been through this before, haven't we? You know how this ends. You talk, and maybe you get out of here alive. Or you don't, and… well, you know.»

Still, Riel said nothing.

Cain let out a low sigh, rubbing his temple as if the silence was a personal inconvenience. «You're wasting your time. Do you think your precious Godhunters are going to pull off some miraculous rescue? Even if they tried, they'd fail. They always do.»

Riel's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through.

Cain narrowed his eyes. «Something funny?»

«You talk too much,» Riel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cain's bionic eye flashed red as his patience wore thin. He stepped back, turning to the guards stationed by the door. «Prep him for another round. Maybe that'll loosen his tongue.»

As the guards moved to comply, Cain lingered, his gaze fixed on Riel. There was something about the man's quiet defiance that gnawed at him—a stubbornness that reminded him of someone else.

Someone with fiery red hair and a determination that refused to break.

Cain clenched his fists, forcing the thought away. This wasn't about her. This was about Riel, about getting the answers they needed.

Cain's fists unclenched slowly as he exhaled, his breath steadying. He wasn't in the mood to delegate this time. If Riel wanted to play the martyr, Cain would make sure he regretted it.

He held up a hand, signaling the guards to step back. «No need for you to get involved,» he said, his tone casual. «I'll handle this myself.»

The guards exchanged glances but obeyed, retreating to their posts at the door.

Cain turned back to Riel, his expression unreadable. «You know, I admire your loyalty,» he said, rolling up his sleeves. «It's rare. Misguided, but rare.»

Riel didn't respond, his head hanging forward, his breath coming in shallow gasps, His injuries finally catching Up to him.

Cain walked over to a table along the wall, his fingers tracing the cold metal surface until they landed on a sleek, sharp instrument. He picked it up, inspecting the blade as if testing its weight. «Do you know what the problem with loyalty is?» he asked, his voice calm, almost conversational.

Riel's head tilted slightly, but he remained silent.

Cain continued, pacing slowly toward him. «It's fragile. It depends on trust, on hope. And hope?» He stopped in front of Riel, leaning down so their eyes were level. «Hope is a liar.»

The words hung in the air as Cain gripped the armrest of the chair, his other hand bringing the blade to rest against Riel's shoulder.

«You know,» Cain said softly, his voice carrying an unnerving calm, «I've learned something over the years. Pain doesn't break people the way you'd think. It doesn't shatter them. It wears them down, piece by piece, until they're too tired to fight anymore.»

Riel's head lolled forward, his chin brushing against his chest. He wasn't looking at Cain anymore, but the defiance in his posture remained.

Cain adjusted the blade, pressing just enough for the edge to nick skin. A thin line of blood welled up, crimson against Riel's pale shoulder. «The sooner you stop pretending to be a hero, the sooner this can all be over. What's one name? One location? You'd save yourself a lot of unnecessary suffering.»

«Save yourself the speech,» Riel rasped, his voice hoarse but unwavering. «You don't scare me.»

Cain's lips curled into a faint smile, though his eye glowed faintly red—a stark contrast to the calm he exuded. «Oh, I don't need to scare you, Riel. I just need to outlast you.»

He leaned closer, the blade moving with precision to carve a shallow cut along Riel's collarbone. The hiss of pain from Riel didn't satisfy him, but it didn't surprise him either. «Tell me about your hideout. Where is it? Who plans? Who gives the orders?»

«You're wasting your time,» Riel muttered, his voice low but sharp.

Cain tilted his head, studying the man as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Then, with a sudden flick of his wrist, the blade moved to rest against Riel's jawline, its tip pressing just enough to draw a single bead of blood.

«You think this is about you, Riel?» Cain asked, his tone darker now. «You're just a stepping stone. I'll get what I need, one way or another. But you? You'll be forgotten, just like the rest of your people.»

Riel's eyes glinted with defiance, his lips curling into a tight line, refusing to give Cain the satisfaction of hearing him beg.

Cain's smile faltered, his gaze hardening as his fingers tightened around the blade's handle. He grabbed Riel's hand and slammed it onto the table, securing it there with the knife. The sound of Riel's breath quickening in pain only fueled Cain's rage, pushing him further into the haze of madness.

He grabbed another knife, its edge glinting menacingly in the dim light. Without warning, Cain pressed it to Riel's middle finger, slowly dragging the blade down until the skin parted with a sickening crunch. Riel's body tensed, but his silence never wavered.

Cain chuckled darkly, the sound barely human. «You think this is going to end any other way? All this defiance, this loyalty? It's useless. Just like your friends. Just like you.»

He cut deeper, carving off a thin slice of flesh, his eyes not leaving Riel's. Cain was lost in the rhythmic brutality, the focus of a madman who found purpose in pain. Each cut was deliberate, a test of endurance—of will.

Riel's breath came in ragged gasps, but still, he refused to scream, refused to give Cain the satisfaction. His hand trembled, but his resolve remained unbroken.

Cain's grip tightened on the knife, his vision blurring with fury. He leaned closer, his breath warm on Riel's ear as he whispered, «You're not going to survive this. No one survives me.»

Cain's gaze never wavered from Riel's bloodied face. The silence between them felt thick, heavy, charged with a kind of tension that made the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Cain's fingers tightened around the handle of the blade, the cold metal suddenly feeling like an extension of himself, something that could silence the nagging voice in his head.

Riel's breath was labored now, each exhale rattling in his chest as the blood trickled down his neck. Cain's eyes locked onto the man's unmoving defiance, and a dark satisfaction curled in his gut. The stubbornness was almost admirable.

