The sudden escalation of events took a toll, as it usually takes a human brain at least two to three seconds to react in such intense situations.
Just as one might freeze when unexpectedly confronted by a dump truck—similar to York's previous life experiences which caused his brain to momentarily blank out, leaving him frozen in place, uncertain of what to do.
Of course, there are those with extraordinary talents or who have undergone extensive training, who might instinctively react even when their minds go blank.
But Lucy was not one of those individuals. Her mind went completely blank, and she stood frozen, staring as the woman with half her head blown off fell straight down.
The body hit the floor with a thud! Blood quickly began to pool, spreading swiftly to Lucy's feet.
In that brief moment, Lucy finally snapped back to reality, her mind racing with the woman's recent warning and her sudden, odd behavior.
She realized something.
The woman, having lost her eyesight and endured prolonged torture, had her senses of touch and smell intensely attuned to her abuser.
Putting it all together, it seemed the woman had sensed the presence of her abuser.
Much like how Lucy, regardless of how her enemies had altered their appearances, had immediately recognized them from a blurred photo in the newspaper.
With this realization, Lucy's only thought was to run or to grab her gun for self-defense.
But as Lucy took her first steps to act, she heard footsteps. Before she could turn around, her hair was violently yanked back.
A familiar pain shot through her scalp as Lucy, with fierce eyes, turned and bit down hard on the large hand gripping her hair.
At that moment, she felt a slight relief that her friend Annagia hadn't come and that she hadn't shared the address.
The taste of blood filled her mouth as Lucy stared intently at the man whose hair she was biting, who seemed unfazed by the attack.
Like a defiant little beast.
"Should we knock her out?"
The man, towering at least two heads taller than Lucy, turned to look at a middle-aged woman who had just entered the house.
Behind the woman, several other figures entered, all bulky men exuding a severe demeanor, resembling the elite as commonly described.
"No need."
After a total of five people entered, the middle-aged woman looked towards the door, then shut it. She handed her shotgun to another man and then approached Lucy.
At this moment, Lucy was still biting fiercely into the man's hand and flailing, but the man pulling her hair, though bleeding from his right hand, remained unmoved.
"Lucy Juwa?" the middle-aged woman in a business suit asked as she observed Lucy.
Lucy's eyes shifted upwards to meet the woman's gaze but didn't respond.
As she remained silent, the woman nodded, and the man swiftly swung Lucy around, letting a chunk of his hand get torn off by Lucy's teeth, then slapped her hard across the face.
A crisp slap echoed, and Lucy was left disheveled and dazed.
"What's your name?" the woman continued to inquire.
Lucy remained silent.
Another heavy slap followed.
His bloodied right hand still grasped Lucy's hair.
After two powerful slaps from the large man, Lucy's lips and nose began to bleed.
The woman, with an ordinary yet stern face, asked again, "What's your name?"
She motioned towards the room where the trail of blood led, likely to where the bodies of the Banna family lay.
As a man from behind the woman nodded and walked past the group toward the room, she pressed, "Answer my question."
As if Lucy's cooperation might prompt the woman to persist indefinitely.
From this, it was clear she had her methods of coercion.
Yet, Lucy, seizing a moment to gather some strength, looked up defiantly.
Her hair was still grasped tightly, fixing her in place despite her weakening body.
She remained silent.
The woman stared down at Lucy, her face expressionless, a sight she had seen far too often.
No matter how resilient, continuous torture would wear anyone down.
Another crisp slap echoed as the man struck Lucy again, knocking her down so she could only remain upright by his grip on her hair, her face now barely visible.
"All our surveillance operatives are off-grid."
The woman was about to press further when a voice from behind interrupted.
A man from the group handed her a tablet.
The woman glanced at Lucy, now somewhat dazed, then at the tablet, her brow furrowing slightly.
Their people had been monitoring Lucy and her friend Annagia.
But now, it wasn't just a loss of contact; even their trackers had gone offline.
Everything seemed inexplicably wrong.
The woman sensed something amiss but wasn't overly concerned.
It seemed she knew the terrifying reach of her organization.
After reviewing the tablet briefly, she handed it back to her subordinate, then looked forward.
The man who had checked the situation appeared in the hallway, nodding at the middle-aged woman.
"They're all dead," he stated, as he arrived at the junction of the living room and hallway.
"There were signs of a phone call being made from here. This woman called the police."
The middle-aged woman shook her head, "Something's off today. We can't use this base anymore. Also, inform the leader that there's trouble here; we need to move to the second base."
As she spoke, the middle-aged woman glanced once more at Lucy, who had regained some focus but was still glaring defiantly at her, and said calmly,
"Welcome back, Lucy Juwa. Yes, all of this—it was our arrangement."
At these words, Lucy realized why the chains that had bound her hands and feet had been mysteriously unlocked that night.
A surge of despair enveloped her. She glared at the middle-aged woman, mustering all her remaining strength to launch herself at her captor.
But her effort was futile. Held back by the strong grip in her hair, she couldn't even get close to the middle-aged woman.
"Knock her out and take her away," the woman commanded calmly.
The man holding Lucy nodded and raised his hand to deliver a knockout blow. This slap, he did not hold back, knowing his strength was more than sufficient to render a young woman unconscious.
Just as his hand was about to connect with Lucy's face, in a critical moment, his hand exploded in a burst of blood.
The sudden turn of events only caused a momentary pause before everyone sprang into action.
