The Damned Path: Chronicles of Damien

I slid down the side of the building, boots scraping against the old metal ladder as I hit the ground hard. The chaos was still unfolding—shouts, gunfire, and the sharp sound of crates breaking open filled the alley.

Somewhere, someone had flipped the whole scene upside down, and I had no idea who they were or what they wanted. But if they were after Kross's shipment, they were now standing in my way.

"Damien! What do we do?" Eddie's voice crackled in my ear.

"Stay back. Don't engage yet," I muttered, ducking behind a dumpster to avoid a stray bullet that ricocheted off the brick wall behind me. "I want to see who we're dealing with."

Peeking around the corner, I caught sight of that figure again—moving like smoke, weaving between gunmen with brutal grace. His face was hidden beneath a dark hood, and every move he made was fast, calculated, like he'd done this a thousand times before.

Two more of Kross's men went down before they could even raise their weapons. Whoever this guy was, he was good—too good.

Lena's voice cut in, sharp and low. "I have a clear shot. Say the word."

I hesitated. My instincts screamed at me to take him out—this was my mission, my fight. But something about him… something didn't add up. He wasn't shooting to kill. He was disabling them, fast and clean.

"Hold your fire," I said finally. "I want to know who he is."

"Are you crazy?" Marcus growled. "If Kross's men regroup, we're dead."

"Trust me."

I moved out of cover, keeping my gun low but ready. My eyes never left the stranger as he took out another guard with a swift blow to the neck. His movements were almost too smooth, too professional. Military? Ex-cop? Or something worse?

Finally, as the last of Kross's men hit the ground groaning, the figure turned—and froze when he saw me. For a second, we just stood there, two shadows in the night, sizing each other up.

"You're not with Kross," I said carefully.

The figure tilted his head slightly. "Neither are you." His voice was calm, but there was something cold in it—like steel under silk.

I kept my gun at my side, though every muscle in my body was tight. "Who are you?"

He took a step closer, and I raised the gun instinctively.

"Easy," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm not your enemy. But if you're hunting Kross... maybe we want the same thing."

"And what's that?" I asked.

His eyes—sharp and dark beneath the hood—met mine. "To watch him fall."

A long silence stretched between us, broken only by the groans of the wounded men on the ground.

"Name's Damien," I finally offered, though my hand never left the gun.

He gave a faint smirk. "Call me Ghost."

Of course, he would.

I exhaled slowly, realizing this night had just gotten a lot more complicated.