In the black heart of winter's night, the flames below painted Kiev's eyes with their furious light.
From where he and his team stood on the ridge, they watched the inferno devour the slave market they had targeted.
Even behind masks, their eyes glittered as the fire climbed. Screams and frantic shouts carried up the hill in desperate, fearful howlings.
Figures darted through the chaos, some clutching their meagre possessions, others fleeing with nothing but their lives. The stench of burning timber and flesh stung, thick and acrid in the cold.
Despite the desperate attempts to douse the flames, the fire spread with unrelenting hunger, leaping from stall to stall, building to building, consuming everything in its path.
Smoke rose in heavy grey billows, blinding eyes, burning throats, and choking lungs.
Trapped within the mounted barricades set as a trap, the remaining slave traders scrambled like cornered beasts.
