Mostang burst into the warehouse they were hiding in—out of breath, face pale, hands shaking.
He was.. spying. In the last battle. Secretly
Emma turned to him.
No fear.
No panic.
Just a calm question.
Emma: "Where is she."
Mostang couldn't speak at first. He was swallowing air like he was drowning.
Everyone felt something was wrong.
The silence dragged.
Then he finally forced the word out—just one word.
Mostang: "Dead."
The word hit the room like a gunshot.
No one screamed.
No one spoke.
It was worse than that.
Kane's eyes filled instantly. He didn't bawl—he cried quietly, like a child trying not to make noise.
Diana turned away and covered her face with both hands, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Celeste took a deep breath, didn't look at anyone, and walked away—because if she stayed she'd break.
Carlo just stared at the floor. Not moving. Not breathing. As if shutting down was the only way to stay alive inside.
And Emma—
Emma didn't move.
She didn't blink.
Her chest didn't rise for a moment.
It looked like nothing was happening.
But something inside her just snapped quietly and perfectly.
---
Valeria didn't die pointlessly.
Her final stab had weakened Roland's artery.
He was bleeding—and bleeding fast.
Word spread through Vencor's ranks. Rumor became fear:
"Roland is wounded." "Emma's group killed Valeria for time." "They must be planning something bigger."
And Carlo—who was monitoring the cameras—noticed something:
The medical facility Emma targeted is where Roland is forced to go.
He'll be vulnerable.
He'll be slowed.
He'll be cornered.
Emma didn't ask how.
She didn't ask for details.
She just stood up.
No tears.
No shaking.
No expression at all.
She spoke with a voice empty of warmth:
Emma: "We move now."
Kane wiped his face.
Diana dropped her trembling hands and nodded.
Celeste returned without a word.
Carlo packed his tools.
Mostang tightened his gloves.
They didn't move because Emma ordered them.
They moved because they saw her eyes.
There was nothing in them anymore.
And that terrified them more than Roland ever could.
---
Silent March
They mounted the motorcycles again.
This time, no talking.
No banter.
No music.
No yelling.
The engines roared like distant thunder.
Diana rode beside Emma, but didn't look at her.
She didn't need to.
She knew.
Emma wasn't riding there to fight.
She was riding there to end something.
---
Connection to the Larger Story
Selene hears about Valeria's death through Owl scouts.
And for the first time, Selene realizes:
Emma can't be touched.
Not by manipulation.
Not by seduction.
Not by power plays.
Emma is someone who will turn grief into war.
Aria hears the news.
She tells the council:
"Do not interfere.
This is not war.
This is Emma's retribution."
Vencor hears Roland was wounded.
He begins preparing defenses.
He thinks this will slow Emma.
He does not understand Emma.
---
And Emma says nothing.
No sadness. No anger. No words.
Just one quiet thought:
"You killed my equal."
And for Emma—
that is enough reason to burn an empire.
---
The air was dead silent.
Twenty of Vencor's soldiers stood guard around the courtyard of the abandoned medical compound. Their rifles were raised—until they saw who Emma was walking toward.
Then they saw Roland.
Not the legend.
Not the monster.
But Roland—bandaged across the chest, sitting on a broken chair, blood seeping through the wrappings.
He looked up and lightly smirked when he saw her.
Roland: "Finally."
He stood, slow, controlled, like a beast remembering pain.
The men behind him stiffened—ready to swarm Emma.
But Roland inhaled deeply and ROARED:
Roland: "STAND DOWN!!
MOVE BACK!!
TELL VENCOR—
I'M FIGHTING EMMA ALONE!!!"
The men froze.
He didn't repeat himself.
They backed away, fading into the building shadows.
Not because they respected Emma.
But because Roland ordered them.
And a command from Roland was absolute.
---
Emma didn't look at the soldiers.
She turned just enough to speak to her team—not looking at any of them directly.
Emma: "Spread out.
If anyone interferes… end them."
Diana nodded once.
Mostang cracked his knuckles.
Celeste was worried, but ready
Kane wiped his eyes and stood tall.
