The oppressive silence hung in the air like a suffocating blanket, smothering every sound, every breath. Sarah and Helena remained huddled together in the corner of the room, the cold cement pressing against their backs as the world outside seemed to come to a standstill. The gunfire had stopped. The shouts of the enemy forces had faded into an eerie quiet, and now, only the relentless sound of the rain tapping against the building remained.
Helena's trembling hand gripped Sarah's arm, her knuckles white, her wide eyes searching for an answer, for any sign of what was happening.
"Sarah…" Helena whispered, her voice thin, barely audible over the pounding of Sarah's heart. "What's going on? Why did they stop?"
"I don't know," Sarah replied, her voice tight with fear. She didn't know what was happening. The enemy had been so close, moments away from breaching the room, and now… silence.
But then, through the thick quiet, Sarah heard it—footsteps. Faint, deliberate, moving slowly across the rain-soaked pavement outside. And they weren't the chaotic, clumsy footsteps of the enemy soldiers. These were different. Quieter. Measured.
Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Something was coming.
The door to their room rattled, and both sisters flinched, pressing themselves deeper into the corner. Sarah's heart hammered against her ribcage, the raw fear gripping her tighter than ever.
And then, without warning, the door burst open, shattering as the wooden frame splintered against the force. A dark figure stepped into the room, silhouetted by the dim, flickering lights outside.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Sarah thought the enemy had come for them. But this wasn't the enemy. There was no shouting, no demands. Just a cold, lethal presence.
The figure didn't move. It simply stood there, watching.
"Who—?" Sarah's voice faltered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. And then she saw it. Not one figure. Ten.
The Black Ravens had arrived.
Outside the Safe House
The streets were slick with rain, reflecting the orange glow of the helicopters hovering overhead, their searchlights cutting through the night. The enemy soldiers—three hundred strong—stood scattered across the perimeter, their black tactical gear blending with the shadows as they waited for the signal to breach the building.
Cain, the commander of the mercenary force, stood at the center of the chaos, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes cold behind his aviator sunglasses. His men had encircled the building, prepared to storm it, ready to end this hunt once and for all.
But something was wrong.
The silence had fallen too quickly, and now, his men were restless, shifting uneasily as the rain poured down. No one spoke, but there was tension in the air, an unspoken dread creeping up the spines of even the most hardened soldiers.
Cain's radio crackled, and he raised it to his ear. "Team Bravo, report."
Static.
"Team Bravo, do you copy?"
Nothing.
Cain frowned, his jaw tightening. His men had been in position moments ago. They were supposed to be breaching the building by now, flooding the rooms with gunfire and taking down the targets. But now… silence.
"What the hell is going on?" Cain muttered, glancing at the men around him.
Suddenly, there was movement in the distance—a blur of black against the shadows.
Then came the screams.
It started with a sharp cry, followed by the rapid sound of gunfire. Cain turned toward the source, his eyes narrowing as he saw one of his squads—ten men—collapse in a spray of blood and chaos. Their bodies hit the ground in quick succession, gurgling as their throats were slashed, blood pooling beneath them, mixing with the rain.
"Contact!" one of the soldiers shouted, but before the words had fully left his mouth, his chest exploded in a burst of blood as a blade pierced his heart. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his eyes wide with shock.
Cain's heart pounded as he reached for his weapon, his hand tightening around the grip. "Who the hell—"
But before he could finish, a shadow moved—fast. Too fast.
One of his men was ripped from his position, his body flung against a nearby wall with such force that his bones shattered on impact. His lifeless form slid to the ground, blood streaking the bricks behind him.
Cain's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't see them. He couldn't see the attackers, but they were there, moving through his ranks like ghosts. His men were dropping like flies, each one cut down in brutal, horrifying ways.
"Spread out!" Cain barked, his voice sharp, but it was too late.
A scream echoed across the street as another soldier was impaled by a long blade, the steel glinting in the rain before the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. Blood sprayed across the pavement, staining the water as more men fell.
The Black Ravens moved with lethal precision, cutting through the enemy forces like a scythe through wheat. Their faces were hidden behind tactical masks, their bodies cloaked in black, but their movements were a blur of violence and death.
Specter, the leader of the Ravens, moved ahead of the others, his blade dripping with blood as he decapitated one of the soldiers in a single, fluid motion. The man's head rolled across the ground, his body crumpling at Specter's feet.
Another soldier charged at him, gun raised, but Specter was faster. He dodged the bullet with a sharp twist of his body, then drove his blade into the man's chest, twisting it cruelly before pulling it out. The soldier gasped, blood gurgling from his mouth as he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
To the Ravens, this wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter.
One of the enemy soldiers, wide-eyed and trembling, backed away, his gun shaking in his hands. He turned to run, but he didn't make it three steps before another Raven appeared behind him, slitting his throat with a swift, clean motion. The man fell to his knees, clutching at his neck, blood pouring between his fingers as his life drained away.
The Ravens left no survivors. They moved through the enemy like shadows, their movements too fast to follow, their attacks brutal and efficient.
Cain's men were being decimated, torn apart by an unseen force they couldn't even fight back against. Blood soaked the streets, bodies littering the ground in twisted, unnatural positions, their faces frozen in expressions of pure terror.
"This… this isn't possible," Cain muttered, his heart racing as he watched his men fall one by one. He gripped his radio again, his voice frantic. "All units, fall back! Fall back now!"
But no one responded. The radio was filled with static, punctuated only by the occasional scream, followed by the sickening sound of a blade cutting through flesh.
Cain's pulse thundered in his ears as he looked around, the realization dawning on him that he was losing control. His army—three hundred men, all armed and trained—was being wiped out.
And then, in the distance, he saw them. The Ravens.
Ten of them. Silent. Deadly.
They moved through the rain like ghosts, their blades gleaming in the dim light as they slaughtered his men without hesitation. There was no mercy, no hesitation in their movements. Each kill was swift, brutal, and precise.
Cain's breath caught in his throat. He had heard whispers of the Black Ravens, of the Lord's elite unit, but he had never believed the stories. Until now.
He gritted his teeth, his hands trembling as he raised his gun, aiming at the nearest Raven. But before he could fire, a hand grabbed him from behind, wrenching the gun from his grip and slamming him against the wall.
Cain gasped, his body wracked with pain as he looked up—into the cold, emotionless mask of Specter.
The Raven didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Specter's hand moved in a blur, grabbing Cain by the throat and lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. Cain choked, his hands clawing at Specter's arm as he struggled to breathe, but the Raven's grip was like iron.
The last thing Cain saw was the glint of Specter's blade as it sliced through the air.
Inside the Safe House
The sounds of the massacre outside were muffled, but Sarah and Helena could still hear the distant screams, the gunfire, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.
Helena sobbed into Sarah's shoulder, her entire body shaking with fear. "What's happening? What's going on?"
"I don't know," Sarah whispered, though her own voice was trembling. The silence from the enemy had been replaced by something far worse—the unmistakable sound of death.
The door to their room opened again, and the same figure from before stepped inside, his black mask gleaming in the dim light. He moved with eerie calm, his presence filling the room with a cold, lethal energy.
"Stay here," the figure said, his voice low and commanding. "You're safe."
Sarah couldn't speak, her throat too tight with fear. She simply nodded, holding Helena close, praying that the nightmare would end.
But deep down, she knew—this was only the beginning.