Eruption of wild red blinded Ishmael's vision.
Neva's breathing heavy, blood dribbled along from her neck, down to the pure pastel blue fading grey gown, streaking speckles of scarlet on the fabric.
Maria's grip on the dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white from the contracted pressure of restraining herself, so close to slitting Neva's throat.
"Let. Her. Go." The deep, menacing voice ricocheted in the silent mansion.
Ishmael's body shook in fury, his chest turgid and dense. The mad woman stood hidden behind, Neva's frame a shield for her coward self.
He couldn't even lift a finger, afraid if he did move, Maria would act out the unimaginable.
Maria's cruel, amused laughs bounced off the white walls, shadowing them in the turmoil of her wicked rules and reasons.
Neva yelped out in pain, the dagger slicing slow—sinking and agonizing through her skin, sinew and muscles.
"You'll regret messing with my family," Ishmael warned, his face blackened and scowling. He couldn't let her dissapear anymore.
Everything was perfect.
When he finally had her, the fate collapsed it's atrocity on him again. He let himself go, and now he was paying for the foul-up.
"Family?" Maria snorted in response. "You're so fake!" Head thrown back, she started chortling like a maniac, as if he had just stated the most ridiculously comical thing in the world.
Neva's life hung on a fragile thread, goosebumps peaking on her skin. A young caterpillar still between, on an agonizing blade, however, wherever she moved, she was bound for wounds, blood and grave.
Maria told her, she was living in a bubble of delusion. Everything she was been exposed to this world is a lie. Ishmael wasn't who he said he was. She stared at him, grey waves of uncertainty swimming in her orbs. Was he only pretending?
Ishmael gritted his teeth, veins thrusting out his forehead, chains roping around—through his neck and arms, his insides boiling in rampancy.
Maria bit her tongue, catching her breath.
Smiling she leaned down, making Neva's heart skip a beat as she placed her head on her shoulder.
"My God, Raka. Anything more hypocritical than you would be this fantasy family of yours." She chuckled, glancing at Ishmael, his enraged gaze a soothing balm to her aching heart.
"My husband, Jack Ashcroft. Does that m ring a bell? You betrayed him, killed him. And I lost my baby." Maria muttered, her sore eyes blurred and spilling tears, the hand stirring a gun sliding down to caress her flat stomach.
Ishmael's eyes darkened. A revenge. "Power, wealth, fame. Name anything, and you'll have it. Please, just don't hurt Neva."
Maria glared at him furiously, not bothering to wipe away the waterworks. "You regard people's lives as nothing."
Her eyes drifted up to look at Neva, she smirked. "Madam isn't aware, she'd be more than glad her scornful life is finally nearing it's end." Glimmered her features as she locked eyes with Neva's trembling orbs.
Grinning Maria nudged Neva with her shoulder, like she was teasing a friend.
She then rivetted her dead stare at Ishmael. "You've caught up to your doom Raka. Beg me and you will still live the tragedy every time you breathe."
"Shut the fuck up!" Ishmael pointed a gun at Maria.
Clicking her tongue, she straightened her posture. "You are a fool!" Just an ounce of her attention on him away, and he seized a chance to snatch a gun out and target her.
Maria drove the aim of firearm from Ishmael to Neva.
Her ragged breath trapped in her throat, the cold metal piercing at her temple. Her brain fogged, the andrenaline rush dizzying her.
"Watch me take her soul like the grim reaper." She said, her index finger a beat away to pull the trigger.
Neva's shut lids abraded tight, the pulse in her neck thrumming fast. Maria's chilling breath wafting over her ear, she dragged out a long quivering air.
This is it. Neva thought.
"Ahrg—" She gagged, the dagger loosened from her hold, words gaoled in the tip of her tongue. The gun fell as another bullet blew exploding her hand, shattered the bones of her wrist, flesh and blood splattering, sprinkling hot red liquid in Neva's face—she gasped sharply in shock.
Ishmael ran up the stairs to Neva, while Zev who fired the first bullet emerged out the shadows, he was already up there on the hallway. Above after, swarms of Raka's armed forces hauled in through the main door.
A while before, Zev had almost opened the door and walked in to give Ishmael's suit jacket back, when he had signaled about the danger with the radical watch he had strapped on his wrist.
He had heard it all and discerned glimpses of the scenes. Acting quick, he enforced their men with a plan and discreetly climbed up to the second floor.
Maria convulsed on the floor, her palm and wrist gone, the very spot on her neck she threatened to stab Neva, she had a bullet buried in deep.
Her mournful, bleary gaze on Neva fallen on her knees, on the hard ground in Ishmael's embrace.
She didn't deserve this. She lost everything because of him. Her love... a beautiful dream of a wishful future with their family.
Why did Raka secure a perfect life?
A loving wife, two unsullied children borne from grueling sins...
Blood pooling around her, her lids dropping heavy, she was bleeding out, but the gnawing in her heart dulled the torment in her flesh. She regretted it, being too greedy to regale Raka's suffer of destruction, the love of his life killed before his eyes. Just like she did.
The crowd of troop surrounded her, their gaze riveted on her frame, weapons aimed at her.
The gun near her was kicked away by Zev, he squatted down, hovering over her, a firearm infiltrating her forehead.
Maria closed her eyes, playing a film of all the best parts of living.
Jack stood there in a meadow, smiling at her, the field of flowers familiar, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hold. His face gleaming under the bright, blue noon sky. The dulcet breeze floating around, swaying the flowers, his loose shirt and his soft brown hair.
There was only him and her. She was peering at him, tears streaming down her fair, freckled cheeks. She was dying, yearning for him.
She failed him, she was so close.
But the defeated revenge mattered nothing; his presence was heavenly, he was healing her, looking at her with those adoring eyes, and so she was sobbing, running into his embrace.
He shot her, a bullet interred in her skull. Her pain ended. A silencer anchored to the firearm, the firing barely made any noise.
Zev liberated a scarred, rotting soul from it's scarcer tarnished frame.
"Call Dr. Gray. Gather all the maids." Ishmael demanded coldly.
Zev turned his head and saw him picking up a stiffened Neva.
"Yes," he replied, watching the couple as Ishmael bridal carried Neva into their room.