Nicole POV
The sounds of the struggle behind the door echoed through the store, sharp and full of pain. Jasmine's muffled screams mixed with the man's gruff grunts, sending a cold shiver down my spine. The tension in the air grew thicker as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable. My stomach twisted, the thought of Jasmine in danger filling me with dread. I can't just sit here. I glanced around at the others—some were nervously fidgeting, others standing completely still, unable to look away from the door.
Stacy... she was standing in the middle of the store, her gaze fixed on the door Jasmine had entered with the leader. Each scream and crash seemed to make her flinch, yet she didn't move. I could feel the disgust building inside me—how could she stand there, doing nothing? Was this my fault for leaving her behind? Should I have killed her back in Viktor's store?
No, I couldn't have known she would lead random people towards us. And now's not the time to sit here drowning in what-ifs. I need to act. Think, Nicole! What's the plan?
I looked around at my group. Mitch was glaring at Stacy, his face twisted with rage. Was he not expecting her betrayal either? It was the first time I had seen Mitch so angry, and honestly, it scared me a little. Giselle had tears welling up in her eyes, and Liam was murmuring quiet words of comfort to her. I tried to look away from them, but it was hard not to see their pain.
Two people shocked me with their reactions—Viktor and Sol.
Viktor remained unnervingly calm, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked on the door. His face was completely unreadable. I couldn't fathom how he was so calm, especially considering everything happening just behind that door. Wasn't he and Jasmine friends? Shouldn't he be more concerned?
"Viktor…" I whispered, barely able to breathe as my mind raced.
He shook his head, signaling for silence. "Wait."
His voice was so steady, it sent a chill down my spine. I couldn't shake the sense that he was calculating something, biding his time for the right moment.
Sol was still, too. His hands were bound behind his back, but I saw him testing the zip ties subtly. His face was calm, but I could see the flicker of concentration in his eyes. The struggle behind the door got louder—screams, grunts, and the ominous sound of bodies colliding with furniture. Come on, Sol, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then I saw it—the slight give in the zip tie around his wrists. One quick motion and Sol was free. He slipped his hands out effortlessly. Viktor's eyes shifted toward him, and a subtle nod passed between them. It wasn't long before Sol was working on Viktor's restraints.
Minutes later, Viktor was free, and the two exchanged a brief but understanding look.
"Let's do this," Viktor whispered, his voice low but urgent.
I wasn't sure what they had planned, but they needed to untie me too. Without me, we'd never be able to finish this.
Before I could speak, Sol was already moving. He drew a knife from somewhere—perhaps hidden on him from the attackers' sloppy search—and swiftly sliced through one of the men's Achilles tendons. The man staggered, and without a second of hesitation, Sol drove the knife into the man's neck. Blood spurted from the wound, painting the floor red, but Sol didn't flinch. His movements were precise, cold, and lethal.
Viktor stopped the body from crashing to the ground, gently laying the man down. Sol, already moving with precision, was looking for his next target. He didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he threw his knife at another man's throat before he even had a chance to react.
Sol took out two more men, swift and silent, as the chaos around him began to rise. But one of the men guarding the door noticed the movement.
"What the hell is going on?! How did he get untied?" the man yelled, confusion lacing his voice.
Then, the door slammed open, and there she was. Jasmine. Her face was smeared with blood, but her gaze was ice-cold, unwavering.
The man turned toward her in surprise, confusion flashing across his face. Then the next moment, a bullet tore through his forehead. He crumpled to the floor with barely a sound.
Jasmine didn't hesitate. She stepped back into the fray as if she'd never left, her eyes scanning the room with brutal efficiency. Without a word, she fired again—seven more shots in rapid succession, each bullet finding its mark. The men she shot fell immediately, their bodies dropping to the floor, one after the other, with clean, precise shots. The remaining attackers took cover, realizing too late that they were fighting a losing battle.
Jasmine threw the gun aside with a sharp motion, her focus already shifting. Without missing a beat, she launched herself toward one of the attackers, her knife flashing in her hand. She moved like lightning, her blade slicing through his throat before he could even make a sound. The man collapsed without a cry, his life extinguished in a single, fluid motion.
Viktor, calm as ever, was right behind her. His movements were methodical and precise. He used the axe he'd recovered from one of the attackers, each blow a deliberate strike. He didn't rush, didn't make mistakes. His methodical strikes incapacitated the next man in seconds, the force enough to leave the attacker crumpled on the floor.
It was almost like Viktor didn't want them dead immediately—he seemed to enjoy prolonging their suffering, making each hit count. The chaos of the fight, the blood, the violence—it didn't faze him. He moved with a cool, collected grace, an experienced hand at work.
