"I thought you'd die in the artillery barrage," the voice echoed—a familiar sarcasm laced with bitterness. I stood cautiously, trying to shake off the pain in my injured leg, squinting through the haze to see who was behind those words. My heart raced as recognition hit me.
"Arthur," I growled, rage bubbling beneath the surface. "Why?"
"You left me for dead, that's why." His eyes glinted with malice, and I sensed the weight of our shared history hanging heavily in the air.
"We came back! But you were nowhere to be found!" I shot back, my voice a mixture of anger and sorrow. The remnants of our past played like ghosts in my mind.
Arthur's expression hardened as he dismissed my plea. "While it's too late for regrets, Alex, I put the Ashon Order behind, just like you did me."
He raised his pistol with a steady hand, and I felt the very air around us grow tense. "Before you kill me, I'll take you down to hell with me," I sneered.
Before he could pull the trigger, I ducked instinctively, reaching for the flare I kept tucked in my pouch. In one swift motion, I struck the flare and launched it out the nearby window, its bright light cutting through the darkness.
"You know, Alex, you're one tough, lucky son of a bitch," Arthur remarked, his voice dripping with disdain as he pulled the trigger. The shot whizzed past me, narrowly missing its mark.
"What can I say? Lady luck loves me, Arthur. But I can say the same thing to you," I retorted, fueling my resolve as I grabbed a stack of papers from the nearby desk and hurled them at him, creating a makeshift smoke screen to obscure his vision.
As the paper billowed around us, I pushed an office chair toward him, disrupting his balance. Arthur stumbled back, firing blindly through the haze. One bullet grazed past as I rushed closer.
"Damn it!" he cursed, just as the chair collided with his leg, knocking him off balance.
In that moment of chaos, I seized the opportunity to appear behind him, my heart racing with adrenaline. I grabbed his arm, but he retaliated, striking my injured leg with a harsh blow, forcing me to let go with an agonized cry.
"Aughh!" I grunted as he threw me over his shoulder like a rag doll, his grip unforgiving, and the world spun around me. Just as he positioned his pistol to take aim, a sharp pain lanced through my knees—seizing the briefest moment of clarity, I knew I had to act fast.
With an instinct born from desperation, I seized Arthur's combat knife from his right thigh. As I hit the ground, my body reacted with cat-like reflexes. I swung the knife blindly behind me, adrenaline fueling every ounce of my strength. The blade connected with flesh and bone—a satisfied grunt of pain escaped his lips as I felt the knife bite into him.
"Damn you!" Arthur spat, stumbling back as I scrambled to my feet, shaking off the dizziness.
In the chaos, I could sense his fury mounting, but so too was my resolve. This wasn't just about survival; it was personal now. I stood ready, prepared to fight for my life, for my friends, and to ensure that Arthur would not take a single moment from me any longer.
As we both caught our breath, I could see the flickering light of the flare illuminating the tension in the room—a symbol of hope and defiance.