Chapter 17

The day after the events in the skyscraper, I was supposed to pick Rion up at the airport in sunny Miami. However, for the first time ever, he broke our agreement. I waited longer than expected, hoping that he was just having trouble with transportation or something, but he never showed up.

Without Rion, my situation was about to take a serious nosedive. It was terrifying to even imagine that he might have intentionally stayed away. Even worse was imagining myself in his position. If someone had taken away my Ella and held her captive for thousands of years, what would I have done in that stairwell? And would I still want to protect a loser like me, who not only got kicked out of the "White Archive" but also caused him to lose the one chance he had to reunite with his beloved? Rion had already endured so much with me—what if he now blamed me for his inner torment and didn’t want to see me anymore?

These thoughts weighed me down, but I chose to stay optimistic. I decided that, just in case, I would land in Miami every day at noon. The next day, as I followed through on my decision, an unsettling thought occurred to me—if I kept landing at the same time, in the same city, every day, Ari would soon catch on to the pattern and set a trap. But fortunately, that same day, the problem resolved itself.

Rion appeared just as I stepped out of the plane. This time, the blue glow emanated from the eyes of a two-meter-tall muscle-bound giant. If he'd had these proportions during the skyscraper fight, Ari probably wouldn’t have been running so quickly across the roof after the helicopter.

Still, I couldn’t help but notice that Rion wasn’t too thrilled to be back on board with me. When I asked about his delay, his answer was curt—"had things to do." The whole next week, he remained consistently grim and silent. He would often stare off into space, rarely initiated conversation, and flat-out refused to discuss what had happened. No matter how tactfully or from which angle I approached the subject, the only thing I managed to get out of him was the name of that woman—Lina. On everything else, his answer was always the same—"none of your business."

Regardless, I wasn’t about to accept his refusals, though I did give him a bit of time to recover. I busied myself with a more pressing matter—the signing of the papers that would officially make me a member of the board of directors. This meant I had to once again set foot in that cursed skyscraper, something I was not looking forward to. The second time on the same turf, Ari would have learned from his mistakes and wouldn’t allow them to happen again. I needed to take extraordinary security measures, and the more I thought about them, the more impossible the whole idea seemed.

After several agonizing days of brainstorming, I came to a grim conclusion—the old meeting spot was no longer suitable, no matter how I looked at it. As soon as I solidified that thought, another idea came to mind—what if I changed the location of the upcoming event? Then, I had a stroke of genius—what if we held our gathering on my private island? It would be far harder for the enemy to reach than any place on the mainland. Plus, there was plenty of space for maneuvering if Ari and his gang somehow managed to infiltrate the area. My “fortress” would do just fine for now. All that was left was to convince the other board members.

I was seriously concerned that my suggestion would be met with resistance, but to my surprise, I didn’t have to persuade anyone for long. I arranged a group video conference and vividly laid out all the benefits of the proposed change in venue. I even threw in a basic argument about the benefits of fresh air, something you couldn’t get in the metropolis. I also promised to arrange personal helicopters for everyone to take them to the island. The only person who tried to object was Vincent, but the majority’s opinion quickly drowned out his protests.

After agreeing on the dates, I got to work on organizing everything. Services, food, security, weapons, transport. Out of the five days I had for preparation, I made the absolute most of them.

***

Everything was ready for the arrival of the guests. The “palace” was guarded by 60 of the best fighters I could quickly find. Rion, naturally, took command of them. He briefed them and spread them out across the island, making sure they stayed as inconspicuous as possible to the company executives.

I waited for the arrival of the first helicopter on a neatly trimmed lawn, not far from the landing pad. I was scanning the sky with some anxiety, lost in my thoughts, when Rion silently approached from behind and stood next to me.

“Something’s happened,” he broke the silence, which he had rarely done lately.

“What is it?” I asked, looking up at him with concern.

“Ari. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s left this world and hasn’t returned for two hours. Up until now, he’s been walking the earth all week, but the moment we landed, he vanished. It’s strange.”

“Maybe he’s preparing for something extremely dangerous for us?”

“For that, he’d need a body at the very least. Without a vessel, he can’t harm you.”

“Or maybe he’s finally accepted that he won’t get to me and has decided to bow out?” I asked, more in jest than seriously. Although, it would have been nice if that were the case.

“Hell will freeze over before that happens,” Rion replied with absolute seriousness. Whether he missed the irony or just chose to ignore it, I could only guess.

His gaze shifted to the sky. I followed his line of sight and spotted a helicopter approaching in the distance.

“And here comes our first guest,” I stated the obvious.

However, the guest could very well be among the uninvited. Rion had good reason to be wary, as anyone could be inside that helicopter. Ari’s absence didn’t mean he couldn’t have sent some minions in his place. After all, his plan could very well be to take out one of the company executives, possess their body with his parasite, and bide his time. Rion would easily sense the approach of a powerful soul harvester, but when it came to smaller threats, he had more difficulty—and Ari knew that.

My guardian had anticipated such a scenario and had arranged a procedure for meeting the guests with me in advance.

As the helicopter landed, Rion approached it alone while I waited at a safe distance for his signal. He only needed to get within a meter of the transport to determine if anyone inside was an immediate threat. While I waited for his cue, I couldn’t help but worry—I really didn’t want our fears to be confirmed. That would mean yet another casualty because of me.

But, fortunately, all went well. Rion nodded at me, signaling that it was safe to approach and meet the incoming colleague. The first to arrive was Vincent. As he stepped onto the ground, he looked around with a sour expression, as if he’d landed in the dirtiest of slums. When he noticed me approaching, his face twisted with even more disdain for a brief moment, but the old man quickly composed himself and put on his business mask.

“Vincent, how’s life?” I greeted him, extending my hand.

“Fine,” he grumbled, returning the handshake, if you could call it that—more like he limp-wristedly offered his hand without bothering to apply any pressure.

The old man still stubbornly viewed me as some kind of deviant. I’d given up trying to convince him otherwise, and now that we were equals in rank, I figured a little teasing wouldn’t hurt.

“Meet my partner, Romeo Lopez,” I gestured to Rion. “The best in his field. Since he’s come into my life, everything has changed dramatically. He has such a passionate approach to his work. You couldn’t ask for a more loyal and devoted partner.”

Rion shot me a confused look. Watching Vincent’s reaction, I barely contained my laughter. He seemed utterly flustered, his shoulders rising and falling as if they were doing a workout. The old man opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Then his hand twitched—probably considering offering it to Rion for a handshake, but he changed his mind again. In the end, he just gave Rion a brief nod and quickly walked past.

I had no idea what to talk about with this guy. Luckily, I didn’t have to stay alone with him for long. Just a few minutes later, another helicopter appeared in the sky. We were joined by the best conversationalist among the company's executives—Peter. While we discussed the latest match, Vincent distanced himself by a few meters and lit a cigar.

Every 5-10 minutes, our group grew with new arrivals. First, Celia joined us, followed by the arrival of the "Witch." Out of the next helicopter stepped Harvey.

Despite all of us standing in a single circle, the conversations split into three smaller groups. Each member of the board despised at least two of their colleagues. It was like a kindergarten where the kids were forced to eat at the same table, but none of them liked each other. And it seemed I was destined to be their babysitter, tasked with figuring out how to get them to play nice.

More than half an hour had passed since Harvey's arrival, but the last guest was still nowhere to be seen. One of the few qualities that united the entire board was punctuality. Such a serious delay from a person of this caliber stirred unpleasant thoughts—thoughts of death and the possibility of his body being used as a weapon against me.

“Ryan’s really running late,” I said to Peter, glancing at my watch.

“It’s not surprising,” Celia interjected, having been chatting with the Witch before.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“His mother passed away this week,” Peter answered for her. “He was supposed to bury her yesterday, but things got messed up with the morgues. You know about that, right?”

“Know about what?” I asked, confused. “What happened with the morgues?”

“Don’t you watch the news?” Vincent turned to me. “They’re empty!”

I furrowed my brows, looking from one colleague to another. Their faces made it clear that I was the only one who hadn’t heard the big news. I hadn’t had time for news channels in the past six weeks!

“Three days ago, almost all the morgues in the state had bodies disappear,” Peter began to explain. “Hundreds of them. Ryan’s mother was among them. No one knows who might have taken them, and they still haven’t found anyone.”