"There's someone else here!"
But before they could react further, another soft sound was heard.
The man who had been holding Lucy, now with a bloody hole in his forehead, his eyes wide with shock at the unexpected turn, fell down dead.
The previously dominant figures began scrambling for cover.
"Find cover!"
The nearest middle-aged woman was no longer composed, her sense of control shattered. As she prepared to move, her lower leg erupted in a burst of blood from a gunshot.
She fell forward, turning sharply to look toward the French windows.
A robust figure stood there, the smoking barrel of a gun in his hand.
"Damn it!"
The first thing the middle-aged woman did was reach inside her jacket for her pistol to return fire.
But as she moved, her arm was also shot, the bullet tearing through her flesh, causing a burst of pain and rendering her arm useless. The speed and accuracy of the attacker were astonishing; his aim was lethal and precise.
"Who are these people?"
The woman was helpless, her arms and legs losing strength as she bled, immobilized.
At that moment, another soft gunshot sounded.
Ahead, another of her men fell, a clear bullet hole in his forehead.
Screams and shouts filled the air.
She leaned against the floor, turning back to see.
The defense line behind her had been breached without her notice.
The four muscular men had been no match for a mysterious man wielding a knight's sword, who had stormed in. The four men, despite being armed, were effortlessly dispatched by the intruder.
One against four, even with firearms, they were no match for the mysterious swordsman.
Her gaze involuntarily drifted downwards to three severed arms lying on the floor, still clutching shotguns and pistols.
She pieced together the scene: as soon as she had given the order and had been shot in the leg, a mysterious man had breached the front door and decimated her four subordinates in a blink.
"They all work for the same organization?" The woman watched as one man after another entered through the front door, still puzzled by the swift unfolding of events.
The battle had been overwhelmingly fast, from the first hand exploding to the present, likely less than a minute had passed.
Such a staggering disparity in power was rare to see within her organization, which was filled with money, power, and operatives drawn from military and combat-hardened elites.
Yet, the defensive setup outside had been compromised without any warning or alert, indicating that the outside guards had been subdued instantly.
These intruders all wore similar clothing, each with an ancient knight's sword at their waist.
Realizing something, the woman's eyes widened in a mix of fear and understanding.
"This woman must be of some significance," John Wick remarked as he holstered his Viper pistol and approached the trembling middle-aged woman on the ground.
"We might get some information out of her."
Looking at Willo the Monk, who was sheathing his sword, John expressed a hint of surprise. In the fight, he had witnessed a real monk's prowess.
A flash of light had allowed the monk to sever the arms of multiple enemies from several meters away—indeed, a gun was unnecessary.
"Is this the close-combat technique the Bishop mentioned?"
Thinking to himself, John heard Willo speak.
"Yes, hand her over to the tribunal, and they'll get whatever we need to know out of her." Willo, his lips framed by a beard, exuded a calm and unyielding presence typical of an elite cleric stationed by Bishop York.
Willo glanced at the struggling middle-aged woman on the ground and continued indifferently, "But it seems we may not need to interrogate her much. We've already latched onto a bigger fish that's surfaced, and we're currently tracking it."
He noted the despair in the woman's eyes as he spoke, his tone remaining neutral, "It appears that everyone who has shown themselves is already under our watch. By tonight, we should fulfill the orders Bishop York issued."
The church's latent power was unmistakably on display in this moment.
"Are you church monks?" The woman, resigned to her fate, her face pale from blood loss, finally asked.
Willo ignored her question, his hand resting confidently on the hilt of his knight's sword, and turned to John Wick.
"Brother John, I have other matters to attend to; the target is now your responsibility. Please ensure she is brought before Bishop York."
John Wick nodded in response as Willo spoke, acknowledging the gravity of his duty.
"Understood," he said, watching Willo and the remaining monks prepare to depart.
"Knock her out and take her back for judgment," Willo ordered, and one of the monks, ignoring the woman's futile resistance, rendered her unconscious with a swift strike. He lifted her with one hand and nodded to John Wick before following Willo.
John Wick returned the nod, watching this formidable group of colleagues leave, then turned his attention back to Lucy.
Lucy, noticing his gaze, instinctively shrank back, her head bowed, avoiding eye contact.
In truth, she had seen this man before. At the Ashby Abbey, she had encountered him alongside the priest, and had seen him participating in the church's charitable activities like food drives and fundraisers.
John Wick, realizing her discomfort, crouched down to her level, his voice calm.
"You know me, don't you?"
Lucy pursed her swollen lips but did not reply.
"Don't be afraid," John continued. "The Father is aware of what you've been through, which is why today's events were set in motion. We're here to protect you and to dismantle the organization that caused you harm…"
Hearing this, Lucy took a deep breath, gathering a bit of courage from the thought of the priest. She nodded slightly, her voice low.
"I know you."
"That's good," John Wick said, relieved. If Lucy had not responded, he would have been unsure how to proceed.
"Come on, let's get you out of here."
With that, he gently extended his hands, preparing to lift Lucy.
Fortunately, she did not resist, allowing him to pick her up easily.
John Wick then carefully carried Lucy away from the scene, leaving behind the chaos and the evidence of a swift and fierce intervention by the church's forces.
As they moved, Lucy, despite her confusion and injuries, felt a glimmer of hope. Surrounded by these protectors, perhaps she could finally find some peace and safety after the long, brutal ordeal she had endured.
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