The Devil's Duel
Gunfire ripped through the warehouse like a storm. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid tang of gunpowder, the floor slick with blood. Elena crouched low beside her mother, shielding her with trembling arms as bullets screamed overhead.
"Stay down, Mama!" she cried, fumbling with the ropes at her wrists. Her hands shook so badly she could barely pull the knots free.
Her mother clung to her, tears streaking her cheeks. "Elena… we have to get out—"
"We will," Elena swore, though her voice cracked. "Just hold on."
A body fell near them with a sickening thud. One of Dante's men, his eyes glassy and lifeless. Elena swallowed a scream, forcing herself to keep working at the ropes. She couldn't fall apart now. Not when survival meant everything.
Across the chaos, Lucian was a storm made flesh. He moved with lethal precision, his gun firing in sharp bursts, each shot finding its mark. His suit was streaked with blood, some his, most not, his face carved into a mask of pure wrath.
Every time he fired, his eyes darted toward Elena, as if anchoring himself to her existence. And every time he saw her still alive, still fighting, his rage sharpened.
Dante was a shadow among shadows. He ducked behind crates, reappearing only to fire with deadly accuracy. Unlike his men, he wasn't reckless. He was patient, precise — a viper waiting for the perfect strike.
Their eyes locked across the battlefield. Two devils, forged in fire, destined to clash.
Lucian bared his teeth in a snarl. "Come out and face me, coward!"
Dante's laugh slithered through the smoke. "You want me? Then bleed for it."
---
Elena finally loosened the last knot. The ropes fell from her mother's wrists. "Run," she urged. "When the fighting moves, head for the door."
Her mother gripped her hand desperately. "Not without you."
Elena shook her head, her heart hammering. "I'll be right behind you. Please, Mama. Go when you can."
A burst of gunfire cut their words short. Elena shielded her mother as splinters rained from the crate beside them. Her heart pounded with terror and defiance. She couldn't let Dante win — not like this.
---
Lucian dove behind a stack of metal drums, Dante's bullets sparking against steel. He reloaded with practiced speed, his mind laser-focused on the one truth that mattered: Dante had touched Elena. Threatened her. Held a gun to her head.
For that alone, he would die screaming.
Lucian's comm buzzed in his ear. One of his lieutenants shouted, "Boss, reinforcements are inbound. We can end this now—"
"Stay out of my way," Lucian snarled, ripping the earpiece free. This wasn't a war for his men to win. This was personal.
He rose from cover, firing a barrage that drove Dante deeper into the shadows. Then he moved, fast and silent, weaving through the wreckage toward his rival.
---
Dante reappeared suddenly, lunging from the darkness. Their guns fired at the same time. Lucian's bullet grazed Dante's cheek, Dante's shot clipped Lucian's arm, spinning him back with a growl.
Blood spattered, but neither fell.
They collided in the center of the warehouse, guns knocked aside as fists replaced bullets.
The impact was brutal. Dante slammed his elbow into Lucian's ribs, Lucian retaliated with a headbutt that split Dante's brow. Blood streamed down both their faces as they grappled, each blow fueled by years of hatred.
"You're weak, Moretti!" Dante spat, slamming him against a steel beam. "Love has made you soft!"
Lucian roared, driving his fist into Dante's jaw hard enough to crack bone. "Love has made me unstoppable!"
They crashed to the ground, rolling in a storm of fists and blood. Dante clawed for a knife strapped to his boot, but Lucian caught his wrist, slamming it down until bone crunched. Dante screamed, his fury twisting into madness.
---
Elena's breath caught as she watched them fight. Every blow Lucian landed filled her with both relief and dread. He was winning, but at what cost? His face was a mask of blood, his movements feral, his control slipping into pure brutality.
Her mother clutched her arm, trembling. "He'll kill him."
Elena's eyes never left Lucian. "He has to."
But as the fight raged on, a sliver of fear pierced her heart. What if Lucian killed Dante — and lost himself in the process?
---
Dante managed to wrench free, slashing with the knife. The blade sliced across Lucian's side, drawing a hiss of pain. Lucian seized Dante's wrist again, twisted hard, and drove the blade back toward its owner.
The knife pierced Dante's shoulder. He howled, staggering back, blood pouring down his chest.
Lucian advanced, gun in hand once more, his face a mask of death.
Dante fell against a crate, panting, his grin smeared with blood. "Do it," he rasped. "Kill me. Prove you're just like me."
Lucian raised the gun, finger on the trigger. His hands didn't shake. His eyes burned with fire.
But then, through the smoke and chaos, he heard her voice.
"Lucian!" Elena cried, her voice raw, desperate.
He turned slightly, just enough to see her standing, her mother clinging to her arm. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide with fear — not of Dante, but of him.
In that moment, Lucian froze. The line between love and destruction blurred. If he pulled the trigger now, would he protect her? Or would he prove Dante right?
Dante saw the hesitation and laughed, blood bubbling from his lips. "See? She's your leash. She'll never let you be free."
Lucian's jaw clenched. His finger tightened on the trigger.
And the warehouse held its breath, waiting to see which devil would walk out alive.