Damn it! I need to drop that phrase—it's a bad habit. My eyes widened, and I looked over at Rion. He stood nearby and had heard everything. His face was just as concerned. How far was this scavenger Ari willing to go to finish me off?

“So, once again, I ask that we show some understanding and patience with our colleague,” Harvey said. “He’s going through a tough time.”

“It’s strange that hundreds of corpses disappeared, and no one saw anything,” Celia chimed in.

“Why ‘no one’?” Peter countered. “Some guy filmed a dozen half-naked people running out of a morgue at night.”

“Oh, come on! Are you seriously going to say you believe the corpses woke up and ran off on their own?” Vincent barked.

The women laughed. Harvey clearly wasn’t thrilled with the topic. But Peter, seemingly unwilling to let the hated old man have the last word, pressed on.

“I trust scientists, and according to them, we’ve discovered so many new bacteria and viruses in recent years that a zombie apocalypse is no longer pure fantasy.”

“A scientist friend of mine holds the same opinion,” the Witch unexpectedly supported him.

“Well, naturally!” Vincent responded with thinly veiled sarcasm. “How could it be any other way? No one stole the bodies; they just walked out of the morgues on their own two feet!”

The grumbling old man had no idea how right he was. In fact, the scientists weren’t far off either. But for the modern-day zombies, neither bacteria nor viruses were required. Peter likely didn’t believe in the existence of the undead, but arguing with Vincent seemed to be a matter of pride for him. Or perhaps it was just his way of having fun. The lively debate continued to escalate, and it looked like things might even come to blows. But, at just the right moment, Harvey stepped in to diffuse the tension.

“Hearing about zombies is certainly fascinating, but what do you say we check out that golf course you’ve been talking so much about?” he turned to me.

During the construction of my “palace,” I’d taken an interest in the noble sport, so I set aside a decent portion of land for a golf course. But then I had to admit I didn’t particularly enjoy hitting a tiny ball with a club. In the end, I didn’t become fond of the game, but I decided to keep the course. And it was worth it.

The Chairman adored golf. I knew this thanks to my spies, who had once gathered information on him. This knowledge partly helped me convince him to hold the signing ceremony on my island.

"While we wait for our colleague," Harvey continued, "I wouldn’t mind taking a few swings."

"Of course," I smiled. "The course is right nearby. Let’s go."

I led the procession and, with a barely noticeable motion of my head, signaled Rion to join me.

"That bastard has completely lost it," I said when we had fallen far enough behind the others so they couldn't hear our conversation. "All the morgues in the state. Hundreds of bodies. Isn’t anyone from your people keeping an eye on this?"

"It could be much worse," Rion replied. "If your friend didn’t miscount, that means Ari has broken the ‘First Law.’ And that’s a catastrophe."

"How the hell did he break it?" I didn’t understand. "What law?"

"The ‘First Law’ forbids lower forces from entering this world in numbers exceeding 66 individuals at a time. They put this in place right after the Great Flood. I can’t even imagine how he managed it."

"Well, isn’t that something," I said in surprise. "No one has ever gone this far for me."

"I’m no longer sure you’re his primary target. Maybe he left because there are more important matters."

Rion spoke with an annoyingly cryptic tone. One day, I’m definitely going to smack him for that.

"You’re talking in riddles again," I hissed. "What’s going on? Spill it!"

"It doesn’t concern you. Your task is to stick to the plan and not get distracted."

And for how often he gave that answer, one smack definitely wouldn’t be enough. That infuriating phrase made every muscle in my body tense up. If Rion weren’t my only hope of survival, and also a two-meter-tall giant... well, and if there weren’t a group of respected witnesses behind me whom I still had to work with, I’d have tied him up and forced him to talk. But instead, for the millionth time, I sighed heavily and tried to relax.

"Not bad at all," Harvey unexpectedly caught up with us. He was admiring the golf course, which fully revealed itself as we rounded the corner of the ‘palace.’ About 100 meters long and 50 wide—the most space I could spare on the island for this game.

"I was just explaining to my assistant where he can find the clubs," I said, giving Rion a demanding look. He clearly didn’t like my words, but after pulling an irritated face, he went off to carry out the task. I smiled to myself—at least I got some payback for his stubbornness and silence.

Ten minutes later, the equipment arrived. The Chairman demonstrated a series of quite impressive long shots. Vincent, proud as ever, claimed that it made no difference to him what kind of balls went into which holes. His first two shots sent the balls flying off the field, much to the amusement of the spectators.

I took a swing myself. I was far from Harvey’s results, but I still managed to bruise the pride of that unpleasant old man.

Time passed, and Ryan still hadn’t shown up. With each passing minute, my concerns grew. And they didn’t lessen one bit when, after half an hour of play, another helicopter appeared in the sky.

"Finally!" Vincent spat, tired of embarrassing himself in front of his colleagues with his crooked shots. "About time we got down to business!"

"It might be better if I meet him personally," Harvey suddenly concluded, putting his club back in its case.

"Absolutely not!" I blurted out without thinking.

"What do you mean?" the Chairman was surprised, as were the others.

I shot a worried glance at Rion. Letting Harvey go first to the helicopter was like playing Russian roulette with three bullets in the chamber. If the passenger of the aircraft turned out to be something intent on killing me, everyone in its line of sight would be in danger. That couldn’t be allowed.

"Well..." I began to fabricate an excuse. "From what I’ve learned about Ryan, he’s the kind of person who hates being pitied. He might sense that pity in your actions, which would make him feel even worse and..."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Harvey interrupted. "He’s going through a tough time right now, and we should all be there to support him."

The Chairman confidently walked toward the helicopter pad. The others followed without hesitation.

My stomach was performing a panic somersault as the helicopter, presumably with Ryan inside, hovered above us and began to descend. Harvey was ready at any moment to rush forward to meet his possible death. If something happened to him, my future would be in serious jeopardy. I was destined to take the seat of executive director under his patronage. My chances of success would plummet if the chairman had to be replaced due to a horrific death. With him, I had found common ground; would I find the same with another? And again, it couldn’t be allowed that an innocent died because of me.

The helicopter’s landing gear touched the ground. Harvey dashed forward. I watched his stride with tension, nervously clenching my fists as I contemplated the correctness of my inaction. And I didn’t like these thoughts at all...

To hell with Harvey’s desires! The risk in our case was anything but noble!

I turned to Rion, who was standing nearby, ready at any moment to protect me from a bullet.

"Get ahead of him," I whispered to him. "Quickly!"

I had barely finished my sentence when he already picked up speed to carry out the order. It took him just a few seconds to catch up with the chairman. With only two steps left to the transport, something frightening happened. Rion suddenly thrust his hand in front of Harvey, blocking his path, while his other hand grasped the gun under his jacket.

I instinctively ducked, expecting a terrible shootout or something of the sort. The helicopter doors slid open, and out came… Ryan. He looked tired, slightly pale, but without any weapon in his hands and with his usual eye color. He stared at Rion, surprised at his reaction. Rion was taken aback, studying the guest in return, as if pondering whether or not to shoot him. Choosing the latter option, he didn’t draw his gun and let Harvey go.

"Have you all gone mad?" the chairman exclaimed indignantly.

"I apologize," Rion muttered, adjusting his jacket.

"He’s been feeling unwell all day," I interjected, hastily stepping in to fix the situation. "I’ll take care of him."

After greeting Ryan, Rion and I stepped aside. He looked confused and kept glancing around.

"What was that all about?" I hissed angrily. "If you were planning to get back at him for the clubs, it’s not funny at all."

"I felt something," he replied seriously. "And I still feel it."

"Ari? Is he back in the game?"

"No. Something stronger," he said, looking around again. "It’s everywhere."

I wished I could joke and compare Rion to a schizophrenic, recommending he see a shrink, but it wasn’t the right moment. Something stronger than Ari! And everywhere! This information warranted serious attention. We stood still for long seconds, turning our heads like meerkats, scanning for danger. I would have liked to continue in that vein, but my strange behavior might have alarmed my colleagues. Plus, I shouldn’t delay the signing of the papers any longer.

"Alright, I’ll be in touch if anything..." I started to say goodbye to Rion, turning to my guests. But I froze, not taking a step. My guardian was staring at one point, looking off into the distance. I followed his gaze and immediately felt a slight chill creeping down my spine. Far in the sky, heading toward the island, another helicopter was flying.

"Are you expecting more guests?" Rion asked.