The air was thick with tension, and the remaining attackers realized they were outmatched. The room had transformed into a battlefield, and we were winning. Fast.
Amidst the chaos, my eyes fell on the knife lying on the ground. One of the attackers had dropped it during the scramble, and it was just within my reach. My hands were still tied, but I kicked it closer, biting back the pain in my arms as I worked quickly. After a few tense seconds, the zip ties around my wrists snapped, and I was free.
I grabbed the knife, ready to fight. As quickly as I could, I passed it to Giselle, who didn't hesitate. There was no time for hesitation now.
"We move fast," I muttered to Giselle and the rest of my team who passed the knife around freeing themselves, my voice barely a whisper as I nodded toward the remaining attackers. "We finish this."
We didn't need to speak much—our actions spoke for us. With the others already engaged, we swept through the remaining attackers like a well-oiled machine.
As Viktor, Sol, and Jasmine continued to take down the attackers with cold efficiency, Giselle and I launched ourselves into the fray. I darted toward one man who was backing away, trying to escape the carnage. His eyes widened in surprise as I closed the distance, and with a quick swipe of the knife, I took him down. He collapsed without a sound, a clean cut across his throat.
Giselle was a whirlwind of movement, slicing through another attacker before he could react. Her strike was swift and brutal. Together, we moved, clearing the area with precision.
Liam and Sloan joined us next, both moving with the practiced skill of trained soldiers. Liam dropped one man with a quick jab to the ribs, following through with a devastating punch to his throat that knocked the life out of him. Sloan, never one to waste time, took on two men at once. His movements were sharp and controlled, his fist landing squarely on one attacker's jaw and sending him to the floor. Briar wasn't far behind, using his agility to close the gap on an attacker trying to make a run for it. With a swift kick to the knee, he brought the man down, finishing him off with a knife to the throat.
The rest of the team wasn't far behind, and quickly joined the fight, taking down the last of the attackers with a grim determination. The store was alive with the chaos of the battle, the sound of feet shuffling, knives slashing, and fists landing. We worked in perfect unison, and in moments, the remaining attackers were down.
When the last man fell, the store grew quiet again, save for the ragged breathing of our group. We stood together in the center of the store, surrounded by the bodies of those we had taken down.
I caught my breath, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through me. It was over. For now.
I looked at my status window, and a sense of accomplishment hit me.
100 EXP
Level Up!
100 EXP
Status | Inventory | Skills | Quests | Party (Locked) | Factions (Locked)
Status:
Name: Nicole Riley Brown
Level: 3 (175/400)
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Class: None
Title(s): N/A
Health: 140/140
Stamina: 140/140
Mana: 0/0
MP Regen: N/A
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 16
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 12
Perception: 14
Luck: 5
Charisma: 9
Instinct: 6
Willpower: 10
Morale: 8
Free Attribute Points: 5
Skill Points: 1
The room was still, and our breaths were heavy. Only Mitch's group remained tied up, their faces a mix of fear and disbelief.
I looked around at everyone—at the destruction—and sighed. "It's over. For now, we're safe."
Jasmine, wiping the blood from her knife, glanced at me. "Not quite yet. Where's my katana?"
"Here," Sol said, handing over Silent Fang and Whisper & Echo.
Jasmine checked the weapons, making sure they were in good condition, then sheathed them. Her movements were deliberate and cold.
"You alright?" I asked, walking toward her, and scanning her body for any injuries.
Her eyes were icy, and there was a silent rage radiating off her. She didn't answer me directly, but I caught her gaze lingering on Stacy, who was being dragged across the store by Viktor. Stacy was begging for mercy, but Viktor's grip on her hair was relentless. He threw her in front of Mitch's group, holding his axe against her neck.
"Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't know he was going to do that. Please, I'm so sorry! Mitch, help me, please!" Stacy's voice cracked with desperation as she scanned the room, eyes wild with fear, searching for any sign of mercy.
Jasmine, her voice soft but laced with indifference, asked, "Mitch, did you know about this?"
Mitch's jaw tightened, and he shook his head slowly. "No. I didn't think she was dumb enough to do this. She just joined our group recently, and clearly, she doesn't understand what happens to traitors." He bowed his head in regret. "I apologize. I will make this right."
Jasmine's gaze hardened, her eyes never leaving him. The only sounds filling the room were the groans of the men still alive and their weak pleas for help. Her expression didn't waver.
"You apologize?" Jasmine's voice was chilling, almost mocking, as she stepped forward. "Viktor, have I gotten soft? People must have forgotten who I am. I should remind them."
Viktor's grip tightened on his axe, his face unreadable as he pressed the blade further into Stacy's neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Da, too soft. We both have. It's time to fix that."
