It was hell. I stumbled about, watching a bike barrel into a different squad's lieutenant. The poor fuck painted the ground red as his body tore across the ground under the wheel of a bike. Blood flew in the air as the Crimson Eagles lived up to their names—starting this fight off with boards and pipes. They tore into our gang like a starving dragon at the zoo devouring meat. Tristan barked orders, pulling back some of the dumb fucks who’d almost run off to join the brawl out the gate, citing our need to maintain defense.

Someone got whacked in the face with a pipe—his jaw hung loose. Another took a sharp nail to the gut. Disgusting, and if it weren't for the pure adrenaline in me, I might have puked. As it was, this was by far, the most straight-out-the-gate violent fight I’d witnessed in a street fight. Which didn't bode well, since things only could escalate further. Till gave the call to pull back into the garage. His eyes were wide and that breezy smile of his transformed into a thin line of worry. I didn’t fancy dying to these assholes but helped fend off some of the attackers as a group of our guys close to the entrance also pulled back.

I slammed a fist into someone's nose, elbowed a Crimson Eagle in the kidney, and bought some time for a couple of ours. Rushing back as Tristan barked our return order; leaving two squads out there without support.

We pulled the garage doors shut. Captain Till lingered in the door—his Soul Manifesting in a burst from his shadow and barreling out into the street fight. A minute later more of our gang began to scramble in, given a chance to break off from the brawl with the Captain’s intervention.

Not much of a breather, but the Crimson Eagles would take a minute to organize before doubling down. I grabbed a board, slamming it against a window as one of my squad-mates hammered it in. Working quick and sloppy, just getting something up while Till bought as much time as possible.

A chorus of pain drifted in from outside. I did my best to ignore it, scrambling like a rat to reinforce this shit-hole. Through a window, I caught flashes of Soul Ability's clashing, but nothing could handle the Captain’s Soul tearing into the bastards. If I’d had to bet, I’d definitely say he’d broken into the Refined Soul stage, or close to it. They didn’t come prepared to deal with a real cultivator. One of the Crimson Eagles tried to slip past the Till and took a swift kick to the groin.

A hand burst through the crack in the boards on the window I was at. Without thinking, I snapped my teeth and bit the bastard who dared, hearing a satisfying yelp as they yanked away their hand.

Then it happened. Till disengaged from the main doorway and slammed it shut. We were as fortified as we could be. The Crimson Eagles shaved off at least a third of ours to the brawl outside. Didn’t seem good. The Captain kept his eyes on the entrance.

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Fists pounded the doorway—followed by threats, banging of weapons, and even a flash or two of Soul Abilities. This had been a miscalculation and based on the expression of the rest of my Division, they knew it too. We expected trouble. Expected angry Crimson Eagles, but not this much, and not this fast.

The light from the burning bikes flickered outside, making its way past the makeshift boarded windows. Highlighting the occasional shadowy figure of a Crimson Eagle searching for an easy way in.

Captain Till pulled back to the center of the room. Tristan called for half of our squad to retain position around the captain—including me.

Till looked intense, eyes shadowed as he no doubt felt his Soul still raging outside. Struggling to fight them back. But how long could he hold on alone like this? Already beads of sweat began to run down his brow. It must take quite a toll to Manifest a Soul that strong for so long—and for it to be in constant action, no doubt sustaining injuries.

I’d heard getting damaged through your Soul affected your concentration and fatigued your body. But I’d never seen it so intense before.

Till swayed on his feet as the banging against the front door intensified.

And then a hammering burst behind us—wood splintering as a door in the back slammed open. A rock flew into the garage, catching a guy in the chest and throwing him a good five feet into the ground. He gasped, breath a shaky rattle as the boulder clanged against the ground.

More guys with Soul Abilities. Crap. They’d been fast to break through our least defended area.

Tristan gestured to them, telling our squad to intercept—everyone else was far too busy maintaining defense around the windows and bracing for the eventual breach of the front entrance. Crimson Eagles had begun to break through some of the boards with broken pipes, and bats.

I lagged behind the other guys on our squad, Tristan considered me a bit risky, and I wanted to take in the state of our front defense. Romeo always preached ‘awareness on the battlefield’

At the moment our lines were about to be overrun on that side of the building.

Then I saw a flash of steel as Tristan darted towards Captain Till. My jaw dropped as I witnessed my lieutenant bury a spring knife into Till’s back. Before the poor guy could yell out for help, Tristan clamped a hand over his mouth. Retracted the blade, then slunk in it again, and again. Aimed directly for his lungs. It may have only been three seconds—but it felt like an eternity.

Finally, Tristan released his hand over the Captain’s mouth. The light in his eyes faded away as Till slipped to his knees. Tristan put distance between himself and the captain—blade closing shut and shoved in his pocket. His eyes did a quick scan—before landing on me.

I’d been staring, with a dumb expression on my face and my mouth wide open.

Tristan frowned. There wasn’t a doubt. I saw it in his eyes. He knew I knew. Everyone else in the garage was in a desperate bid of trying not to get their face bashed in by a Crimson Eagle to see what had happened.

Tristan cupped his hands around his mouth, “They killed the Captain! They must have a cultivator!”