"No..."

From the left came the growing sounds of rotors. We turned our heads and saw another helicopter. The same sight awaited us on the right side of the sky.

"Did you buy grenade launchers?" Rion asked again.

"Yeah," I replied without enthusiasm. "They’ll be delivered tomorrow."

We exchanged foolish glances. It seemed the order for grenade launchers could be canceled. I suspected who was flying to us; the only inconsistency was the small number of uninvited guests. However, in the next moment, about ten boats appeared on the horizon, and any doubts vanished—inhabitants of the recently abandoned morgues were hurrying to my island. Considering that Rion managed to sense them from such a distance (perhaps the signal of their aura increased proportionally with their number), they were coming in full force.

"We need to get off the island immediately," I said in horror.

"No," Rion cut me off. "They've surrounded us, and you won't break through the ring."

"If I stay, a bunch of people will die because of me. There are hundreds of these creatures!"

"They're forbidden to interfere with the fates of those who are not their targets. Only soul collectors have that right. No one here will die except for you—unless, of course, the 'Fourth Law' is broken. But I’m sure it’s not."

"That’s fantastic news," I retorted angrily. "Couldn’t you have mentioned this earlier?"

"Take your colleagues into the house and start signing the papers. We’ll handle things here."

"Are you out of your mind!?" I couldn't believe my ears. "Nothing will get signed with me if a full-blown war starts outside."

"Then make sure they don’t find out anything. Come up with something. You’re clever."

With those words, Rion turned and quickly walked toward the armory, calling for people over the wireless as he went. I clenched my teeth in frustration but immediately pulled myself together. There was no time to hesitate. Pulling a tiny earpiece from my pocket, I shoved it deep into my ear and activated it. Then I put on a friendly smile and hurried back to the already waiting guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I suggest we head into the house and quietly get started with the planned agenda."

"Do you have more meetings today?" Harvey suddenly asked, noticing the approaching helicopters along with everyone else.

"They’re heading to the neighboring island," I fabricated instantly. "They often conduct various drills there. Nothing to worry about."

The fabrication worked; Harvey nodded understandingly. I led everyone toward the house, frantically thinking about how to keep them from suspecting what was happening outside the walls. With every step, several insane thoughts crossed my mind, the least wild of which was to lock ourselves in an underground bunker. But the trouble was, we had some pretty smart people in our group, and Harvey would probably be the first to realize something was off. If that happened, I could forget about his trust forever.

We crossed the threshold of the "palace," and I still didn’t know what to do or where to go. Standing still and contemplating would seem, at the very least, strange, so I confidently ascended the stairs. Logical reasoning came into play.

What do I have on the second floor in this part of the house? A bathroom, a gym, two bedrooms, a conference room, where I initially planned to hold the meeting. But it has panoramic windows facing the main clearing of the territory. If the creatures break in, and there are concerns they will, the council members will definitely see them in all their glory. I needed to ensure they remained unaware.

What do I have on the third floor? An office, two more bedrooms… the office! Of course! A spacious office with a wide table and sofas, and the windows face a piece of beach and the golf course. But most importantly, it has excellent soundproofing—close the windows, and not even the sound of a bomb explosion will get through. I had once looked at the builder like an idiot when he diligently explained the usefulness of the insulation. Good thing I didn’t care about the money, and I agreed to almost all of his proposals.

My step became more confident; now I knew exactly where to go. One more floor, and we arrived at our destination. We entered the room, I turned on the air conditioning, and checked that the windows were tightly closed. I glanced outside, but fortunately, I didn’t see any military actions. Rion still hadn’t activated the connection with me, which meant that for now, I was safe.

All I needed to do was to keep everyone in this room for as long as possible to give my people time to fend off the attack and clean up. It seemed like a trivial task, I thought, hoping that there would be quite a few papers to go through. However, when I turned to Harvey, I realized I would have to sweat it out here as well. He pulled out a rather thin stack of papers from his bag and announced:

"So, we need about 100 signatures from each of you. I think we’ll manage quickly."

"And afterward, I suggest we play some pool," Vincent decided to redeem himself after his golf fiasco.

I skillfully concealed my disappointment at the number of signatures (only a hundred! That’s a 10-minute job! What the hell, why so few!?). Instead, I smiled slightly and approached the table.

"Well," I said, "let’s get started with the reading."

To the slowest reading in the history of humankind.

***

The bodyguards hurriedly rushed to the armory from all corners of the island, where Rion was already waiting for them. One by one, they grabbed rifles, pistols, ammunition, and grenades that adorned every wall of the massive room. Once the last team commander arrived, Rion began a quick briefing.

"Four groups, each covering a designated perimeter. Don’t let the enemy land on the island. Shoot to kill."

"Who are we even dealing with?" one of the commanders asked.

"Amateurs, but crazy as hell. Not everyone has firearms; the rest will even throw punches barehanded. Aim for the chest or head; no wounded. Grab plenty of ammunition; there are a lot of guests."

"Should we call for reinforcements from the mainland?"

"I’ve already called," Rion lied. "But they won’t be here soon. That’s it; everyone to your positions and keep in touch with me!"

He was the first to dash outside, and the others quickly followed suit. The sounds of helicopters rumbled throughout the area. They were gradually joined by the roars of engines from the approaching boats. Rion could only guess how those bastards managed to steal so much transport. Even more troubling was the question of how so many monsters had breached this world. For millennia, the higher laws had been considered the epitome of reliability.

But one problem at a time. Laws weren’t his concern; protecting Leo was a different matter. Hundreds of killers were rushing for his soul. Most promised to reach the firing line within the next minute or two. But there were those who had surged ahead. They were on board a helicopter that had only a short distance to the island.

That’s where Rion started. He raised his rifle, quickly aimed, and immediately opened continuous fire. Every single bullet hit its mark—pierced the fuselage and then the windshield. They shredded the second pilot first, then the first. The control stick became unmanageable, and the aircraft veered off course. Rion didn’t stop shooting; the next to come under fire were the numerous passengers who foolishly opened the side door.

The transport spun on its axis, began to smoke, and holes appeared in the fuel tank. Someone leaped into the water at the last moment when the helicopter exploded with a deafening roar. What was left of it scattered across dozens of meters and crashed into the ocean.

Rion tossed away the empty magazine and replaced it with a new one. He hadn’t forgotten how to shoot accurately, which pleased him. Accuracy would come in handy today. And it wasn’t just one magazine that would soon be emptied.

***

I settled comfortably on the couch and read the contract with an air of importance. At some point, I thought my reading speed was a bit too fast—only one word per second. So I slowed down my pace, stretching each word to two or three seconds. By this time, the active members of the council had already signed half the documents. In the next moment, Sterva finished reading her copy and followed their example.

“How soon will you join us, Leo?” Harvey looked at me.

“Soon. I’m already on the sixth page.”

“Only on the sixth?” the chairman was surprised.

“I thought I was reading slowly,” Sterva chimed in.

“I’m absorbing every word,” I truthfully explained. “After all, I’m not signing up for a drawing club.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a copy sent to you by email?” Harvey questioned my sluggishness.

“I didn’t pay much attention to it. So it’s important to thoroughly understand each sentence now to avoid any disagreements later. Do you agree with me?”

The chairman raised his eyebrows uncertainly and returned to his signatures. I wasn’t interested in the essence of the contract at all—neither when I skimmed through the copy nor the original. I couldn’t focus on a single word I had read, as all my thoughts were about what was happening outside. Were any of my people hurt? Was Rion alive? Was the defense of the island going smoothly? And most importantly, what would I do if everything went completely sideways?

***

“Fire!” Rion bellowed.

Sixteen fighters, along with him, unleashed a burst of gunfire at the approaching boats. At roughly the same time, enemy fire began around the entire perimeter of the island.

“‘We shot down the chopper!’” someone from another group reported to Rion in his earpiece. “‘One boat down!’ ‘We sank a vessel!’”

The fighters, spread along the shore, fired in long bursts. Enemy transports turned to Swiss cheese one after another, losing their operators, veering off course, and capsizing. Creatures fell into the ocean by the dozens, some with bullet-riddled bodies, others whole.

Replacing another magazine, Rion spotted his next target. Without sparing any ammo, he emptied an entire clip into the boat. With the last shot, the vessel suddenly veered off and collided with an ally. A powerful explosion thundered, and a flaming body was thrown a good 30 meters away.

