Abraham climbed the stairs leading to the third floor of the hospital, each step heavy, and every movement made his wounds bleed again. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, but his eyes remained resolute. Midway, he paused for a moment, pulling out a small box of pills from inside his worn military jacket. He retrieved two pills from the box and swallowed them without water. These pills were his only way to stay focused and dull the pain that tormented him.
After a few seconds, the effect of the pills began to take hold. Though his wounds remained open, the pain gradually faded. His concentration sharpened, and his breath became more regulated. With his right hand, he gripped the pistol, still warm from the previous battle. For a moment, Abraham paused to count the remaining bullets. Only a few were left—enough for the next fight, but no more than that.
Upon reaching the third floor, the atmosphere was eerily quiet. There were no signs of life, just a long corridor with dull walls that reflected the dim light of flickering lamps. The air felt cold, almost biting. Abraham moved slowly down the corridor, each step echoing like a whisper of death.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy iron door stood firmly. The paint had chipped off, revealing rusty metal in several spots. From behind the door, the loud strains of classical music could be heard, seeping out with a rhythm that was cold and strangely intimidating. The closer he got, the clearer the sound became, almost as if inviting Abraham into the room.
He stopped in front of the door, his right hand tightening its grip on the pistol. His left hand touched the cold doorknob, and he took a deep breath. Abraham knew Sergei was waiting for him behind that door. There was no time for hesitation. With one push, he was ready to face the end of this bloody hunt.
Meanwhile, in a small house, Rachel collapsed onto the floor after a hard punch from Dimitri. Her face was bruised, blood flowing from the corner of her lips. Her eyes burned with fury as she glared at Dimitri, but her body was too weak to resist.
"You worthless bitch," Dimitri muttered coldly, staring at Rachel, who lay on the floor. Anastasia, standing in the corner of the room, screamed in fear. "Sister Rachel!" she cried, her tears flowing freely.
Dimitri turned and stared at Anastasia with cold eyes. "You're coming with me," he said in a tone that allowed no resistance. He walked toward the little girl, reaching for her hand. But Rachel, with the last of her strength, dragged herself toward Dimitri.
"No! Don't take her!" Rachel screamed as she grabbed Dimitri's leg, trying to stop him.
Roughly, Dimitri kicked Rachel, sending her crashing into the wall. She fell with a loud thud, her body going still. A small pendant hanging around Rachel's neck came loose, sliding to the floor. Dimitri glanced at it for a moment before speaking with disdain, "You're still stuck in the past."
Anastasia cried hysterically. "No, I don't want to go! Sister Rachel!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the room. But Dimitri didn't care. He forcibly lifted Anastasia, her small body struggling futilely in his grip. With heavy steps, Dimitri carried Anastasia out of the house, leaving Rachel unconscious on the cold floor.
On the other side...
With one strong shove, Abraham forced open the iron door, causing a loud bang that echoed through the room. His pistol was aimed inside, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. However, all that greeted him was the sound of classical music still playing from an old gramophone in the corner of the room. The room appeared empty, furnished only with a long table, antique wooden chairs, and a collection of hunting weapons displayed on the walls.
Abraham stepped inside slowly, each footstep echoing on the cold concrete floor. His hand still gripped the pistol firmly, his body tense like a spring ready to release. But the unnerving silence made him cautious. He felt something was off, but there was no time to react.
Suddenly, from his right, a strong hand snatched his pistol. The movement was quick, almost invisible. In an instant, the weapon was wrenched from Abraham's grasp. A powerful kick struck his body, sending him flying backward to the floor.
Abraham felt pain, but his eyes immediately fixed on the figure standing before him. Sergei, with a strong build and a face full of smugness, stood tall. His gaze was cold, filled with triumph. "You're getting old, Abraham," Sergei said in a low, sharp voice. "Your instincts aren't as sharp as they used to be."
Abraham slowly rose, taking a step back to create distance. He didn't answer, only glaring at Sergei, his breath heavy but steady. Sergei stepped forward, like a hunter who knew his prey had no way out.
"Are you afraid of me, Abraham?" Sergei sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.
Abraham smiled faintly, sarcastic. "Afraid? Do you think I'm afraid of an old former commander of the second division?"
Sergei stopped, his expression darkening slightly, but his grin remained. "You're still good with words, huh? Your words are still sharp like before." He raised his hand, slowly taking a fighting stance. "But I'll make sure that mouth of yours won't speak again."
Abraham wiped the corner of his mouth and raised his hands into a defensive position. "Try me," he replied briefly, his voice full of challenge. His eyes locked on Sergei, reading for any slight movement.
