The moment Soliman decided to pull the sniper's trigger, the specter vanished from his crosshairs as if it could sense the predatory gaze fixed upon it. Soliman watched, jaw tight, as his target defied gravity, scurrying up the building's wall with the unnatural ease of a gecko.
He tracked the creature, preparing to fire where it should be, when a frantic voice crackled in his earpiece.
"[Boss! Apartment nine, second floor! That's where it's heading!]"
"[I'm on it,]" Soliman clipped back.
He realized then that the charred entity had sensed him. He wouldn't catch it while it was scaling and maneuvering at that impossible speed. Stepping back from the ledge, he gripped the heavy rifle in one hand and moved toward the roof's access door.
No—he didn't head for the door itself, but for the pool of ink-black shadow cast beside it.
His grey eyes bled into a milky, solid white, merging with the sclera until his pupils vanished. With the rifle still in hand, he stepped into the darkness and became part of it. He only needed to know the destination; he would greet the burning wraith with a muzzle flash before it could even set foot in the apartment.
But luck was not on Soliman's side. Inside that apartment, a mother was preparing lunch. A stove was lit.
Before the entity even crossed the windowsill, it exerted its will over the open flame. The kitchen erupted. Fire roared to life at the exact microsecond Soliman materialized from the shadows.
He had a fraction of a heartbeat: take the shot at the specter, or save the woman standing in the center of the inferno.
The man with the white eyes didn't hesitate. He lunged, dragging the woman back with violent force. The stunned mother had no time to process the stranger's sudden appearance or the nightmare climbing through her window; the gas explosion tore through the flat in seconds.
The blast threw them both backward. Soliman rolled, absorbing the impact, but the woman's head slammed against a table. She slumped, unconscious.
As the scorched monstrosity stepped into the burning room, Soliman caught it off-guard. A shot rang out—the bullet grazed its charred temple. Close, but not enough to end it.
Suddenly, Soliman felt his consciousness fraying at the edges.
He had suspected it before... the monster possessed a dual nature. It wasn't just fire; it was something far more lethal to a man like him.
Despair. It forced its victims to relive their darkest agonies, amplifying them until they choked on their own memories.
Soliman ground his teeth. His deepest sorrows, buried long ago in the cold earth of his mind, began to claw their way to the surface. In the few seconds of lucidity he had left, he reached toward the shadows dancing under the flickering flames.
A shadow stretched across the floor, reaching for the door handle.
Click. The door swung open.
Simultaneously, he fired again. The violent recoil of the modified sniper—a beast of a weapon designed to kill things that shouldn't exist—wrenched his shoulder from its socket. A sickening pop echoed in the room. He wouldn't be using that arm for a while. If he survived at all.
He was counting on his terrified teammate to snap out of her shock and finish this before they were all consumed. He knew Lina was currently beyond his reach, but he trusted her. He had nothing left but trust.
This time, the bullet didn't take the head; it shattered the specter's shoulder.
The distant screams of two children reached his ears from one of the inner rooms. After that, his mind went foggy. It wasn't Soliman who moved next... or at least, not the conscious version of him.
He snatched a fallen knife from the floor. But instead of stabbing the vulnerable enemy before him, he reversed the blade, pressing the cold steel against his own throat.
Any other man would have driven the blade home, but Soliman's hand shook violently. Two opposing forces fought for control of his limb—one pushing in, the other pulling back.
A distant voice pierced through the deep layers of his fading mind: "Kids! The kids!"
The voice was familiar. But it wasn't Lina, the one he had been waiting for.
It was Mariam. The newest addition to his unit.
'What... are you... doing here? Why... didn't you... run?!'
His awareness was slipping further away, a side effect of his power which demanded he surrender a piece of his soul to the dark. The struggle intensified. His thoughts swirled, mimicking the rasping hiss of the specter that now invaded the core of his brain:
"N... o... o... n... e... l... e... a... v... e... s!"
It was a simple hiss, but in Soliman's mind, it was a thunderous, terrifying shriek. The knife pressed harder. A thin thread of crimson bloomed against his collar, staining the suit already scorched by the heat.
In that terminal moment, a scent hit him.
A scent he would never forget. Mint.
It was followed by a sensation of pure moisture. A refreshing, chilling wave of water, smelling of the deep ocean and mint, flooded over him. Half the fires in the room recoiled instantly—not as if they were merely extinguished, but as if they were afraid of the water that had appeared from thin air.
Soliman's mind snapped back. As the flames receded, the crushing weight of despair loosened its grip.
He seized the opening. He lunged at the charred wraith, which was momentarily distracted by Mariam—the epicenter of the floating water.
With a singular, desperate thrust of his knife, and a simultaneous strike from a green blade wreathed in an eerie, sickly aura, they hit the same mark.
The specter collapsed.
It didn't just die; it dissipated, leaving nothing behind but a pearl the size of an orange. It looked ominous, as if a silent fire was burning eternally within its core, its surface etched with pulsing black cracks.
"You're here... finally," Soliman grunted, his voice laced with silent reproach as Lina stood over the remains.
"You're like the police in the movies... showing up when it's over," he joked weakly. His eyes were slowly fading back to their natural color, the milky fog receding.
"Sorry... I was late," she whispered, her voice heavy with frustration as she sheathed her sword.
"No time for that. Help Mariam and the kids out before the fire gets out of control again."
He gestured toward Mariam and the children, then moved to the unconscious woman, hoisting her up with his good arm. Fortunately, the sirens of the ambulance and the fire department were already wailing outside, ready to help them...
"Clean up?" I finished the sentence for her.
"Yeah."
That was the exact story she told me.
I have to admit... she was very good at storytelling. Especially the action sequences.
But how did she even know the story from Soliman's perspective?
"How did you know what happened with Soliman?" I asked.
"I... asked," she replied simply.
I wasn't convinced, to be honest.
But in short... they weren't the incompetent team I had first imagined.
It turned out that each of us had done what we could... in our own peculiar way.