The dreadful, blood-soaked silence in the small pocket of the battlefield was broken only by Nikolai's ragged, sated breathing. His crimson gaze, still burning with an unnatural light from the recent feast on a Blood Hound, shifted, settling upon Commander Victor.
Victor, terror-stricken, scrambled back then fell to the floor, the impact jarring through his seasoned frame but lost in the greater shock that held him captive. His body began to shake, an uncontrollable ague born of pure, undiluted horror. His sidearm lay forgotten beside him.
"Yo... yo... you... youu," Victor stuttered, his face a mask of terror.
Nikolai stood watching him, a slow, cold amusement dawning in those inhuman eyes. The fear radiating from the commander was a palpable thing, an almost delicious scent. A voice, deeper than his own had ever been, rasped from his throat, carrying an unsettling resonance. "Run."
Victor, though surprised—the expression flickering across his horror-stricken features—didn't move. He already knows how unnaturally fast this monster is and he can't outrun him, his mind screamed, a cold, dead weight in the chaos of his fear. He remained frozen.
After a while, seeing no reaction, Nikolai got irritated. "Run!" he barked angrily. This time, as he spoke, his crimson eyes shone with a ghostly luster.
Victor, who was looking at Nikolai, felt his expression go blank for a second. "...Shit, shit, what's happening, what's happening?" the frantic thought ricocheted inside his skull, but an overwhelming, alien compulsion seized him. He stood up and began running, a strangled sob escaping him as he plunged into the smoke-choked ruins.
Nikolai smiled coldly as he watched his quarry run. After a good while, he moved.
Swoosh.
He was a blur, an instant erasure of the space between, leaving only the blood-soaked ground and the lingering scent of fear hanging heavy in the night air.
The air in the Palace District was thick with the metallic tang of smoke and the sharper, more acrid stench of fear. A cacophony of screams ripped through what should have been a place of stately calm, the sounds echoing off the ornate facades now smeared with soot. Panic had become a tangible entity, a surging, desperate wave of humanity crashing against the main gates.
At the threshold stood Rick, his voice strained as he bellowed over the din, "Stay back! Calm down, we have everything in control!" His words were swallowed almost instantly by the roar of the terrified crowd. Behind him, a stoic line of heavily armed soldiers formed an unyielding barrier, their bodies and riot shields a grim testament to the order they were trying to impose.
But the citizens, their faces contorted with terror and desperation, saw only a closed path to perceived safety. "Let us in!" a woman shrieked, her voice cracking, her hands clawing at the cold iron of the gates. "Open the gates!" another man roared, his plea lost in a chorus of similar demands. Some threw themselves against the unyielding barrier, their shoulders thudding against the metal, while others, further back, resorted to hurling stones and debris over the heads of those in front. The missiles clattered harmlessly against the soldiers' raised shields, each impact a small, sharp punctuation mark in the larger symphony of chaos.
Rick watched them, his jaw tight. He raised a hand, palm out, a futile gesture of peace amidst the pandemonium. He took a breath, the words of reassurance dying on his lips as another volley of shouts and the thud of a larger rock against the gate underscored the futility. He let out a slow, weary sigh, the sound barely audible even to himself. Turning slightly to the soldier nearest him, a grimace tugged at his lips. "They are not listening."
His voice was low and tight with frustration, almost swallowed by the unceasing clamor. Just then, a movement caught his eye. He turned, his gaze finding Ben cutting a path towards him through the narrow, relatively clear space behind the soldier line.
As Ben reached him, Rick squared his shoulders. They exchanged a crisp, formal salute, a brief assertion of military order amidst the swirling chaos of screams and the thudding of debris against the gates. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the palpable fear radiating from the crowd.
Ben's voice, though not loud, was pitched to cut through the din, intended for Rick alone. "There are orders from above." He paused, his eyes holding Rick's, letting the weight of the unspoken settle between them for a heavy moment. The shouts of the citizens trying to break through seemed to intensify in that brief silence.
Rick gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod, his expression grim, bracing himself for what was to come.
Ben's gaze remained fixed on him. "To shoot on sight," he stated, the words delivered with a chilling precision, "at anyone that tries to break the gates and incite more chaos in this district."
The impact of the words was immediate and visceral. Rick's eyes widened, a stark flash of disbelief and horror chasing away the earlier frustration. The roar of the crowd, the metallic clang of stones against the gates, all seemed to recede to a distant hum. "Are they mad?" The question ripped out of him, low and incredulous, his mind reeling from the cold brutality of the command.
Ben's frown was instant, his own voice dropping to a sharp, warning tone. "Watch your tone, Rick." But then, the rigidity in Ben's posture seemed to soften almost imperceptibly. He let out a quiet sigh, the sound tinged with a weariness that acknowledged the grim reality they faced. "Rick," he said, his voice losing some of its official edge, "orders are orders. Nothing can be done."
Reaching out, Ben's gloved hand briefly patted Rick's shoulder, a fleeting gesture that spoke volumes of shared burdens and impossible situations. Then, with a final, somber nod, Ben turned and walked away, his figure receding into the smoky haze and the disciplined line of soldiers, leaving Rick standing frozen, the horrific order echoing in his mind and the desperate cries of the citizens he was now ordered to potentially kill assaulting his ears.
Meanwhile, Charles, a younger soldier positioned not far down the line, had been watching the tense exchange between Rick and Ben. Though the roar of the crowd and the distance had prevented him from hearing their words, the tight set of their shoulders, Ben's grim departure, and the way Rick now stood rigid had painted a clear, unsettling picture: whatever news had been delivered, it wasn't good.
Once Ben had moved further down the line and away from them, Charles hesitated for only a moment before making his way carefully towards Rick. He stepped up beside him, his own face etched with concern. "What's wrong, Rick?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the undiminished clamor from the gates.
Rick's gaze, which had been fixed on the seething mass of people, slowly shifted to Charles. His expression was bleak. "Orders are," he began, his voice flat and heavy, "that we are to immediately kill whoever tries to break through..." He gestured with a curt flick of his fingers towards the straining gates. "...those gates."
Charles's face visibly paled beneath his helmet strap, his eyes widening in shock. "What?!" The exclamation was a choked whisper. His gaze shot towards the gates, where the crowd seemed to be growing more agitated, some individuals now actively yanking at the bars, their faces contorted in fury and desperation. Curses and spit rained down on the foremost soldiers. He turned back to Rick, his voice filled with dawning horror. "Then they're planning on killing every one of them?"
Rick, his own eyes following Charles's back to the chaotic scene, shook his head slowly, a grim tightness around his mouth. "We can only hope it doesn't escalate to that extent." The thought of turning his weapon on the very people he was supposed to protect, innocent civilians driven mad by fear, sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. He quickly suppressed it, pushing the horrifying image from his mind.
Turning back to the younger soldier, Rick's expression firmed, though his eyes remained troubled. "Go back to your post, Charles." He paused, a thoughtful "hmm" escaping him as he looked Charles over, then nodded, giving the soldier a brief, firm pat on the shoulder.
Charles nodded dumbly, still in a daze, the color not yet returned to his face. The words Rick had spoken seemed to cling to him, a suffocating weight. He turned and walked away, his head hanging low, his movements stiff and mechanical as if the order itself was a heavy burden settled upon his own shoulders.
Rick watched him go, his gaze lingering on Charles's retreating figure for a moment before he let out another sigh, this one even heavier than before, lost amidst the enduring chaos he was now ordered to meet with lethal force.