Konrad charged downstairs like a howling banshee.
It must have confused the mercenaries as they completely froze, and—
He cut down two before they finally reacted.
Knocking a third off the stairs, Dmitry got that one with a thunderous shot. By the time the last one got his bearings and aimed at Konrad's chest, he was about to strike him as well.
His machete was faster than the merc's finger on the trigger.
"All clear," Konrad yelled, and the Captain shouted back the same.
"Fuck, that was close," he panted when they met. "And the counter's still not on zero."
"Well, it should be on one," Konrad pointed out, wiping his blade on one of the corpses. But yeah, the eight, his PDA was showing, was still too much for comfort.
"It's fine, it's fine," Dmitry said, though it felt like he was trying to convince himself.
He looted the corpses—dropping their guns on the top floor in a neat pile.
"So much stuff," he panted, evaluating his haul. "Once this is all over, I'm gonna sell these, and we'll buy back your gems or whatever. Don't you worry, kid."
Not that he was worrying about that.
"Didn't you want to keep 'em, though?" he asked, counting eight of those SG 550s.
"Nah," the Captain said with a lazy wave. "The ammo would bankrupt me here. It's three times as expensive as the ones my AK fires, and they're rare, too," he explained.
"Not more expensive than your .50 BMG, I assume," he noted, but Dmitry shook his head.
"This baby is set up for the Soviet 12,7 mm," he pointed out, patting his Gapard. "That's a longer cartridge. And sure, it costs me five dollars each, too, but I won't spray it all over the place."
Yeah, that did make sense.
He shot like, what, ten times so far? And half of them left an ugly corpse behind.
"Do what you want," Konrad shrugged. "But we've got to get the hell out of here first."
The Captain forced a grin, still panting.
"Relax. Nobody can touch us up here now."
Famous last words.
And before Konrad could scold him for such an obvious death-flag—
A loud thump proved him wrong instead.
He acted more from his instinct than reflex.
Tackling his friend, knocking him over, landing on top—
And a grenade exploded high above them a split second later.
Whoever sent it must have overshot, but it was still raining shrapnel down.
Nothing that his Mama's Beads won't handle, but it was burning a hole in his skin now.
"Shouldn't have said that," Konrad groaned, and that wasn't even the end of it.
White smoke flooded the staircase with a loud hiss.
They were anything but untouchable in there.
"Fuck," Dmitry grunted, pushing his living shield off. "I'll handle the grenade launcher, you cover the stairs," he said. "I might've underestimated their arsenal, but this is ridiculous."
Well, this was their life now.
Under siege at the top of a barebones building, with their PDA showing a number way too high.
Eight. Scratch that. It jumped up to nine.
"This was the last time I let you convince me of anything," Konrad moaned.
Rolling his shoulders, he got ready to dive into that smoke and cut whoever tried to climb up.
The mercenaries and their fancy Swiss rifles were still at a disadvantage in a melee after all. But if he had to keep that artifact on for another minute, he would have died from the heat alone.
"Wait, hold on," Konrad froze, looking over the concrete floor. "Where did it go?!"
He still had his Mama's Beads, of course. It would have been hard to miss.
But he also took off the Stone Blood earlier.
Now, it was gone.
The neat pile the Captain had built from the loot was in a complete disarray, too.
"Fuck," he grunted with the realisation. "The explosion must've knocked it off the roof."
"Knocked out what?" Dmitry asked, already at the edge, to hunt for the grenade launcher. "We'll worry about stuff later, kid. Survive first. And cover the stairs, remember?"
Right. Right. He had a job to do.
He could already hear the heavy boots trampling on the concrete.
They didn't have to wait long for the smoke to spread. And since Konrad no longer had a spell to blow it away, he had to use it to his advantage instead.
As soon as he spotted the first barrel poking through, he lunged into action.
A glancing hit made his artifact even hotter, but it saved his life yet again.
The mercenaries weren't that lucky.
He cut down one before pushing the rest back.
And hearing the familiar thunder, Dmitry must have found the grenade launcher as well.
If only he had the time to check the PDA's counter—
But he avoided yet another shot by a hair's breadth, and pushed down one more enemy.
"What the hell, it's still eight?!" the Captain yelled, not even into the radio this time.
Eight what? People in their proximity?
It didn't make sense. Wasn't a platoon supposed to be twenty-four men?!
Well, he had some more chopping to do first, and he'd count them later.
The bark of an AK had already caught him off guard, but no bullets hit him this time.
Wait. Weren't these guys using silenced SIGs?
"Oh, that did it," Dmitry said. "Keep going. Only six now."
Huh? But Konrad didn't even—
No, he had to focus.
All those movements and his swings made the smoke thinner, and before he realized, a merc got a clear shot at him. He had no chance to dodge that, hearing the rifle fire—
But again. It was way too loud.
And—how did he survive that?!
"Cat One, this is Wolf One," the radio cracked to life. "Thanks for your patience, guys. We ran into some problems, but we'll take it from here."
Yuri. He had already forgotten.
They got so taken in by Dmitry's drunken rant that the Wolves offered their help, too.
Well, those two at the bar did, at least.
But they said they'd go around the Wild Territories to flank the enemy and—
"You sure did take your sweet fucking time," the Captain moaned into the radio. "And here I worried about the numbers on my PDA. Damn it. This was way too close."
And given that he said that—
Was it over?
"Wolf One and Two, coming up the stairs. Don't shoot," Walther radioed.
And Konrad let out a long, tired sigh.
They survived. Somehow.
"Man, that was a nice save still," Dmitry said, appearing on the stairwell behind him. The smoke finally dissipated, too. And those two have approached with the widest grin imaginable.
"Glad to be of help," Yuri smirked. "I thought you'd finish by the time we arrive."
Konrad couldn't believe it.
This firefight was way too intense. The artifact was still burning his body, and—
He pulled out his PDA to make sure, in case something didn't add up.
But no. The radar showed four people.
Wait, what? It shouldn't have counted him—
Three green dots, and a red one.
"Hold on," he yelled, but it was too late.
With the smoke gone, he could finally see it, too.
A surviving mercenary, lying on the stairs and aiming his pistol at them.
The first round passed through Konrad's vest as if his artifact wasn't even there.
And before the Wolves peppered the guy with their AKs in response—
He had emptied his entire magazine.