The room was now thick with tension, almost palpable in the air. Sergei moved forward, his fists clenched tightly, preparing for a brutal hand-to-hand fight. Meanwhile, Abraham stood firm, his breath even, his entire body poised like a tiger waiting for the right moment to strike.
The fight began with Sergei charging forward, throwing a right jab at Abraham's face. But Abraham moved swiftly, sidestepping to the left. Not losing momentum, he retaliated with a straight punch to Sergei's midsection. But Sergei was ready; his left hand shot up, blocking the blow with perfect precision.
Sergei immediately stepped back, creating distance between them. His breathing was steady, his gaze sharp. But Abraham didn't give him a chance. With a swift move, Abraham advanced, throwing a hard left hook that landed squarely on Sergei's temple. The impact sent Sergei's head snapping sideways, his vision blurring for a moment.
Seizing the opening, Abraham grabbed Sergei's head with both hands. With a brutal motion, he slammed Sergei's head into his right knee. A loud crack echoed, and Sergei was sent flying backward, crashing to the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of Sergei's lips, but his eyes remained full of determination.
Abraham wasted no time. He moved forward, preparing to end Sergei with a final blow. However, despite being wounded, Sergei still had sharp reflexes. With a sudden move, he kicked Abraham's leg, causing him to lose balance and fall to the floor.
Sergei quickly rose, his movements swift despite his injuries. His foot kicked Abraham's head hard, sending him sprawling to the side. But Abraham wasn't one to give up easily. He rolled away, distancing himself to regain his position. In a few moments, both were back on their feet, staring at each other with intense focus.
"This time, I'm serious, Abraham," Sergei said in a low tone, his voice filled with determination. He began to swing his fists and legs in an unusual pattern, rhythmic movements that appeared like a dance but were deadly. The flow of these movements became a lethal rhythm—capoeira, a martial art he had learned during World War III.
Abraham watched closely, analyzing Sergei's every move. He knew capoeira wasn't just any martial art; speed, strength, and rhythm merged into this deadly form.
Slowly, Abraham shifted into a defensive stance. His eyes sharp, fully focused on Sergei. His body tensed, ready to counter any attack.
Sergei slid forward with capoeira's rhythm, his body moving with perfect balance and an almost hypnotic flow. In a quick movement, he threw a right kick toward Abraham's abdomen. But Abraham, having read Sergei's movement, prepared to block it. However, just before the kick landed, Sergei quickly retracted his leg, using the momentum to spin his body.
A loud thud! Abraham's head was struck by a spinning kick from the left. The impact made Abraham stagger, but he was still able to stand. Not giving Abraham a chance to recover, Sergei continued with another attack—a straight kick aimed at his midsection.
Abraham reacted quickly, stepping aside to avoid it. But Sergei's movements were too fast. In one swift spin, his leg slid from the left, hitting Abraham hard and knocking him to the floor. Abraham's body staggered, thrown off by the rapid and unpredictable attack.
Breathing heavily, Abraham quickly got up. He assumed a defensive stance, his eyes locked on Sergei's every movement. But he realized that Sergei's attack pattern was so complex, so fluid, that it was almost impossible to predict. Each step, every kick, even Sergei's spins seemed like part of a deadly dance.
The attacks kept coming relentlessly, changing directions so quickly that there was barely any time to defend. Sweat started to bead on Abraham's forehead. He clenched his fists tightly, trying to steady his breath.
"This won't be easy," Abraham muttered under his breath, his voice tense. His eyes remained focused on Sergei, who continued to move, ready to launch his next attack.
Sergei lunged forward again with incredible speed, his capoeira moves flowing like a deadly dance. His kicks were so quick and accurate that Abraham had no time to defend or evade. The barrage of strikes kept coming, each one landing on Abraham's body without him being able to retaliate.
"What's wrong, Abraham? Is the war hero this weak?" Sergei shouted with a cruel smile, watching as Abraham remained silent, powerless.
However, suddenly, the next attack stopped. Sergei felt his foot freeze mid-air—Abraham had caught it with incredible strength.
"Now I've got you," Abraham said, a wide grin spreading across his face. Sergei was shocked, not expecting to be caught so easily. With a burst of strength, Abraham pulled Sergei's body and threw him backward. Sergei crashed into the wall behind Abraham, falling in pain.
Abraham didn't give Sergei a chance to recover. Without mercy, he threw Sergei toward the old gramophone in the corner of the room, sending Sergei crashing