But not enough to stop Cain.

Cain leaned closer, pressing his weight into Riel's shoulder as he lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. «Do you feel that? The weight of the choices you've made? You should. Because that's the only thing that matters in this world—choices. And yours? They led you here. To me.»

The words were meant to break him, but Riel remained unyielding. Cain's hand shook with the intensity of his frustration.

And then, suddenly, the door to the interrogation room slammed open, the sound cutting through Cain's madness like a sharp crack of thunder.

Abel strode into the room, his expression calm, but his eyes were sharp, cutting through the haze of brutality like a knife through paper.

Cain didn't stop, his body continuing its rhythmic violence, but Abel's presence brought a moment of clarity—a fleeting awareness of what was happening.

Abel's voice rang out, firm and commanding, cutting through Cain's focus like a whip. «Cain. Stop. Now.»

Cain's breath came in ragged bursts, his pulse still thrumming with the violence of the moment. He kept his eyes fixed on Riel, who was barely conscious, slumped against the cold metal chair, the blood from his split lip dripping down his chin. The man wasn't giving him anything—nothing that mattered, at least.

His grip on the knife tightened again, the cold steel digging into his palm as he leaned in closer to Riel. But before he could continue, Abel's voice sliced through the tension in the room like a blade.

«That's an Order!»

For a heartbeat, Cain didn't move. The command rang in his ears, but it didn't have the same power it once did. Abel's presence, calm and composed, should have soothed him. Instead, it ignited something darker, a flicker of rebellion, a deep-seated desire to do the one thing that would make everything in this damned world simpler.

Cain's fingers curled tighter around the knife. It would be so easy. Abel stood there, so certain of himself, so untouchable. Cain could feel the anger bubbling up, a white-hot surge that wanted nothing more than to drive the blade into his brother's chest.

But as the thought crossed his mind, something inside him snapped back to reality.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

Cain's body stiffened, and his breath hitched as he forced the rage down. He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth ached. Despite everything, despite the overwhelming urge to lash out, he couldn't bring himself to kill Abel—not here, not now.

The knife lowered, but his hands were still trembling as he backed away from Riel, the heat of his fury still boiling beneath his skin.

Abel didn't speak again, but Cain could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unflinching. His brother was waiting for something, as if he knew exactly what Cain was thinking, and Cain hated it. He hated how Abel always seemed to have control—control over the situation, over the people, over him.

«He won't talk,» Cain muttered, the words barely audible as he glanced back at Riel, who was still out of it, slumped in his chair.

Abel finally moved, his voice still calm but carrying an edge of command. «Then we find another way. Let's go.»

Cain didn't argue. Instead, he turned toward the door, feeling every step weigh on him like an anchor dragging him down.

As they left the room, Cain couldn't shake the lingering feeling—the certainty that, one day, Abel would be the one to push him too far. And when that happened, Cain wouldn't be able to stop himself from finally doing what he'd always wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cira stood near a rack of weapons, her fingers tracing the edge of a knife absently as Liora began to speak. The armory was dimly lit, the cold metallic gleam of guns, blades, and vials of volatile substances casting faint reflections on the walls.

«All right, listen up,» Liora said, stepping forward and crossing her arms. Her tone was sharp, but not unkind—she was the kind of leader who didn't waste words. «We'll be splitting into pairs for this mission. Communication is key, and we'll be relying on these.» She held up a small, sleek headset. «They're tuned to multiple frequencies, so if one gets compromised, we'll have backups. Keep them on at all times.»

A collective nod went around the room, though Cira could feel the tension radiating from each of them.

Liora's gaze swept across the group before landing on Aren. «Aren, now's a good time to hand over the gift.»

Aren's face lit up with a small, mischievous smile as she approached Cira, pulling a small black case from her pocket. «Thought I'd wait until the perfect moment,» she said, handing it to Cira.

Cira took the case hesitantly, her brow furrowing. «What's this?»

«Open it,» Aren urged, her smile widening.

Cira flipped open the lid to reveal a sleek pair of hearing aids, the metal glinting faintly under the fluorescent lights. At first glance, they didn't seem much different from her old ones, but Aren's grin told her there was more to them.

«These aren't just hearing aids,» Aren explained, her voice filled with pride. «They're equipped with built-in microphones and frequency modulators. They'll let you connect directly to our comms system, and you can toggle between channels. No more bulky headsets for you.»

Cira blinked, her chest tightening at the gesture. She hadn't expected something so thoughtful, especially not from Aren.

«They're waterproof too,» Aren added with a wink.

Cira swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. «Thank you,» she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She slipped the new devices in, adjusting them carefully. The clarity of sound that followed was almost overwhelming, sharper and crisper than anything she'd experienced before.

«How do they feel?» Aren asked, her expression softening.

Cira nodded. «Perfect.»

Liora's voice cut in, bringing them back to the task at hand. «Good. Now, the pairs are as follows: Bran and Evran, Cira and Sienna, and Aren and me.»

Cira exchanged a glance with Sienna, who gave her a small, encouraging smile.

Liora continued, her tone all business. «Remember, this isn't just a rescue mission—it's an extraction under hostile conditions. Stick to your partner, follow the plan, and don't take unnecessary risks. We move fast and leave no one behind. Understood?»

A chorus of agreements echoed through the armory, each voice carrying its own mix of determination and trepidation.

Cira's hand brushed the new hearing aids as she looked around the group. This wasn't going to be easy, but at least she wouldn't face it alone.