Blood coated her hands, her clothes torn, but she moved like a storm unleashed. One by one, the men around her fell, groaning and screaming as she broke through their lines. She didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Not until the baby in her arms was safe.
More than fifty men lay unconscious or worse. Her chest heaved, her vision blurred with sweat and blood, but the baby's small, fragile form pressed to her chest kept her moving forward.
A another woman moved through the shadows with a man beside her, followed by three others. Their steps echoed between the bodies scattered across the ground.
The woman clicked her tongue, eyes sharp. Clara! really more than I thought, she muttered, annoyance sharpening her voice.
Her tone lashed out like a blade.
"She's here—definitely here. Whatever. Her husband is already dead, so Clara should be dead too."
She turned her head slightly.
"Damien."
The man beside her stepped forward.
"Go kill her, Damien."
Damien smirked, confidence dripping from his voice.
"Don't worry. No matter what, Clara and her baby are definitely dead meat today."
But before his words settled, the woman snapped—louder, sharper, colder:
"No. No—no matter what, the baby must be fine. Got it?"
A heavy silence dropped. Even the three men stiffened.
Her command was final.
The night air was thick with smoke and chaos as Clara raced through the dark streets. Ahead, an old, abandoned house loomed — her only chance. She pushed open the creaking door and slipped inside, clutching the baby tightly.
"Don't worry, sweet heart," she whispered, pressing the child against her chest. "You'll be okay. Even if I… even if I don't make it, I'll protect you."
From the shadows outside, the voices of her pursuers rang sharp and desperate.
When she saw! Three figures emerged, relentless, dangerous. Clara's eyes narrowed. She ducked behind the doorframe, her hands shaking but refusing to let go of the baby.
"Clara! Are you there? Clara! Where are you?"
A door slammed. "Clara! Are you there?".
"She heard a soft, worried voice. Her hand froze on the door handle. Heart pounding, she slowly opened it."
Clara's hand brushed the baby's tiny cheek. "Ethan… you have to take him. Now. No matter what, save him. Please."
"No, Clara! Come with me! We can run! We can go somewhere safe!" Ethan pleaded, his voice breaking through the chaos.
She shook her head, whispering something he couldn't hear clearly. Her eyes flicked to him, pleading silently. "Go… take him… keep him safe."
"No! Clara! I can't leave you!"
"You must!" she whispered. Her grip faltered for a heartbeat, then she pushed him away. "Go! Run! Now!"
Ethan hesitated only a moment before obeying. He ran, blindly, his legs burning, his lungs screaming. He ran until the chaos of the old house was behind him, until he was far away, somewhere the night swallowed him whole.
Only when he stopped, crouched beneath a tree, did he dare to glance back. The old house was a shadowed silhouette in the distance.
He could hear the screams, the crashing, the desperate fighting behind the door. And then… a gunshot.
No… Clara!" he whispered, falling to his knees. His hands trembled, his chest tight with grief. Tears blurred his vision as he stared at the old house.
He looked down at the baby in his arms. Small, innocent, unaware of the horror around him. And in that moment, he made a choice: he would survive. He had to.
He ran, not knowing where he was going, only knowing he had to get the baby to safety. The train station, the city, anywhere far from the carnage. He ran until his legs burned and his lungs screamed.
Behind him, the night swallowed the old house and the screams faded into silence. But in his heart, the memory of Clara's sacrifice, her whispered words, and the baby in his arms would never fade.
Ethan had survived. And he would protect this child… no matter the cost.