A/N: Quick question, how do you guys feel about the fighting scenes and chapter. Need insta feedback!

The two guards flanking him absorbed the spillover.

The first took a burst through both knees—femurs erupting in jagged shards and crimson aerosol, legs sheared clean below the hips. He collapsed in a howling heap, clutching at the ruined stumps as blood jetted across the marble.

The second caught rounds in shoulder and flank: his arm detonated at the socket in a wet pop, ribs caving inward like tin under a hammer, lung tissue shredding into pink froth. He spun wildly from the impacts, trailing an arc of arterial spray, before slamming face-first into the floor.

I traversed the minigun right, finger locked on the trigger.

Five more had stacked behind a towering marble statue—some classical deity, priceless and pristine seconds ago. Now it disintegrated under the tungsten storm, pulverized to powder and flying chips.

The barrage struck them waist-high first, marching left to right. Pelvises shattered like porcelain; torsos separated from legs in obscene folds, intestines uncoiling in steaming ropes. I raised the barrel a fraction—fire climbing through chests.

Ribcages burst outward in bloody blossoms, hearts reduced to pulp, arms torn free at the shoulders. Heads came apart last, skulls fragmenting into mist and bone confetti.

When the barrels finally spun down five seconds later, nothing recognizable remained—just quivering chunks of meat sliding into a widening lake of blood that mirrored the harsh floodlights overhead.

Across the courtyard, Ava moved like a storm given form.

She sprinted at a concrete pillar, planted a boot midway up, and vaulted into a twisting aerial spiral. Two guards swung their rifles to track—too slow. She landed cat-light behind them, vibro-knives whispering from their sheaths.

Twin diagonal slashes crossed in a perfect X. Both heads parted from necks with surgical grace, tumbling through the air still masked, while pressurized blood fountained six feet high from the stumps.

The bodies remained upright for a surreal heartbeat—nerves firing useless commands—before folding to the ground.

She hit the deck in a low crouch, rolled forward as incoming rounds snapped overhead. Came up inside the guard of a giant—six-five, three hundred pounds of armored muscle, built like a siege engine. He tried to club her with his rifle butt.

Ava seized the descending arm, redirected its weight, and drove her knee upward into his groin with catastrophic force. A wet, splintering crack echoed across the courtyard—pelvis fracturing, testicles rupturing in a dark bloom across his pants. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

She was already moving. Both knives surged upward beneath his jaw, punching through soft tissue, tongue, palate—deep into the brain. She twisted the blades viciously, churning gray matter into ruin.

His eyes rolled white. When she wrenched them free, he dropped straight down, a marionette with severed strings.

Three more closed from separate vectors—tight, professional spacing, rifles barking coordinated fire.

Ava didn't engage. She snatched a grenade from her belt, armed it with a bite on the pin, and lobbed it high overhead.

Then flipped backward, rolling behind a fresh corpse as the grenade arced down toward the trio.

The grenade burst at head height, precisely above the trio's advance. A shaped, military-grade frag charge—thousands of razor flechettes erupting outward in a lethal cone.

The center man simply ceased to have a torso. His chest cavity flowered open in a violent bloom of ribs splayed like broken petals, organs shredded and flung outward in wet ropes. His arms pinwheeled away, trailing severed tendons and arteries.

His legs remained upright for a dazed second—nerves still firing useless signals—before buckling.

The flanking pair took the blast full in the upper body. Heads vaporized into crimson aerosol, necks terminating in jagged, spurting stumps. The decapitated bodies stood absurdly erect, blood jetting rhythmically from severed carotids, until gravity reclaimed them and they toppled like felled trees.

I pressed forward through the slaughter, minigun heavy in one arm. A knot of six guards scrambled to deploy a rocket launcher—priority threat.

From thirty feet, I hosed the tube. Rounds struck the warhead dead-center.

The secondary detonation was cataclysmic. The rocket's payload cooked off in a roaring fireball, engulfing the crew. Bodies disintegrated mid-motion—limbs sheared, torsos burst open, chunks hurled in every direction.

A severed arm thudded down beside me, fingers still curled around a trigger assembly.

A leg smacked the mansion facade with a wet crunch, embedding in the stucco. A limbless, headless trunk—nothing but ribs and spine—cartwheeled across the manicured lawn before coming to rest.

