RALPH'S POV:

With each heavy footfall, my frustration mounted, the anger boiling beneath threatened to overwhelm me. I clenched my jaw, fighting to rein in my emotions. This is very unlike me, but I can't help it. I just can't stand Blade. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to avenge my brothers right now.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I focused on my breathing, in and out, in and out. I counted to ten, slowly and deliberately. Trying to relax my muscles with each breath, to let go of the tension that was building in my body.

It was difficult, but I managed to regain control. Forcing myself to think rationally, to assess the situation calmly. It's far too delicate a situation to let emotions get in the way.

Calm and collectedly, I continued counting the beats and spacing between each footfall, my ears straining to pick up any more familiar sounds. I could hear the distinctive rhythm of Blade's footsteps as it was a pattern I had memorized over the years.

Right at that moment, the memories came flooding back, a mosaic of images and sounds from a time long past. I remembered the day I first realized I could identify people by their gait. It was back in my early years in the military, during a grueling night march in the mountains. As we trudged along, I found myself unconsciously analyzing the footsteps of my comrades, trying to distinguish one from another.

At first, it seemed like a pointless exercise, but as the hours passed, I began to notice subtle differences - the way someone shifted their weight, the cadence of their steps, the sound their boots made on the ground. It was my way to stay alert. I told the drill instructor about it after we went back to camp, and that day for the first time, he praised and smiled at me, he had a look on his face that screamed, 'I've hit the jackpot.'

The next day, it was part of our drills. He insisted that it was a valuable skill for any soldier. Since then, he would often have us practice identifying each other by our stride alone, even in the most challenging conditions.

With practice, I became remarkably adept at identifying people by their footsteps. A skill that later proved to be invaluable during covert ops and recon. I could tell the difference between a friend and a foe, a comrade and an enemy, simply by the way they moved.

. .

With each footfall, I calculated the timing and spacing, piecing together a mental picture of the approaching force. There were three of them, unmistakably.

I focused on the subtle differences between their strides, the way each man carried himself. One had a slightly heavier gait, while the other tended to lean forward more. The third, the leader, had a more relaxed stride, a hint of swagger in his step. Instantly, I knew it was Blade.

As they passed by the crevice and underbrush, weapons scanning around cautiously, a familiar voice crackled through Blade's radio, slicing through the air like a knife.

My heart nearly skipped a beat as it cut through, momentarily unsettling me. A quick wave of relief flooded over me as I realized it was coming from mine.

"Yes we've found a way to get down there. We're now closing in to retrieve him, Ma'am." Blade's voice rang out from just a few feet past the crevice, further confirming to me that it was indeed him. Not that I'd be wrong.

"Empty a mag in him for me, hun. We cannot, and I can't stress this enough, take any chance with him." The female voice commanded with malice.

I could my muscles tensing up with a potent mix of seething anger, raw hurt, and burning hatred. It was the voice of the woman who betrayed me, the Vice Commander of my team. Every word she uttered was like a dagger plunging into my heart, leaving a trail of agony that seared through my soul. I swear the sound of her voice struck a chord deep within me, igniting a fire of anger like I've felt before. Fucking bitch. I always found her high voice annoying.

Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to let all hell loose on these men, just one more trigger and I might not be able to hold myself back.

"Make sure TAOS is nothing but a memory." She added, and she continued to give him instructions and he kept his head down, nodding and taking it in like the dog he was.

What a fucking hoo ha. I always knew him and Castillo were loyal to her, unnaturally so, but seeing him sucking up to her with my own eyes makes me want to get back up that cliff and dive head first, like a Northern Gannet.

Once, this man nearly killed me. And here he is, groveling like a dog.

I held my position, biding time and listening in on their conversation for anything valuable.

"Have you seen this cliff? The Captain's probably dead already Ma'am, this cliff's surprisingly high." Blade replied callously, dismissing any notion of my survival with casual indifference.

No motherfucker, I'm not. But you will be.

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"You must be joking or downright foolish, Blade." Viper retorted sharply, her tone hinting disdain. "Remember why he's called TAOS." She commanded the cuck with authority. "He's not just a survivor, he's a legend. A literal manifesto of an urban legend, the kind you only read about in books. No mere fall can take him down. You know better than to underestimate him." Every syllable she spoke bore an authoritative edge, yet it carried an undertone of reverence as she spoke of my reputation.

"You just finish the job, and make sure it's done right, Blade. Better to get him while he's still disoriented. It's a harrowing ordeal to face the full fury of that lunatic. As for Mamba and the rest, leave them to me."

"Understood, ma'am." Blade replied with reluctant hesitation, before putting the radio back as they continued their march. I know her words struck the fear of God in Blade's heart. I'm not too surprised to be honest, having witnessed me in action, he couldn't shake the chill creeping down his spine. Regardless of their numbers and home ground advantage, he couldn't help but feel like the prey in this deadly game.

Meanwhile, I reached the decision to finally take action. I listened as they neared the foot of the cliff, Blade whispering instructions to the other two. Since they're past the crevice, I silently slid out the crevice and followed through the underbrush until I was near the cliff's foot as well, just a few feet away from them.