The first line of attackers was completely destroyed. However, at least two more were visible behind them. Rion was pleased with the defense's performance. If things continued this way, no one would even reach the shore. But, as is often the case, just as he thought of a successful outcome, the situation changed drastically.

The next wave of boats began to regroup. They formed into three rows, tightly packed together, instead of maintaining a horizontal line. It seemed they were only making it easier for the fighters to fire at them. But Rion immediately sensed something was off, and soon that feeling proved correct.

At first, everything went well—the power of sixteen automatic weapons unleashed on the first trio of watercraft. Each received over a hundred holes in their hulls. The two outer boats quickly lost control, pressed against the central one, and sped toward the island as a single entity. Finally, the center boat lost its driver as well. The formation swiftly broke apart, scattering in different directions. But behind them appeared a new trio, almost unscathed. They had only about 20 seconds left to reach the shore, which they likely wouldn’t have achieved without their new strategy.

The barrage continued with its former intensity. Hundreds of holes, malfunctions, turns, and capsizes. The second row fell faster than the first. However, the final, largest boat soon appeared.

Rion desperately opened fire on it, along with the others, though he knew full well it was too close and too big to deal with in time. As if ignoring the gunfire, the boat raced to the shore in three seconds, landing at full speed. It tore through the sand, sliding past the fighters shooting at it from all sides.

Suddenly, a dozen creatures with eyes in every shade of red burst from the deck. It all happened in an instant—one moment they were under fire, the next they were firing back. Rion barely had time to react to the return fire when one of the bullets pierced his body. He fell onto his back, a sharp pain searing through his left shoulder.

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For a terrible moment, he thought it was over for him. That this time he had let Leo down, lost his body, and had no chance to return and fix anything. After all, a vessel already used couldn’t be occupied again—breaking that law was harder than breaking the “First.”

However, the gunfire continued, the pain did not subside, which meant he had not yet left this world. Rion gathered himself, tightened his grip on his automatic weapon, and quickly assessed the situation.

The enemy had methodically and accurately fired at the people on the beach, gaining the upper hand. Half of the fighters lay on the sand with shot-up legs below the knees. The invaders had no right to kill them, but they could afford to incapacitate them without affecting the outcome with a wound.

Rion noted their unprecedented cleverness and ability to devise a rational attack strategy. From what were essentially tortured simpletons, Ari had managed to mold something resembling soldiers. This made today’s events even more challenging than initially anticipated.

After lying still for a few seconds, Rion finally jumped to his feet, raised his weapon, and fired several accurate shots. Three enemy heads aboard the boat burst with blood, pierced through by bullets, and vanished from sight. He rushed up to the vessel, tense as he tried to figure out how to eliminate the threat. How to climb three meters high when the ladder was only at the stern, from where the gunfire was coming?

While pondering, Rion began to circle the boat from the bow, when he suddenly encountered a new problem. No less than a dozen guests had skillfully exited their transport and were rushing toward the house. Without hesitating, the guardian aimed his automatic weapon at the fleeing crowd and squeezed the trigger...

Suddenly, someone lunged at him, pushing his weapon aside. The last magazine was wasted. With his wounded hand, he barely managed to deflect a knife thrust aimed at his head. The enemy barreled into him with his entire body; Rion stepped back, fell onto his back, but immediately kicked up and threw the opponent over himself.

Quickly getting up, he aimed his weapon at the attacker, pulled the trigger, but nothing happened—the bullets were gone. With dark burgundy eyes flashing, the foe lunged at Rion again with a knife. A pistol rested in the holster at Rion's waist, but he had no time to draw it.

The knife was instinctively deflected by the automatic weapon. Rion attempted to strike the assailant on the head, but the attacker swiftly ducked and, remarkably quickly, swung the blade twice. The first swing cut Rion’s leg, and the second left a red line on his cheek from a gash. Rion instinctively retreated, hitting his back against the side of the boat. Just at the last moment, he managed to pull his head back as the knife's tip struck the side of the boat with a clang, right next to his ear.

The miss, as well as the close proximity to the enemy, gave him a chance to seize the initiative. Gripping the hand with the weapon, Rion began to deliver knee strikes to the opponent's stomach. They were followed by elbow strikes to the nose. The pinned adversary weakened his assault, losing spatial orientation. After sufficiently battering him, Rion sharply broke his arm, then took the knife and plunged it deep into the owner’s neck. The defeated foe's eyes changed to an unusual color, and his body immediately went limp, collapsing to the ground like a dead weight.

The victor did not rush to celebrate his success. His attention returned to the fleeing crowd, which was almost at the edge of the house. Rion pulled the pistol from his belt and opened fire on them. One by one, the bullets found their targets, piercing the backs or necks of the runners.

Two, five, ten creatures buried their noses in the sand at full speed. One more turned around, trying to shoot back, but immediately caught a bullet square in the eye. The last survivor, being the farthest away, managed to avoid getting hit. With a quick lunge, he changed direction and disappeared behind a human-sized hedge. Rion's first thought was to contact Leo and ask him to deal with the problem himself. But, after a moment’s hesitation, he decided to take one last chance. He aimed at the hedge itself, estimated the runner's speed, and fired a series of shots at a specific section.

A splash of water was heard from behind the living wall—someone heavy fell into the pool—Rion had hit his target. And he could only hope that the fallen had dropped dead because the shooter had no time to check.

Without a second to catch his breath, Rion timely lifted his head and jumped to the side. A full downpour of lead rained down where he had been standing just a moment ago. Two enemies had taken up positions at the bow of the boat, selflessly trying to shred the one person they had every right to shoot, besides Leo.

Rion pressed himself against the hull of the vessel, changed his magazine, and looked around for a solution. It turned out to be much closer than he could have dreamed. The recent enemy, with a knife in his neck, lay just a few steps away, and a bundle of half a dozen grenades hung from his vest.

Without hesitation, Rion dashed towards it, opening distracting fire at the shooters on the boat. While they took cover behind the railing, he skillfully grabbed the grenades on the run, bit off the pin from one with his teeth, and hurled the entire bundle up onto the deck. The explosion was of colossal power. The cabin of the vessel was torn to shreds, and everyone was thrown outside—some in pieces, others almost whole.

Like an erupting volcano, the boat scattered flaming bodies around, which continued to burn on the beach. Rion fell, covering his head from the flying debris, but he was unharmed.

“Wow, I survived. I’m still here,” he thought as he struggled to regain a vertical position. His shoulder burned with pain, but looking at the two-thirds of his group who were wounded, he had no reason to complain. His pain would fade instantly once he dropped the vessel—others wouldn’t have that luxury, and they wouldn’t forget their wounds anytime soon.

Fighting continued in other parts of the island, with the constant sound of gunfire echoing from there. As he prepared to gather everyone who could walk and head for assistance, Rion briefly glanced toward the ocean and froze in place.

A long line of at least twenty boats was speeding toward the shore. Two helicopters hovered above them in support. This time, the scale of the threat looked more than frightening. Even with a fully equipped combat-ready group, the chances of stopping a new wave of enemies were disheartening. Not to mention the small handful of fighters who were fortunate enough to remain on their feet.

Rion hesitated, his thoughts jumbled together; he could hardly imagine such an overwhelming presence of enemies. A sudden shout in his earpiece, belonging to the commander of another group, jolted him out of his stupor.

“North is breached!” the voice screamed through the gunfire. “North is breached! The enemy is on the shore! We have many wounded; we’re falling back to the house!”

This was the only and most obvious decision that needed to be made immediately.

“Everyone, fall back to the house!” Rion commanded the other groups and his fighters. He then pointed to one of them. “You, with me! The rest, help the wounded! Everyone barricade yourselves in the house!”

He ran at full speed with his bodyguard toward the armory. They would need a lot of weapons to repel the assault, and it would be much easier and faster to carry them with just the two of them.

***

It was frightening to imagine how much of an idiot I looked in the eyes of my colleagues. If not an idiot, then at the very least, a person who was slowly but surely starting to irritate everyone. After squeezing the maximum amount of time from reading the papers, I finally began to sign them. The council members, who were clearly fed up with being stuck in this room, surrounded me on all sides.

I sat down at the table with an air of importance, pulled the chair a little closer, stretched my shoulders, picked up the pen, and brought it to the document. Under the watchful gaze of my audience, I began, extremely slowly, to meticulously draw out every swirl as I put down my incredibly long signature.