The minigun's belt clacked empty. I let the weapon fall, vibro-knives sliding into my palms with a hungry hum.

More rushed the breach—fewer now. I'd tallied thirty-eight in this wave; only ten or so remained upright, weapons still spitting defiance. The rest painted the grounds in abstract red.

One tried cunning over courage. He hauled a fresh corpse in front of him like a macabre shield and shuffled toward Ava while she slammed a new magazine home.

She spotted him, reload incomplete. No hesitation—she hurled the half-loaded pistol like a tomahawk. It cracked into the bridge of his nose, cartilage exploding in a spray of blood. Vision blurred, grip faltering, the body-shield dropped.

Ava surged inside his reach in two fluid strides. Her clawed gauntlet flashed upward, carbon-tipped talons punching clean through his vest and into his abdomen.

She triggered the integrated taser.

A million volts surged through him. His body locked rigid, muscles seizing in violent tetany. Smoke poured from the seams of his vest as wiring cooked. Synthetic fabric melted into flesh; blood vessels ruptured beneath the skin in blooming purple webs.

His eyes rolled white, then burst—vitreous jelly streaking his cheeks like grotesque tears.

She tore her hand free in a gout of charred viscera. He folded to the ground, limbs still jittering with aftershocks.

I ghosted toward the final cluster—five guards huddled by the mansion's grand entrance, resolve cracking into retreat.

I denied them the option.

A blur of motion closed the gap before they could track.

My right knife carved horizontally—monomolecular edge whispering through two necks in a single, effortless arc. Both heads parted cleanly, thumping to the marble steps while their bodies remained standing, confused nerves still holding them upright.

The third swung his rifle like a desperate club. I intercepted the barrel one-handed, wrenched it free, and reversed the weapon in a brutal pivot. The stock smashed into his face with piledriver force.

His skull imploded inward—nose driven backward into brain matter, cheekbones shattering and collapsing, forehead caving in a depressed crater of bone. He was dead long before his corpse followed the momentum to the ground.

Only two remained—and the night was far from over.

The fourth broke ranks and bolted. I flicked my wrist—knife spinning end-over-end in flawless rotation.

It struck square between his shoulder blades, monomolecular edge parting armor and bone like tissue paper. The blade punched through his spine, severing the cord in a clean snap. His legs folded instantly; momentum carried the rest of him forward into a brutal face-plant.

Teeth shattered against marble with a sound like breaking glass.

The fifth froze, rifle sagging in his grip. He stared at me, eyes wide behind cracked goggles.

"Please," he whispered. Young voice—barely twenty-five. "Please, I—"

My remaining knife slid upward under his sternum in a single, practiced thrust. The edge found his heart, split it neatly in two. The organ seized, failed. His eyes bulged; mouth worked soundlessly, bubbling crimson. I withdrew the blade with a soft twist, and he crumpled, already gone.

Silence crashed down over the grounds like a guillotine.

I scanned the carnage. Ava stood near the eastern wall, chest rising and falling in controlled rhythm, drenched in blood that wasn't hers.

Bodies lay in heaps—some still twitching, most not. Blood had gathered in every depression, forming shallow scarlet lakes that mirrored the merciless floodlights. Organs glistened in scattered clumps, pale against the dark grass. The air reeked of iron, excrement, charred meat, cordite, and the sharp bite of ozone.

The exterior looked like the aftermath of an extinction event. We'd erased nearly thirty men in under three minutes. The arithmetic was monstrous.

"Exterior clear," Ava called, voice steady across the killing field.

I turned to the mansion. Its grand doors yawned open, exhaling darkness thick with promise of worse things to come. Volkov waited inside. Maybe Dmitri. Maybe more.

"They thought fifty-five outside and an army inside would be enough," I said.

Ava approached, methodically checking magazines, slotting fresh ones home. Gore coated her nano-suit in thick sheets, but the self-cleaning layer was already activating—blood beading and sliding off like mercury. "They thought very, very wrong."

I smiled. "They really did."

We advanced together, boots sinking into viscous red, stepping over torsos and severed limbs without breaking stride. The slaughter behind us faded into the night.

The true hunt was just beginning.

Volkov was inside.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

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