The city at night was a monster.
It breathed in the cold wind, exhaled neon light and despair. Towering buildings loomed like titans, their windows glowing like the eyes of sleeping giants. Beneath it all, the streets pulsed with the nervous energy of a thousand souls who didn't dare ask questions anymore.
Elian, Maren, Jonah, and the barely-conscious Lena moved like ghosts through the ruins, their shadows merging with the darkness.
Every step they took felt heavier, more final.
They weren't soldiers.
They weren't heroes.
They were broken things with sharp teeth, and they were about to bite back.
---
Their destination loomed ahead: an abandoned cathedral on the edge of the financial district — once a place of worship, now Mateo's secret fortress.
It was a sick irony.
The place where people once prayed for salvation now housed the city's greatest evil.
The cathedral's spires clawed at the night sky, black against black. Massive oak doors, reinforced with steel, stood like the mouth of a sleeping beast.
Maren stared up at it with something like awe. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "In the way that avalanches are beautiful."
Jonah snorted softly, adjusting the strap on his rifle. "Let's tear it down."
Elian looked at Lena, cradled in Maren's arms, her face pale but breathing steady.
He felt something tighten in his chest.
They weren't just doing this for revenge.
They were doing it for every soul Mateo had crushed.
Every life stolen.
Every dream destroyed.
Tonight, they would speak for the silenced.
Even if their own voices were lost in the roar.
---
They breached the cathedral just after 3 a.m.
Jonah rigged a crude explosive from stolen supplies, blowing the side door off its hinges with a muffled roar.
Inside, the cathedral was a labyrinth of shadows and marble. Gold-leafed saints stared down from broken altars, their eyes hollow with centuries of abandonment.
The enemy reacted fast.
Armed guards poured into the nave, weapons raised, shouts echoing off the stained-glass windows.
Elian moved first, a blur of fury and purpose.
He vaulted over a pew, firing into the chaos. Jonah covered him from the rear, each shot finding its mark with chilling precision.
Maren lobbed a grenade into a cluster of guards.
The explosion was a thunderclap of vengeance, sending fire and shrapnel dancing through the cathedral like a demonic choir.
Screams.
Gunfire.
The crack of bone on stone.
They were poetry written in blood.
---
They fought their way through the cathedral, a trail of broken bodies in their wake.
Finally, they burst into the main sanctuary.
There he was.
Mateo.
The man who had built an empire on their suffering.
He stood before the desecrated altar, wearing a tailored black suit, his hands folded calmly in front of him as if he were merely waiting for a sermon to begin.
His silver hair gleamed under the broken chandeliers, his cold blue eyes amused.
"Children," he said softly. "You've come so far. Only to die like the rest."
Elian stepped forward, rage burning bright in his chest.
"No sermons," he growled. "No lies. Just you. Just us."
Mateo smiled thinly. "Then come. Let me teach you your final lesson."
---
The battle that followed was brutal beyond words.
Mateo wasn't just a crime lord — he was a predator. A man who had survived a thousand betrayals by being faster, smarter, deadlier.
He moved like a phantom, using the ruins of the cathedral to his advantage.
Blades flashed in the half-light.
Gunshots roared.
Maren was the first to land a blow, slashing Mateo across the ribs. He retaliated with a vicious elbow that sent her crashing into the altar.
Jonah tackled Mateo, fists flying, but the older man fought like a cornered god — every movement precise, merciless.
Elian watched them struggle, heart hammering.
He saw the future unfolding — Mateo snapping Jonah's neck, Maren bleeding out, Lena dying alone in the dark.
No.
Not this time.
With a roar that tore from the depths of his soul, Elian lunged.
---
He caught Mateo off guard, driving a knife deep into his side.
The older man staggered, face contorting in shock and rage.
But even wounded, Mateo was dangerous.
He swung a brutal backhand — and Elian felt the world tilt as he crashed into the marble floor.
For a moment, the pain stole everything.
Then he felt hands — Maren's hands — dragging him to his feet.
"You're not done," she whispered fiercely. "You don't get to quit."
Together, they turned to face Mateo.
Jonah, bleeding but standing.
Maren, fierce and unbroken.
Elian, battered but burning inside.
It wasn't just a fight anymore.
It was retribution.
---
Mateo charged, a final desperate lunge.
Jonah took the hit, grappling with him, holding him just long enough.
Maren fired once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each shot slammed into Mateo's chest, driving him backward.
He collapsed at the foot of the altar, gasping, blood pooling beneath him like a dark offering.
He looked up at them with something that might have been surprise. Or regret. Or nothing at all.
Then he was still.
The cathedral fell silent.
Only their ragged breathing filled the void.
It was over.
The monster was dead.
---
They burned the cathedral.
It wasn't enough to kill Mateo.
They had to erase him.
Erase everything he had built.
Flames devoured the stained-glass windows, climbed the once-holy walls, roared into the broken sky.
They watched from a rooftop across the street, the fire reflecting in their eyes.
Lena stirred weakly, blinking up at the inferno.
Elian squeezed her hand.
"We're free," he whispered.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he believed it.
They had scars.
They had sins that could never be washed clean.
But they had each other.
And they had tomorrow.
---