In general, my autograph was always short, but in this situation, haste could only be harmful. Moreover, I still had not the slightest idea what was happening outside the house. Rion continued to maintain radio silence, and I didn’t like it.

The idea of contacting him only in extreme cases had long ceased to seem like a good one. After all, if he got killed, I wouldn’t even know about it—I would just continue sitting in the office until someone burst in to claim my soul, and there would be no one to warn me. Besides that, a real-time report on the defense was important for further planning of the meeting. I mean—what to do if the contract ends before the war on the streets? How could I keep everyone in the room who was itching to get out? And how long could I manage to do that?

I desperately needed news. And for now, there was nothing left to do but continue dragging things out. After finishing the first signature, I licked my finger, leisurely turned the page, and began on the next one, with the same pace and elaborate calligraphy. As I was observed, Vincent suddenly let out a loud sigh.

“We’re all going to grow old here,” he said, stepping away from the table.

Stretching out my autograph was fine, but it didn’t seem sufficient to me. I abruptly lifted my head and scanned everyone with a cheerful glance.

“Want to hear a joke?”

***

Rion and his assistant were running with a heavy box of ammunition, leaving deep furrows on the perfect lawn behind them. Clearly visible behind them were the boats arriving on the shore, from which, like ants, dozens of living dead appeared. Some with bare hands, some with knives, and some with firearms—no sooner had they reached the land than they rushed toward the house.

Continuous gunfire echoed everywhere. Rion’s earpiece constantly received situation reports from the commanders of other groups. The assault on the “palace” was happening from all sides, but so far, the enemy had not managed to break through the defense.

Several fighters had taken position on the roof, preventing helicopters from reaching the island. Thanks to them, one of the helicopters, which had already begun to target Rion, found itself under fire and crashed into the ocean. Using the cover from above, Rion and his assistant gained precious seconds to drag the box to the house.

Another helicopter didn’t take long to arrive. Unlike its fallen ally, the invaders on board began acting ahead of time. One of them, occupying the co-pilot's seat, opened fire through the windshield. The roof of the house was showered with accurate shots. One fighter caught a bullet in the shoulder, while the others managed to take cover behind the parapet in time.

Continuing to fire and not allowing anyone to poke their heads out for a return shot, the helicopter flew onto the island and hovered in front of the house. The side door slid open, and a huge, muscular man with a large caliber machine gun protruded from the cockpit. His target was not on the roof, nor below, but right opposite—behind the curtained windows of the third floor.

Rion dashed outside just in time to recognize the enemy’s intent. He had little understanding of how the foe planned to kill Leo with such a weapon without also killing any of the six other people in the room. But he decided not to waste time on thoughts and immediately opened fire on the machine gunner.

The man didn’t get a single shot off before bullets tore through his head and body. Rion’s next victims were the automatic riflemen firing at the roof. He even managed to give the pilot his share of lead. The helicopter spun around, made a wide arc along the house, and crashed onto its landing gear near the front entrance.

The fall could almost be considered a very soft landing. The transport didn’t explode or crash into the building, and for a brief moment, Rion thought it was the most perfectly shot-down enemy. However, the rotor blades kept spinning, and the helicopter bounced on its three wheels—suddenly it tilted to the side and tipped over. The blades dug into the ground, the spinning rotor tore free and sent a deadly wheel straight toward the “palace.” Rion barely managed to leap behind a column when the giant propeller whizzed by, shattered the glass roof around the entrance, and came to rest only at the stairs.

Miraculously, no one was hit. Rion raised his head, scanning the people around him. Everyone had found a reliable cover—behind the columns, the wall ledges, and even behind the staircase to the second floor. The wounded were applying tourniquets to their shot-up legs, while some were receiving help from fellow soldiers. Others were sorting through the ammunition from the box they had brought and nervously glancing at the entrance.

Overcoming the sharp pain in his shoulder, Rion pushed himself off the ground and knelt. He planned to order those who could walk to grab more magazines and assist the other combat groups holding the building from their positions. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, his peripheral vision caught a barely perceptible movement. Rion suddenly turned his head sharply and instinctively recoiled.

A knife blade whizzed just inches from the guardian's face, swung by an enemy who had jumped out from behind a column. Falling onto his back, he raised his automatic weapon and pressed the trigger. A short burst of bullets sent the unfortunate attacker flying backward. Return fire erupted—creatures that had recently arrived on boats came into view. Rion swiftly rolled away from the line of fire, then lunged and managed to take cover behind the adjacent column.

The enemies crossed the threshold, burst into the house, and immediately felt the full force of the defense. A horizontal rain of deadly lead poured down on them. The fighters opened fire in unison, showering anyone foolish enough to cross their sights with dozens of bullets.

The enemy fell one by one. Yet, new and new red-eyed foes boldly rushed toward the bullets, hoping to break through. Those armed with firearms, jumping from the street, first dedicated their fire to Rion. The column behind which he was hiding was already completely riddled with holes, and a hefty chunk had even chipped away in one spot. They paid no attention to those they were forbidden to kill. It was hard to injure a person when only half of their head and weapon were visible from reliable cover.

However, in subsequent assaults, the tactics of the invaders gradually changed. The number of brave souls decreased, and the enemy began to act more cautiously. The number of automatic riflemen sharply increased, and reinforcements kept pouring in. The gunfire from Rion’s column shifted to cover for the other fighters. The bodyguards, unaware that their lives were not in danger, ducked their heads and briefly stopped returning fire.

And the enemy took full advantage of this. Rion, firing almost blind, quickly peeked out from behind the column. At that moment, a whole group of enemies burst into the house, forming a tight box. The front line instantly twitched and sprayed blood, subjected to a total shooting—bulletproof vests didn’t help them at all. However, the box did not collapse; it only accelerated. The second line literally pushed those in front, using them as shields.

The red-eyed creatures played the same trick as with the boats—sacrificing some of their own, sending them in as cannon fodder so that the others could reach their goal. They almost succeeded, crossing half the hall in just a few steps when Rion roared at the top of his lungs.

“Shoot for the legs!”

The body armor worn by the solid line of those in front did not allow bullets to penetrate to those behind them. But their legs were completely unprotected. Gunfire poured down on that part of the body like a rainstorm, like a scythe cutting down everyone running. The box disintegrated in an instant; most of its members buried their noses in the tile floor and were finished off with follow-up shots. Those who were lucky enough to avoid being “swept” scattered in panic, but they couldn’t escape the sixteen marksmen either.

One after another, they fell victim to the collapsed assault. The last one, catching a dozen bullets with his chest, inadvertently made some adjustments to the situation. As he fell dead, he raised his firing automatic rifle to the ceiling. A stray bullet severed the chain holding a giant, luxurious chandelier, and it silently plummeted downward.

The pile of metal and glass, crashing to the floor, formed a pyramid a meter high, nearly completely blocking the passage to the staircase. At the deafening landing of the enormous light fixture, Rion instinctively dropped to the ground. The sounds of gunfire momentarily ceased. Everyone stared in horror at the once-beautiful structure, as if it helped them fully realize just how dire their situation was.

One of the fighters couldn’t take it anymore. Panic took hold of him. He pressed his body against the wall and screamed with all his might.

“We’re all going to die here!”

***

We laughed like horses, crowding around the table where all the papers still awaited my signature. It had been about 15 minutes since the signing had taken a back seat, giving way to the telling of jokes. After my first performance, there was no uproarious laughter. I mentally accused everyone of being dull, and to buy some more time, I stepped over to the cooler to grab a drink.

Suddenly, to my surprise, Peter decided to join in the fun and also told a joke. At the center of his story was a young entrepreneur and an old one, the latter portrayed in a particularly foolish light by the end. As he told the joke, Peter kept glancing at Vincent, openly hinting that he saw him in the role of the elderly character.

This time, the laughter was a bit louder—except, of course, for Vince. He forced a smile, glaring at the detested colleague, and shot back with his own joke, which had a completely opposite plot. The humor relay began to circle.

With each round, the volume and duration of the laughter grew. The mood lifted, and the papers lost their significance. And then it was Harvey’s turn. It was hard to remember a more worn-out joke, yet the guffaws were off the charts. I don’t know if anyone else was pretending to laugh along with me (you always have to laugh at the boss's jokes), but Vincent was definitely sincere. Tears welled up in his eyes from laughter. Even the brooding Ryan brightened up and shook with mirth.

