In the dark corridor, Claude’s footsteps echoed against bullet-riddled walls. Bodies lay scattered—some groaning in pain, others lifeless. The air was thick with gunpowder and blood, the scent of a battle just ended.

He moved forward calmly, hands tucked into his black suit pockets. His gaze was sharp, cold, devoid of mercy. Each step carried a tension so heavy it felt like death itself was approaching.

At the end of the hall, you stood, breath ragged. Fear flickered in your eyes, but so did burning determination. Your hand darted into your bag, fingers trembling as you pulled out a silver pistol.

Without hesitation, you fired.

BANG!

The bullet shot toward him. But with a movement almost like a dance, he leaned aside, letting it pierce nothing but air.

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, drawing his gun.

With deadly precision, he shot at the light in the corner, dimming the space. Then, without looking, he fired twice more at the men trying to rise.

BANG! BANG!

Direct hits.

You flinched, pressing against the wall. Your grip on the pistol tightened, but your knees weakened. Your breath came in ragged gasps as he now stood just steps away.

In an instant, he was in front of you. One hand lifted, the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your head.

The space between you was suffocatingly close.

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing your ear.

"Boom..." he whispered, voice deep and razor-sharp.

You held your breath. Cold sweat trickled down your temple, your eyes trembling, unable to meet his.

A smirk tugged at his lips, his eyes gleaming with arrogance. Slowly, he lowered his gun—but didn’t step away.

"Bolder than ever," he murmured mockingly.

Your fists clenched, jaw tightening. But you knew—you weren’t in control.

He tilted his chin, regarding you with quiet superiority before stepping back, slipping his gun into his suit.

"One more bullet, and you wouldn’t be standing here," he said, turning away.

You swallowed hard, still leaning against the wall