Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence, blood, and emotional trauma related to injury and death.
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Third Person's POV
...Continuation of the flashback...
Miracle's breath caught in her throat as she stepped into the carnage.
BANG!
Another gunshot rang out from somewhere deeper in the building.
Her feet pounded against the blood-slick floor, her heart slamming against her ribs.
"Miracle, wait!" Draven shouted, but she didn't stop. The others chased after her.
They reached a lone steel door at the end of the corridor. It was partially open, its hinges bent like something—or someone—had forced their way inside.
Miracle pushed it the rest of the way open.
Inside, a man stood in the middle of a wrecked command room, lit by flickering lights overhead. His bloodstained uniform bore the Yellow Team's insignia, but it was his twisted grin that chilled the air.
"You might have control over this place… but not over everything," he sneered, his eyes drifting over the lifeless Blue Team soldiers at his feet, as if they could still hear him.
Miracle's eyes widened. "Barry."
Barry's gaze slid to her. "Ah, the people I've been waiting for."
Draven stepped forward, gun raised. "You should be dead."
Barry gave a crazed laugh. "And you should be on your knees. But here we are."
"Where is my sister?!" Miracle screamed, her voice ragged.
Barry only chuckled—and gestured toward the far end of the room.
There, inside a massive steel cage, several battered figures huddled together.
"Sathia…" Miracle whispered to the first person she saw behind the bars. Her eyes brimming as she ran to the bars.
"Miracle!" Sathia called weakly.
BANG!
A gunshot ripped through the air—Draven's bullet tore into Barry's leg.
But Barry didn't fall.
He only laughed harder.
"If I die now, one of yours dies with me," he hissed, eyes glowing with madness. "You think this ends here?"
"You've killed enough," Draven growled.
Barry limped closer. "You still don't get it, do you? She's dying, Draven. She's dying—and there's nothing you can do."
Draven's stomach twisted.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Zarya burst through the door and dropped three Yellow Team soldiers in a blink. Barry and the rest of his men fell next, taken out by a coordinated strike.
But the damage was already done.
"No…" Draven muttered.
"We need to move!" Zarya shouted. "Bombs are planted in the building. Five minutes, tops!"
Outside, more Blue Team soldiers closed in. Skye's voice crackled through comms. "If we engage now, we'll never make it out!"
Titus and Hermione covered the hallway, holding off incoming enemies as Arzhel and Augustine worked fast to break open the cage.
As soon as it gave way, Miracle darted inside, eyes frantically scanning each face.
"Where is she? Where's Micquel?!"
Sathia lowered her head, sobbing.
"M-Micquel…" Mexile rasped, barely conscious. "She… she went to the top floor…"
Miracle's heart cracked open.
"No…"
She bolted out of the room.
"Miracle!" Arzhel called, but she was already gone.
Zarya followed without a word.
And then Draven ran too—ignoring the pain in his side, the ache in his legs. He didn't care.
The building had six floors. They pushed upward, floor by floor, dodging crossfire and debris. The walls shook with distant blasts.
When Draven reached the fifth floor, he found chaos—Zarya and others locked in brutal combat. He joined in, taking down enemies one by one, carving a path through the madness.
But Miracle wasn't there.
He kept climbing.
The rooftop exploded into view as he kicked the final door open.
Gunfire roared.
Bodies littered the ground—Blue and Yellow alike. The sky was choked with smoke, the wind screaming around them.
And then—he saw her.
A lone figure at the center of the storm.
Katana in hand, drenched in blood, her stance trembling but fierce—Miracle.
She was screaming, swinging wildly. Blue Team soldiers dropped at her feet, but more kept coming.
Then—
Draven saw her.
On the ground.
Unmoving.
Micquel.
Lying in a pool of blood, her back soaked through with crimson.
"Micquel!" he screamed.
He tried to run toward her—but Miracle blocked the way, eyes wild with fury.
"Miracle!" he called out.
She didn't hear.
Didn't see him.
She was lost in rage, in grief.
Draven dropped his weapon.
And ran toward her.
Swish!
Agony tore through his side. Her blade had found him.
But he kept going.
"MIRACLE!" he roared, seizing her wrists.
She froze.
Her eyes met his—and suddenly, the world came crashing back.
Her katana clattered to the rooftop.
Tears streamed down her face.
"S-she saved me…" Miracle whispered. "She… she stepped in… and she…"
"She's gone."
And then—silence.
A strange gas hissed through the vents, creeping across the rooftop like mist.
Zarya stumbled.
Reznor collapsed.
One by one—they all fell.
Even Draven.
Even Miracle.
End of Flashbacks
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The present dropped into an eerie silence.
Sathia's voice was barely a whisper.
"…Micquel."
Everyone froze.
That name… it couldn't be.
Because everyone believed—
Micquel was supposed to be dead.
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