Blade appeared to sight first, flanked by the other two, his hand raised in a signal for them to stay back as he stepped forward. Unlike Blade and me, who wore well-worn camo, these two were dressed in the pristine black tactical vests of private military contractors, their company insignia standing out against the otherwise dark gear.

They moved liked they had something to prove-rifles held too high, fingers resting stiffly above the trigger guard, not the instinctive grip of someone who'd been under real fire. Their eyes were constantly shifting, never resting on one focal point for too long. They were alert, but not with the confidence that came from experience. No, their alertness was frantic, uncertain, the kind of energy that gets you killed in the field. They didn't carry that sense of calm, the internal clock that ticks when you've spent too many hours in hostile territory.

"Judging by the disturbed foliage and the fresh scree at the most likely impact site, its clear our target was here very recently. The uneven distribution of the rocks and the broken branches suggest a desperate struggle as he tried to regain his footing." Blade informed his men of his observation, to which they nodded in agreement.

"He fell off the cliff and landed right here," Blade continued. "We need to search the area carefully. He might be injured, but he's still injured."

He wasted no time and finished issuing his instructions. They were about to split up and begin thoroughly searching the area, when I sprang into action from the right flank, I was a bit slow and held back but I moved with precision. Very easily the distance between us was closed. First I struck the temple of my handgun against the man's skull, delivering a devastating blow to the side of his head. The force was strong, rendering the man unconscious instantly, before he could even react.

As the man slumped to the ground, I quickly turned my attention to Blade, who was caught off guard. His rifle lifted, but not fast enough. I stepped in close, hand wrapping around the barrel. A quick twist, and the rifle spun free from his grip, clattering to the ground before his stunned eyes.

Blade, momentarily stunned by the speed and skill of my disarmament, is left momentarily vulnerable, his gaze locked on the now-empty space where his weapon once was. He instinctively jumped back, creating space between us and reaching for his secondary weapon.

He is so disorganized, maybe Viper's words got to him a lot more than I thought.

As for the last guy, Blade was finally out of the way of his shot. I used Blade's slightly larger body frame as a cover while disarming him for the time being. Everything is so much easier when you know your opponent…now that Blade is out for a few seconds, I lined up my pistol with cat like reflexes and without hesitation squeezed the trigger. A muffled crack pierced the silence as my shot finds its mark, bringing down the man on the left flank without a sound, a gaping hole in his forehead marking the end of his life.

Now to handle this trash…

Blade, you know damn well how this ends, we both do. Your endgame will be to somehow have us standing off in a knife fight…maybe then you'd have a chance at beating me. Well I hate to break it to you, buddy.

My attention was now on Blade who was now armed with his own pistol. My anticipation proved invaluable as he tried to bait me by faking a shot, in an attempt to disarm me. I intercepted his 'shot' with a deft maneuver, deflecting it away from my face. I grabbed a hold of the hand with pistol and twisted it with all my might, forcing it around in a sickening 360-degree rotation. His bones cracked and popped, blood seeping from the wrist, and his pistol clattered to the ground. He let out a blood-curdling scream as his wrist throbbed with agonizing pain. I looked in him dead in the eye with cold indifference as I used the temple of my gun to 'brush' his teeth, knocking a few teeth out mixed with blood.

Doesn't feel good to be on the receiving end, huh? Now what more can you do, now that you can't use your blades?

He was caught off guard again, by my unpredictability and agility, all his mental preparation proving to be futile. He desperately tried to regain control, despite his inconveniences, but I remained relentless, not giving him the space to fall back and regroup. As I came close, he retreated backwards. It worked the first two times, it won't work a third.

I launched myself forward, closing the gap between us in a heartbeat. Then, like a serpent striking its prey, my legged snapped out, connecting squarely with Blade's unsuspecting knee. The sickening crunch of shattering bone and tearing ligaments filled the terrain. He let out an agonized scream as his leg buckled beneath him, crumpling under the devastating force of my attack. Blood sprayed across the floor like crimson raindrops, painting a macabre tableau against the backdrop of our violent struggle.

The resulting agony echoed through the clearing as Blade emitted agonized screams, cursing me through his bloodied mouth with a desperate, "You son of a bitch!"

As he staggered onto the ground from the blow, clutching the ruined limb in shock and pain, I wasted no time in pressing my advantage. it was like I zoned out, my only objective was to bring him down and progress my plans.

I initiated a sweeping kick to his other foot, hastening his descent. He teetered on the brink of collapse, by this point, I was so high on adrenaline that I could swear my body was moving on its own. My reflexes surged with near superhuman speed and I descended upon him with a ferocious volley kick to his helmeted head, the impact rendering his unconscious mid-air. Blade's head emitted a sickening thud upon striking the ground.

He crumpled, unconscious at my feet. Without a second glance, I put two shots in his man's skull, holstered my pistol, and turned back to his broken body. There was still work to do.