Carlo tapped into the security feeds.
They fanned out, forming a perimeter, watching everything.
Now—
It was only Emma
and Roland.
Two figures.
Standing in the open.
Like fate had arranged this day.
---
Roland lowered into a stance.
His body was worn.
Bleeding.
But still heavier, stronger, brutal.
Roland: "Your friend fought well.
She earned my respect."
Emma did not react.
Not even a flinch.
Roland's smile faded.
Roland: "Don't pretend it doesn't hurt.
She died for you."
A breeze passed.
Emma spoke—not cold, not angry.
Just empty:
Emma: "She died believing in me.
You—
died the moment you touched her."
Roland's jaw tightened.
No more talking.
---
The Death Battle Begins
Roland charged first—faster than a man his size had any right to be.
Emma slid back, feet light, posture sharp, reading every movement.
His fist swung—like a hammer meant to break bone—
Emma's body dropped low, spinning past him, blade glinting—
Roland pivoted, using his weight, his elbow smashing down—
Emma blocked with her forearm—shock running through her bones—
They separated.
Dust rose.
Roland grinned.
Emma's eyes stayed dead.
They clashed again.
Roland hit like a collapsing building
Emma moved like a knife in the dark
Every strike shook the ground.
Every dodge was millimeters from death.
Roland grabbed Emma's arm—
and THREW her into a wall hard enough to crack it.
Emma stood.
No sound.
No expression.
Her lip bled.
That was all.
Roland wiped his chest wound. Blood dripped.
Roland: "You're weaker today."
Emma: "I don't need strength to kill you."
Her voice was flat.
Like a sentence already decided.
---
Roland laughed once—and charged again.
Their silhouettes collided under the ruined lights—
Emma ducked under his punch—drove a knee into his ribs—
Roland coughed blood—didn't stop—
His fist slammed into her shoulder—bone nearly snapped—
Emma spun, slicing her blade across his chest—
Right across Valeria's wound.
Roland gasped—
Stumbled—
Emma stepped forward.
Slow.
Controlled.
She whispered—not emotional.
Emma: "She wasn't weaker than you.
She was better."
Then she drove the blade into his heart.
Emma:"smarter."
No hesitation.
No rage.
Just execution.
Roland's eyes widened—just a little.
He didn't fall.
He sank to his knees.
His final words were quiet, almost relieved:
Roland: "You… really are… Vencor's legacy…"
Emma leaned down close.
Emma: "No.
I'm the end of it."
She pulled the blade out.
Roland collapsed.
Dead.
---
The wind stopped.
Emma didn't look at the body.
She didn't look at her team.
She simply said:
Emma: "We're not done.
We go after Vencor next."
Her voice had no life.
And everyone felt it:
Emma didn't want revenge anymore.
She wanted eradication.
She walked away.
.
.
.
The air shifted instantly.
Emma didn't see it coming.
Roland, fueled by raw survival instinct, snapped forward, his massive hand clamping around her neck from behind.
Her feet left the ground.
Roland (gritting his teeth): "Thought it would be that easy, huh?"
Emma's eyes narrowed, veins popping at her temples. She could barely breathe, but her mind raced.
She twisted her body sharply, driving her elbow backward into his ribs. Roland grunted, but his grip didn't loosen.
Emma's other hand reached instinctively for her blade—she slashed upward, slicing through the air near his chest, just enough to make him stagger.
He growled, throwing her into a wall again.
Dust and debris rained down. Emma slid down the wall, landing on her feet. She wiped the blood from her lip, breathing hard.
Emma: "You… never… learn."
Roland charged again, faster than before, his hand swinging to crush her skull.
Emma ducked, rolled forward, and kicked off the ground, flipping behind him and landing on his back. She drove her blade into his shoulder, but he didn't falter.
Roland spun violently, throwing her off like she weighed nothing. Emma hit the ground hard, rolling, and sprang back up.
Her mind was razor-sharp, every second calculated.
Emma (cold, whispering): "If I don't end you here…
you'll keep killing, keep hurting…
and Valeria's death will mean nothing."