The impromptu idea to inject some humor had worked brilliantly. Everyone got a good distraction, and a quarter of an hour slipped by unnoticed. However, Rion continued to remain silent, and this was starting to get on my nerves. I was seriously troubled by the question—was he consciously silent, or had he been forced to shut up for good? A thought flashed through my mind—what if I stepped out, pretending to go to the bathroom, and assessed the situation myself? But then I was relieved I hadn’t rushed into that.

Ryan, stopping his laughter, tugged at his shirt and took a deep breath.

“It’s getting hot in here,” he said, and without warning, headed for the window.

My reaction to his action was immediate. As soon as he reached for the window handle, I sprang up beside him and blocked his way.

“The window’s broken; it’s better not to touch it at all,” I said as casually as possible.

No, I couldn’t leave the room. Here’s what would have happened had I rushed out. He would have opened the window, and the office would have been filled with the sounds of gunfire that I was sure were echoing every second.

Ryan nodded in understanding and glanced at the far window. My reaction showed miraculous speed again; he hadn’t even taken a step.

“The second one doesn’t open either. I’ve been waiting for the repairman for three days.”

“Both don’t open?” Ryan was surprised. “Maybe I should take a look at what’s wrong with them?”

“Don’t bother; I know already,” I blurted, starting to come up with something because I hadn’t thought of anything in advance. “The hinges… uh… turned out to be cheap knock-offs and… uh… broke almost immediately. If you turn the handle, the window will fall right on your head. Let me make the air conditioning a bit stronger.”

Aren’t I clever! Ryan grunted, resigned to the situation. He took a last fleeting glance at the suspiciously intact hinges, shifted his weight, turning toward the table, when suddenly he froze, staring out the window.

I had already focused on finding the remote for the air conditioning when I noticed his hesitation and stopped too. My gaze shifted down to the street and froze at the same point as my colleague. Before our eyes, along the house, a soaking wet woman was sprinting at breakneck speed across the lawn. Her long skirt flapped against her legs, and her wet, sparse hair clung to her skull, sticking to her green top.

In the next few seconds, my heart went through three stages of horrific compression.

Even in peacetime, the sight of a sprinting wet woman outside would have raised at least a strong sense of bewilderment. But it was far more terrifying to see this race performed by a gray-haired old woman. She looked to be at least 80, yet she was moving her legs faster than I could. That was the first stage.

A slight stupor hit me; my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets—grandma suddenly stopped, as if pondering what to do next, and then sharply lifted her head, looking directly at us. Two burning lights stared motionlessly through our window—long and very frightening. And it would have been one thing if I alone were witnessing this horror, but Ryan saw the same thing. How could I explain later what kind of madness was happening here? Why were old women from horror movies running around my office? That was the second stage.

But the worst shock awaited me ahead. Horror, shock, and icy shivers ran down my spine—in roughly that order, those sensations attacked me when Ryan uttered a single word.

“Mom…?”

And that was the third, deadly stage. My jaw dropped, and I stared at my colleague in disbelief. It was hard to imagine a worse situation. While my heart gradually sank into my boots, gears were whirring in my mind. And as often happens to me in particularly difficult moments, a solution was born immediately.

Everything suddenly became easy and simple. There was no need to concoct any explanations! If anyone else had been running around, Ryan would have shared what he saw with the others. A question would have followed—what kind of wet old women are tearing through the yard? Try to explain that! But by some ridiculous coincidence, he saw not just anyone, but his deceased mother! Galloping along! Who would believe something like that?

“Do you see her?” Ryan turned to me, and I managed to soften my face just in time, as if nothing mind-blowing had happened.

“Who?” I asked, giving the question a tone of maximum surprise.

“Her!” He looked back out the window, pointing, but there was already no one down below. Ryan pressed his nose against the glass, searching for his vanished mother, but she was running away, thankfully, way too fast.

“There was a woman in a green sweater!” he panicked. “Did you see her?”

“There was no one there, Ryan,” I replied confidently.

He nervously rubbed his forehead, then his eyes, and then his chin. He glanced at me again, as if trying to read my face to see if I was pulling his leg.

“Are you okay?” I asked, with hints of concern in my voice.

The poor guy seemed to have no idea what he had really seen. Common sense was winning out. His face turned pale, his eyes grew moist, and he quickly turned away, so that neither I nor anyone else could see his suffering.

“I need a drink,” Ryan said, stepping over to the mini-bar.

The board members watched their colleague anxiously. I sighed in relief, looking out the window once more, scanning the area. In the distance to the left, from behind the corner of the building, something resembling the tail of a helicopter flipped on its side peeked out.

Another ghoul suddenly ran out from the right—about eight of them—they were sprinting after the old woman with all their might. The battle continued; there were still people to kill. I cast aside all doubts; I believed that Rion was alive and still in charge of the defense. I believed that he would manage, that he wouldn’t let us down. Just as he always did. I believed that I would survive this hellish day.

One of the runners suddenly stopped and stared at me just like Ryan’s mother had. He bared his teeth, made a malicious grimace, and might have even growled. To stay at the window any longer would be disrespectful to my waiting colleagues. The papers were waiting for my slow and long signatures.

I kept my eyes on the enemy until the last moment, and then I pulled the curtain shut.

***

Huge puddles of blood, thousands of shells covering every inch of the tiled floor, endless gunfire that rang in their ears.

“When will all this end?” Rion thought.

The hall was piled high with corpses—one would think there couldn't possibly be more—but new creatures kept appearing. Reports from the roof constantly mentioned helicopters being shot down over the ocean. Other groups periodically reported on the invaders they had killed. The defense continued to fight, showing no signs of cracking.

Strangely enough, the accumulated mound of bodies was quite beneficial for the defenders. The corpses lay one on top of another, three or four deep, creating a formidable barricade. The creatures spent too much time trying to get past it—tripping and slipping in puddles of blood, they ended up becoming part of the dead pile themselves.

Rion also noted the fortunate collapse of a massive chandelier. The death throes of the creatures had inadvertently created an additional obstacle for their comrades. The chandelier blocked 90% of the passage to the stairs, presenting an even more serious barrier than a hundred bodies.

Everything was going perfectly; the assault was choking on its own blood. If the enemy planned to continue operating in the same manner, the "palace" promised to withstand the attack.

“Let’s just hope there are enough bullets,” Rion mused as he replaced yet another magazine in his rifle. Not long before, he had ordered everyone to switch their weapons to single-shot mode for efficiency. A brief moment of panic among the fighters quickly passed. Everyone shot accurately, using no more than two bullets to hit their targets.

Then someone decided to test their luck again, darting out from around a corner and unleashing a burst from a Uzi at Rion’s column. He received a bullet in the heart, then another in the head, spun around in place, and fell.

Following him… there was no one else. Unexpectedly, for the first time in a long while, silence fell over the gunfire.

Rion continued to wait, aiming his weapon at the entrance, but no one appeared, no one jumped out, no one charged recklessly. The fighters visibly relaxed; sighs of relief could be heard, and some lowered the barrels of their rifles to the floor. Rion's earpiece picked up the extremely rare gunshots from other combat groups.

Could it be that the flow of filth had finally run dry? Was it really over? Or was only one of many waves crashing back, with the worst still to come?

There was no sense in guessing; it was time to step outside and take a look. After waiting long enough, Rion decided to personally check. He slowly emerged from his cover, took exactly one step, and immediately stopped. From the street, weak sounds, reminiscent of scraping, suddenly reached his ears. The sounds grew louder, the scraping was approaching, and the fighters tensed again, tightening their grips on their rifles. Rion returned to the column, knelt down, and prepared to meet the new threat. Something that sounded like metal scraping against metal was getting very close.

And finally, the enemy revealed themselves. Rion was momentarily stunned, his eyes wide in surprise. A new dense box of red-eyed creatures burst into the house. This time, they did not use their own kind as shields. Now, they had real shields. Massive, made of bulletproof material—shields used for special operations by the assault teams.

The enemy had solidified their armor, leaving not a single gap for a bullet to slip through. Dozens of shields covered the creatures from head to toe, protecting them from the front, the sides, and even above. Literally, a steel box was moving through the hall.

“Fire!” Rion shouted, switching his weapon to automatic mode and being the first to pull the trigger.

