Five figures emerged from the shadows—mercenaries bearing the mark of the Black Owls. The group's leader stepped forward, a grin spreading across his scarred face as he leveled a hunting rifle at them.
"Your little game of tag is over," he sneered. "You're not leaving this cave alive after finding us."
Tareth, unphased by the threats, casually adjusted the gun in his holster. "Hmph. I'm afraid it's you lot who won't be seeing the morning sun."
The mercenary leader scoffed. "Still talking big, huh? We'll see how brave you are after we put some lead in your head."
The moment he finished speaking, Tareth's hand moved faster than a blink. A single gunshot echoed through the cave, the mercenary's body crumpling to the ground, a bullet hole through his skull. The remaining four mercenaries stood frozen, processing what had just happened.
Zal's eyes widened. Tareth moved like lightning. He'd seen some quick draws before, but this was on a different level.
