✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧
The gun is heavier than I expect. My hands shake, but not from fear- something sharper, hotter. Rage with a pulse of its own.
My father stands across the ruined floor, he looks almost bored, like this is just another performance. Another audience. Another execution for sport.
His smile is slow. "You came back, my little Lila."
I felt disgusted.
I lift the gun.
For a second, he thinks I won't do it. He always miscalculates me.
The shot cracks through the room.
He staggers, one hand flying to his shoulder as blood spreads between his fingers. He doesn't fall. Of course he doesn't. He just stares at me- almost proud. That hurts more than anything else.
I would shoot again, but the moment collapses.
Syndicate reinforcements flood the hall like a tide of armed bodies. I spin, aim, fire- one, two, three- just like Dante. But there are too many. Hands grab me from behind. Someone slams the gun out of my grip. My knees hit concrete.
"No!" I thrash, clawing at the floor, at the arms dragging me backwards. My father is slumping against a pillar, bleeding, but alive. Alive.
A hand clamps over my mouth.
They pull me towards the far exit. I twist just enough to see it-
A team of Syndicate operatives wheeling in industrial blowtorches.
Fuel tanks.
Ignition sparks.
My chest caves in.
The heat blooms instantly as flames roar to life, hungry and merciless. They sweep them across the room, burning everything- every piece of evidence, every memory, every ghost.
They're torching the whole place. Erasing it. Erasing me.
"Dante..." His name slips out against the gloved hand muffling me. I don't know if he's inside. I don't know if he got out. I don't know anything except the fire roaring louder than my heartbeat.
The Syndicate drags me into the blinding white of the corridor, and the last thing I see is the inferno swallowing the world behind me.