The fighters followed his lead; the room filled with deafening gunfire, and the box sparkled with sparks from ricocheting bullets. In the back rows, behind the shields, several rifles suddenly peeked out, returning fire. They mostly shot at the ceiling, not trying to hit anyone, but people instinctively ducked behind their cover, just as the enemy needed.

Rion frantically searched for a gap in the advancing procession, but it was in vain. Even small glass slits in the shields did not allow bullets to penetrate. The barrage was having no effect; the box deftly stepped over the mound of bodies, not losing its dense formation.

Someone threw a grenade at their feet—the explosion only slowed them down for a moment. The grenade flew “onto their roof”—the shields quivered, but the structure did not collapse. Their push toward the fighters' positions was inevitable. The creatures rushed through the hall, and only the heavy chandelier managed to split their assault in half.

The creatures rushed to circumvent the impenetrable obstacle, splitting into two streams. Targeted shots rained down on the fighters' legs and arms. Rion, being closest to one of the passages, took a running leap at the shield, ramming it with his shoulder. The one carrying it stumbled over a neighbor and fell to the ground.

Rion was presented with several unprotected red-eyed creatures; he aimed his weapon and opened fire. A short burst rang out—too short to take down the entire chain of invaders. Only one fell dead—and that was it for Rion’s ammunition. Again, at the worst possible moment.

He stared in horror at his rifle, and when he looked up, he saw an axe flying toward him. In the last moment, he raised his arms with the weapon, blocking the blow. The owner of the axe lunged at Rion with his whole body; he staggered back, his foot catching on the edge of the chandelier, and he fell onto his back. An aggressive creature pinned him down, trying to finish what it had started. It bore down on the axe with all its might, but the guardian held it at bay with his rifle.

Suddenly, Rion yanked sharply to the side; the axe clanged against the tiles right next to his head. With one hand, he seized the enemy’s wrist with the weapon, and with the other, he began to pound him mercilessly. The creature tried to break free from his grip, defend itself, and regain a vertical position. But Rion thwarted every attempt.

He jabbed the creature in the eye with his thumb, pressing hard; it glanced sideways. Seizing the opportunity, the guardian threw off his opponent, now pouncing on top of him. He slammed the back of its head against the floor, then again and again. The creature’s hand, tightly gripping the axe, relaxed, its fingers unclenching. Rion noticed this and quickly grabbed the weapon, smashing it against the creature’s skull with a swing.

Incredible luck, he thought—what if that lackey had been wielding a pistol or any other firearm? He glanced toward the stairs—Ari’s envoys were fighting their way to the second floor. Many fighters had been injured and could no longer resist, groaning as they rolled on the floor. The others, who could still move, engaged in close combat—it seemed they had also run out of ammunition, leaving them with no other options.

Rion quickly jumped off the fallen creature, raised his rifle, replaced the magazine, and fired at the unprotected backs of the enemy. There were about eight of them—one by one, they fell down the steps, dropping their shields and knocking into one another. The guardian could have killed them all; there would have been enough bullets. But suddenly, a fresh batch of creatures burst in from outside.

Rion heard gunfire behind him; he immediately ducked and rolled back behind his column. Just a second of hesitation, yet several of the invaders managed to take advantage of it. The guardian saw only their heels disappearing around the corner to the second floor.

He couldn’t rush after them—the path to the stairs was well covered from the hall. And there was no one who could pursue them. Only one single person could stop them now. Without hesitation, Rion quickly set up the necessary connection.

“LEO!!!”

***

I was so startled that I nearly poked the eye of the Bitch standing next to me with my pen. That was my reaction to the unexpected shout in my ear. As I slowly scribbled autograph after autograph, I worked myself up to the point where I was momentarily convinced someone had snuck up on me from the side and was shouting in my ear right before a deadly blow. Because of this, my hand jerked sideways, barely missing injuring my colleague.

The Bitch flinched and stared at me in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked angrily.

It was obvious that Rion had shouted—I realized this a second later. It stirred mixed feelings in me. On one hand, he was alive. On the other, it seemed the shout had been panicked, tinged with terror.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, regaining my composure. “I thought there was a huge spider on your head. I’m a terrible arachnophobe.”

It didn’t matter how foolish that sounded. I couldn’t care less about the look on the pompous chicken’s face, which clearly regarded me as insane. What mattered was what was coming through the earpiece.

Rion cursed, followed by loud gunfire—someone had distracted him from our conversation.

“They’ve breached in some creatures!” he shouted again, apparently having dealt with the problem. “Do you hear me?”

The last of the arachnophobes, upon seeing a giant tarantula, wouldn’t have felt a fraction of the terror that washed over me. My eyes involuntarily widened, and a shiver ran through my body. For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to move and just stared blankly at the table.

A loud slap brought me back to reality—the Bitch smacked the tabletop with her clutch. Then she lifted it and showed me a squashed little spider.

“And this scared you?” she asked mockingly.

“I need to get out,” I replied, half-running toward the door.

“Are you serious?” the Bitch persisted, shaking the clutch. “Because of this!?”

“Just for a minute. Please forgive me.”

“He’s joking!” Vince exclaimed in indignation.

The council members looked at me with puzzled expressions. Better this way than the shock on their faces if a mob barged in and started a brutal shootout.

Yes, I had something to shoot back with. I hadn’t been unarmed for a while now. Quickly slipping out the door, I drew the gun that had been hanging under my jacket in its holster, took it off safety, and got ready to greet the guests. The load-bearing wall, which provided a clear view of the corridor leading to the stairs, served as excellent cover.

My heart raced, my outstretched arm with the weapon trembled, and my hearing strained to the limit, prompting me to hold my loud breaths. I heard footsteps on the stairs, saw dancing shadows in the distance, and lost myself in terrifying guesses about how many had managed to sneak upstairs. Would one magazine be enough for them all?

Suddenly, one of the runners appeared in the corridor—I shot him just as unexpectedly as he had appeared. After him, a second and then a third followed. Five more shots rang out, and all three collapsed on the floor.

Not a shred of sanity— they were running full tilt, armed with at most a hefty knife. What they were hoping for was unclear. In any case, this worked to my advantage; dispatching them posed no difficulties whatsoever.

I had prepared for much worse consequences, but it all ended too quickly and more than favorably. After waiting a few more seconds, my tension began to ease. There was hope that no one else would show up in the corridor.

“I took out three,” I reported to Rion over the comms. “Is that all that got through?”

“Dunno!” the Keeper barked through the noise of constant gunfire. “Look around!”

I was strongly doubtful that anyone was cleverly hiding in the corridor, waiting for the right moment to strike. Yet, it was worth checking before returning to my waiting colleagues.

I slowly stepped out from my cover and made my way to the stairs. Step by step, taking my time, aiming ahead, ready to react calmly to the slightest movement in front of me. I crossed the corridor silently and pressed against the wall, listening for any potential enemy movement around the corner. Even if someone was there, I’d hardly hear anything—the silence was shattered by the constant gunfire from the first floor.

I gathered my courage, planning to spring forward suddenly, but a sudden scream in my earpiece made me hesitate.

“They’re on the roof!” shouted an unfamiliar voice. “On the west side! We’re wounded! Send someone! Aah!”

Sharp gunshots rang out, the comms crackled horrifically, and the speaker moaned painfully. Apparently, he had received even more injuries. The damn creatures managed to land on the building, which meant they would soon come down after me—with firearms in hand!

I turned around, recalling where west was—right behind me. There was another staircase there—the shortest route from the roof to my location.

No matter how many there were, I wasn’t going to panic. I had the advantage—I knew exactly where they would come from. It wouldn’t be difficult to catch the uninvited guests off guard. I just needed to...

My peripheral vision caught sudden movement. Something shiny flashed, and I instinctively raised my hand with the gun. The blade of a knife seared my fingers, forcing me to loosen my grip and drop the weapon. My reckless delay to check if anyone was hiding around the corner backfired on me. Someone was indeed there.

This someone swung the knife again, directing the tip at my heart. I jerked to the right, dodging the strike, but I wasn’t quick enough. My shoulder exploded in sharp pain as the blade sank in up to the hilt. A prolonged, wild scream erupted from my throat, and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

The attacker pinned me against the wall, growling with rage and spitting. His face was inches from mine—deep wrinkles, wet, long gray hair falling onto… a green sweater. I was attacked by an ancient crone… and not just any crone, but the very mother of the grieving Ryan!