In the midst of it all, I felt a knot in my stomach tighten. There was a sickening feeling brewing in my chest as I watched everything unfold. I didn't know how to feel—my mind was a mess of anger, fear, and disgust. But mostly, I felt helpless. How had we gotten here? How had things gotten so out of control? It wasn't just the situation with Stacy—it was the overall sense of survival that seemed to consume us all. And in that moment, it felt like we were losing pieces of ourselves with every decision made.
Sloan, seemingly about to speak, was stopped by Hirose, who subtly shook his head. It wasn't the time.
"Mitch," Jasmine said, her voice cold and unwavering. "I trained you. Clean up this mess. But remember—there won't be a second time."
Mitch nodded, wordlessly holding out his wrists, awaiting someone to cut him free. Viktor tossed him a knife, and Mitch expertly sliced through the restraints.
He stood slowly, the knife in his hand, and moved toward Stacy. Viktor stepped back, allowing her to breathe a slight sigh of relief.
"Mitch, thank you," Stacy gasped, her voice trembling with gratitude. "I didn't know... I just wanted you to be the leader. I know you'll never let goblins do that to women. You understand what that's like... what could happen to a woman who's been through that. Your mother went through it, and no one should have to. You're not like the rest of those selfish bastards. With you as leader, we can get out of here. I did it all for you. I love you."
Mitch's face softened for just a moment, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he patted her head, caressing her cheek. Stacy closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, her face a picture of relief.
But Mitch's smile faded quickly. "Stacy, do you know where you went wrong?" His voice was quiet but deadly. "It's because you started thinking. You didn't do this for me, for my mother, or for those women." His voice grew sharper. "I know you. You wanted me to be the leader so you could cling to power. Like a parasite. Did you really think I didn't notice how you were trying to sow discord within the group? You should have known your place."
Stacy's hands gripped his leg as she stared up at him, her face a mask of confusion and betrayal. But Mitch didn't hesitate. His knife flashed, and with a swift motion, he plunged it into her chest. Her eyes widened in shock and pain.
"Stacy, you had to know this was coming," Mitch murmured, his face blank as he drove the knife in deeper. "This is where you lost me."
Stacy's grip slackened, her body going limp as Mitch pulled the knife out and stepped back.
His eyes were unfocused for a moment, the weight of what he had just done settling in. But then, he looked back at Jasmine, as though seeking validation.
"I leveled up. I guess killing people is more efficient," he said, his voice flat. "I haven't betrayed you. I know my place."
"Good," Jasmine said, her voice as cold as ever. "Viktor, interrogate the ones who are still alive. Find out if they have a hideout. After that, everyone who didn't kill someone—go do so. Every person is worth 100 EXP. We need to get stronger. It's time people start assigning their stats. We're too weak right now, and some of you have become way too overconfident. We took out a few level 1 goblins and suddenly thought we were untouchable. But we almost got taken down by a bunch of nobodies, and that's surprising, considering most of us are former or current military." She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in, her gaze cold and steady. "Once we've looted the bodies and gathered the supplies, I want a full report on how this situation happened. Do you all understand?"
Viktor nodded without hesitation, his expression unchanged. He turned and walked toward the remaining prisoners, ready to begin his interrogation.
Sol started looting the dead bodies, but I noticed the frustration written all over his face—he was visibly upset. Josh, on the other hand, helped Liz, who was still crying, leading her to a corner to calm her down. The sight of her tears made my own heartache, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Mitch untied the rest of his group, then led them to another part of the store, presumably to start gathering supplies. I glanced at my team, who remained rooted to the spot, glaring at Jasmine. The air between us was thick with tension—anger, humiliation, and something else that I couldn't quite place. Hell, I was embarrassed too. How had we let this happen? Jasmine was right. We had let our guard down.
I met her gaze, and her eyes burned through me with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
"Why the fuck are you all still here?" she snapped, her tone venomous, like a predator sizing up prey. Liam, looking like he was about to speak, shot a glance at me, silently asking for some sort of validation, but I only waved him off.
He exhaled a heavy breath before nodding and walking away. Devan was still staring at Jasmine, but she held his gaze without flinching. Laney pulled him away, and one by one, the rest of the team followed, all of them avoiding Jasmine's eyes as if they were afraid of what she might say next.
Jasmine's gaze shifted, and I felt the weight of it on me. She didn't even need to speak for me to know what was coming next.
"We need to talk," she said softly, but the chill in her voice sent a shiver down my spine.
Before I could respond, a scream pierced the air—sharp and guttural. I turned toward the sound, and Viktor was standing over one of the prisoners, a cruel smile on his face as the man begged for his life.
I swallowed hard. Yes, we definitely needed to talk.