Roland turned to face her, bleeding, smirking through the pain.
Roland: "I am stronger than you… always have been.
And I will survive you."
Emma's eyes darkened. Every movement, every breath, her aura screamed death.
This wasn't just a fight.
This was a clash between legacies.
One driven by destruction and survival, the other by vengeance, grief, and cold calculation.
And in the silent tension before the next clash, the world seemed to hold its breath.
---
The battlefield was silent, littered with debris, blood, and the echoes of war. Emma's team had retreated; she and Roland faced each other alone. The sun slanted through broken windows, catching on Emma's eyes—icy, focused, deadly. Fighting. For a whole day.
Roland smirked, wiping blood from his face. "You think you can beat me, little girl?"
Emma's gaze didn't waver. She tightened her fists. Her breathing was controlled, calculated. Every muscle coiled.
Without warning, Roland lunged. His fist smashed toward her head like a hammer. Emma ducked, barely avoiding the strike, and drove her elbow into his ribs. He grunted but didn't falter.
He grabbed her wrist mid-motion and twisted, trying to rip the knife from her hand. Emma used her free hand to stab his forearm, forcing him to release her. He staggered, blood running down his arm, but the smirk never left his face.
Roland charged again. Emma sidestepped, slashing at his leg, then jumped off a wall, delivering a kick to his chest that sent him crashing into the floor. Dust rose in clouds. He rose quickly, shaking his head, his grin widening.
Roland: "Not bad… but it takes more than that to kill me."
Emma's eyes darkened, the calm assassin she always was replaced by controlled fury. She rushed him, ducking under his swing, her blade slicing at his arms, ribs, and chest. Each strike precise, but Roland blocked most, shrugging off the pain.
Roland grabbed her mid-spin again, throwing her into a wall. Emma hit the concrete, scraping her back, but she rolled to the side, coming up low, sweeping his legs. Roland stumbled but regained balance instantly, swinging wildly.
Emma dodged, danced around him with fluid, deadly grace, landing blows to his stomach, shoulders, and jaw. Blood spattered both of them. His smirk faltered—he had underestimated her.
Emma (whispering): "You don't get to hurt anyone else… not her… not Valeria…"
Roland roared, swinging violently, his strikes faster, harder. Emma blocked and countered, but one strike hit her shoulder, cutting deep. She ignored the pain, adrenaline surging.
Then, the turning point: Roland rushed at her one last time, aiming to crush her with a punch that would end it. Emma sidestepped, grabbed his head, flipped onto his back, pinning him to the ground.
Blood coated his face. His body struggled beneath her. Emma's eyes were wild with rage, shaking from the intensity, the years of pain, loss, and betrayal.
Emma (shouting, voice trembling with fury):
"You killed her!
My first friend in prison!
My equal!
My FRIEND."
Her fists rained down on Roland's face, each punch faster and harder than the last. Blood spattered, teeth shattered, his face contorted in pain and disbelief.
BLOOD SPLASHES EVERY PUNCH.
Roland tried to rise, tried to fight back, but Emma's grip and rage were unstoppable. Every punch was pure vengeance, every strike a culmination of all the pain she had endured.
Roland's smirk disappeared. His movements slowed. Each blow crushed his defenses, smashed his jaw, broke bones. Blood pooled beneath him.
Finally, Emma stopped, panting heavily, fists dripping with blood. Roland was unconscious, beaten, broken, defeated by the raw force of her anger. Hatred to gangsters. And her anger. For losing a close. Friend
Emma stood over him, chest heaving, body trembling—but her eyes burned with ice. She had won.
But. at what cost?
"Valeria. Without you. I'd never won."
"rest. in peace."
Suddenly.
Emma felt a hand pat on her shoulder.
She spun aggressively.
She felt. Valeria's soul
Emma. Remembered their moments together.
Their happy memories.
She walked. Away from roland.
Going back to her team.
Blood dripping. Behind her.
Without Valeria. Emma never had the chance. To win.
Chapter.
.
End.