She tried to pull the knife out of me for another strike, but I grabbed her hands and wouldn’t let go. The metal squirmed painfully in my body, causing my scream to grow even louder. I seized the old woman by the scruff and smashed my forehead into her face. I did this three times until I heard the crunch of her nasal cartilage. Ryan’s mother loosened her grip, and I forcefully shoved her away from me and delivered a straight kick to her chest. She slammed her back and head against the wall and fell to the floor.

I gripped the handle and, gritting my teeth, yanked the knife from my shoulder. For a moment, pain blinded me, pulling me out of reality, but a second later, I was ready to tear the abomination to shreds.

The old woman sprang to her feet and charged at me. I swung the knife, but the blow went wide—the red-eyed creature deftly dodged. Another swing—and again I missed. Her movements were lightning-fast, sharp, like a ninja’s. The parasite nested inside paid no mind to the old age of its vessel.

I swung the blade again when suddenly the old woman stepped forward, grabbed my hand, and with a swing, slammed her fist into my nose. Stars sparkled in my eyes. A precise blow to my wrist followed, and the knife flew aside. Then came a series of jabs to my face, a kick with a spin to my head—and I was sent flying to the side. The hard floor hit my back, knocking the breath out of me.

Ryan's mother froze in place, casting a quick glance at the knife nearby, then looked over her shoulder. She was searching for a gun—I guessed, and I was right. She immediately darted for my weapon, and I jumped up and ran after her. The old woman lifted the firearm, turned to me, extended her hand to shoot, but I got there just in time to push the gun aside.

We locked up again, spinning in a bizarre dance, trying to shove each other around. She was shooting frantically, trying to twist her arm so the bullets would fly into my face, but I kept ducking. What was inside that old woman was incredibly strong, and I could barely hold back her wild assault.

Her claw-like grip clutched my throat. I made an immense effort, broke free from her grasp, pressed against her closely, and delivered a knee strike to her gut. After repeating this a few times, my opponent bent over and leaned back. I slammed her arm against the wall until the gun slipped from her fingers.

I flailed my fists, elbows, and everything I could use to hurt her. A false tooth clattered against the tiles, blood splattered across the corridor walls. I furiously beat the red-eyed old lady, ignoring the bleeding wound on my shoulder.

I was winning!

Until suddenly she parried one of my punches, dodged the second, and delivered an uppercut straight to my groin. My knees buckled, pain shot through my entire body, tears welled up in my eyes. I gritted my teeth to avoid screaming again, even though the agony was far worse than from the knife wound.

Trying to survive these horrible moments and somehow maintain my advantage, I grabbed Ryan's mother. However, she flailed her limbs, and I didn't have the strength to hold her. I spun around and threw the wicked old woman against the parallel wall. I slipped and plopped down on my rear.

The next round of the duel promised to start too quickly. The creature, showing no signs of fatigue, lunged at me again. My strength was drained, the bells were burning like in a fire, and I didn't know how to deal with this unyielding beast.

My hand slid across the floor, feeling metal. I barely had time to realize how lucky I was that the gun lay so close when I emptied the entire magazine into the old woman’s body. She was thrown back on the recoil, crashing onto her back and splitting her skull against the wall. Blood splattered in all directions, like from a broken cup. My opponent's eyes dimmed, and it was all over.

The gun with an empty magazine fell with a clatter onto the tiles. I wanted to get up, but the burning pain in my groin wouldn’t allow it. For the same reason, I couldn't force myself to say a word. All that was left was to sit, rub my delicate area with my hands, steady my breathing and thoughts, and enjoy the fact that I had managed to conceive a child in advance. From the way things felt, my chances of another were rapidly approaching zero.

“Ryan…” I croaked.

In response, silence. Absolute silence. A question suddenly popped into my mind—why was it so quiet? The sound of the shootout downstairs, where every shot was loud and clear, was gone, where Ryan seemed to be breathing in my ear. The earpiece—the old woman had knocked it out of me with her foot. Or with one of many blows. Communication with the Keeper was essential; otherwise, the already high threat of death increased exponentially. How could I find such a tiny thing in such a mess?

I wished this were the worst of my problems. Suddenly, from the west, I heard the thudding of numerous feet. At that moment, my memory reminded me of the enemy helicopter that had landed on the roof.

They burst into the corridor a second later. Four pairs of red lights emerged from the darkness, and I stood before them, like in the palm of a hand. Unarmed, defenseless, with no chance of reaching any cover. A more vulnerable target was hard to imagine.

And perhaps there would have been a tiny chance to escape if they were barehanded or at least armed with knives, but they had assault rifles in their hands. As soon as the first runner spotted me, his weapon shot up to his shoulder, aiming at my face. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

The shots echoed through the corridor. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed against the wall, and was struck by a strong tremor…but not by bullets. The shooting lasted long seconds; someone was screaming, something heavy was falling, and shells clattered loudly. Then suddenly, everything went silent.

I blinked, breathing heavily, and looked over my body. In a past life, when they shot me in the head, I felt nothing—I just woke up in an infant's skin. So, the absence of pain didn't mean I had survived. However, this time I remained in the same corridor, in the same sitting position, and without a single new wound.

I wasn't dead.

My gaze slid to the right—where the four red-eyed figures had appeared. They all lay on the floor without signs of life. I sharply turned my head to the left. There stood Ryan, covered in blood, dirt, and torn clothes. And despite everything, I probably looked more battered than he did.

The Keeper lowered the assault rifle that had just saved me from hell and looked me in the eyes.

“It’s all over,” he said.

The epic and pompousness of his words was overwhelming, but I didn’t make any sarcastic remarks about it; I simply sighed with relief.

Everything was ALMOST over. I still had a few final signatures to make and colleagues to extract from the island without them seeing this hellhole.

***

I had been close to kicking the bucket so many times in the last few months that I couldn't even count. Only by a miracle had I managed to hold on for so long. And it wasn’t always this miracle that went by the name of Rion. Sometimes, I pulled my own butt back from the brink of death.

All the necessary papers had been signed. Now I officially held the title of a board member.

After the fight, hastily bandaging the stab wound on my shoulder, I changed into clean clothes, washed up, and returned to my colleagues as if nothing had happened. Of course, I had to buy time again while my people cleared the area of corpses. To say that the company executives were in a bad mood was an understatement. But their expressions became even more displeased when I announced that I urgently needed to leave the island and that our vacation was over.

A so-called emergency on a business project required my immediate presence. However, they quickly came to understand my situation, as they often had something unforeseen and urgent come up in their business as well. Vincent, of course, had his own opinion about it and was furious until the end. He felt that he had been lured to this damned island to relax, yet he hadn’t felt any relaxation at all.

I got them on the helicopter that the intruders had so kindly left on the roof, and it promptly departed from my "fortress."

"Well done," Rion said, approaching me from behind as I watched my departing colleagues fade into the distance.

"Likewise," I replied.

I didn’t specify that 99% of the success was due to him. I think he realized it himself. A bonus of the day was that, besides saving me, Rion hadn’t died this time. He couldn't say the same for the previous encounters. Even when everything was over, his presence brought additional calm.

"Fifty-one people injured, no fatalities," the Guardian continued. "All the corpses were piled in the house. They counted more than 650 of them. Did they ask about the overturned helicopter and the blown-up boat on the beach?"

"They didn’t see them," I snorted. I hadn’t seen them myself. "We need to sell this island. The energy, you know, has become negative."

As soon as I figured out how to get back to the 'White Archive,' of course.

"How’s your shoulder?" Rion asked.

"I’ll live. How’s yours?"

He sensed the jab and looked at me with a glum expression.

"It doesn’t look great," I said, feigning concern for his gunshot wound. "You should see a doctor; otherwise, you might get an infection in that wound, and it could fester."

I stared at him with a thoughtful gaze for a long time, but then I couldn’t help but smile. To my surprise, Rion smiled back—probably for the first time, he appreciated my humor. The smiles turned into chuckles, and even a brief laugh.

We stood on the roof for a while, waiting for the helicopter, after which we headed to the mainland, to the airport. Again, a plane, again the sky, endless days in flight to avoid giving Ari easy opportunities to catch me.

I was on the home stretch, with one last push toward a happy future. A trivial matter! And I was a hundred percent sure of one thing—if I had managed to make Rion laugh, then dealing with something trivial like becoming the CEO would be a walk in the park.