CHAPTER 189
Vextral didn't wait for sight to return—he moved as if the darkness were a curtain he could part with a thought. In that black nothing, sound sharpened: boots scuffed, breaths hitched, and a dozen panicked hands fumbling for weapons. He heard the soft curse of men who'd thought themselves hunters, the scrape of a dropped rifle, and a breath too late.
When the lights snapped back, the corridor was a tableau of ruin: bodies slumped against counters, twisted on the floor, and weapons scattered and useless. No neat bullet holes; no theatrics—just the sudden, absolute end to every threat that had dared interrupt him. The lab coats and the mercs were still, limbs splayed, eyes staring emptily. Vextral stood in the center of it all, immaculate and unmarked, gun hanging loosely at his side like an afterthought.
