𝒈 𝒖 𝒆 𝒓 𝒓 𝒂
w a r

    It had been two gracious days since Akila and Alessandro tied the knot and became husband and wife. Kings and Queens of The Italian Mafia.

    While the marriage and ceremony were rushed, they used the remaining time to go back home and pack essentials, send word of their new base, where Akila's castle and lands surrounding were turned into an army station.

    In the following days and nights, soldiers set up camps, prepared and loaded their weapons one by one as more people and loyal allies arrived, joining them.

    Amelia was there, alongside her future heir, Alyssa Pjetri. The closest Akila made of friends before she caught Amelia sending monthly reports about her life updates to her mother, the old house. The basement she was left in, tortured and killed, and with no one to help, no father to protect, and no mother to hug.

    But Akila didn't care, Alessandro knew that. Whether Amelia and Alyssa marched to war with them or not, Alessandro was certain Akila didn't even consider their existence.

    And there was one thing Alessandro saw, everyone widened their eyes in shock, wrapped around that fierce and deadly woman's finger.

    The news got out into the world faster than they expected. Some congratulated them, some looked at him strangely as if he were going insane but no one dared speak a word that might anger the two most powerful beings in history.

    They walked the ground and owned it like their custom-made project they helped build and raise from underground billions of years before the planets and solar system formed into the galaxy.

    Some secretly worshipped them, while others feared their next move and others were left to feel jealous, envy their power, and wish it upon themselves.

    At the end of each day, after a strict and long training and gossiping about the new bride and groom, everyone hopped into their tent, sleeping peacefully, dreaming, or running from nightmares.

    On the third sunrise, Alessandro finally stumbled in front of Akila for the first time in hours. Days.

    They have been busy, having less time to see each other. Once the news was out, everything started moving, people, animals, furniture, even the air.

    It felt like the whole world was getting ready for war, packing their things and hugging their loved ones for one last time in case the ground split in half and swallowed them whole.

    "Come with me," Alessandro whispered in her ear before disappearing under an empty tent where no one was able to see them, perhaps hear because when Alessandro pushed Akila on her back and dragged his tongue down her neck, a soft moan escaped her lips that Alessandro called the death of him but then he would tell her the actual way of killing him, torture him inside out were her eyes. How long he got lost in them, distracted and unable to pull away.

    His lips found hers in union, their heads moved together, roughly and slowly. He'd crave her on every thought that crossed his mind, on every breath he took. It became harder and harder to resist that voice ringing in his head, telling him to snatch her far away from all of this and make love to her until there were no parts of her left to trace and mark down with his wicked kisses.

    If anything, Alessandro loved the sight of Akila in his kisses, in purple and red covering where he last tasted and sucked on.

    He only hoped she liked it just as much, or else it wouldn't explain her screams for him, for more of him and more of them.

    Alessandro may have been the one to kiss her first, or pull her in for their secret—not so quiet—make-out sessions, she still enjoyed each second of it.

    She loved listening to his heartbeats, racing and increasing the lower her hand went and travelled down his body she thought was perfect, sinful, and very dangerous for her mind.

    Akila was a capable woman, one who owned her place and walked chin-high with pride and an infinite amount of confidence. She controlled and twisted anything to her liking, her only pleasure.

    But when it came to his lips, to his most powerful leader, it suddenly felt harder, making it almost impossible to breathe under his touch, under his wet kisses and tongue that went places.

    She was his venom and he was her poison, stopping and ending any of her restless thoughts. It was like a string, being cut off just to connect with him, crawl and clench onto his shirt to take it off, to sweep her off her feet and release the high sexual tension floating between them.

    He loved her, and she loved him just as much. Although they may both have a hard time vocalising their love, they kept trying and succeeding until they found one another and started from there.

    And after Akila would pull away because of a sound far too near to them, they'd both rush out of the tent, heading separate ways, going back to their duties.

Only Alessandro stayed back for a bit longer, watching her walk away into the distance as the two words repeated in his head, over and over. My wife.

It shouldn't have had that much of an effect on him, it shouldn't have warmed his heart and craved it more because sometime after the war if he made it out alive, he knew a divorce was to become a first option, one she'd ask for and he'd give it to her even if it pained him, no matter the hurt it would cost him.

Alessandro wanted marriage, he wanted Akila in any aspect and any form. When Adriano asked him if he'd take Akila as a wife, the yes he gave out wasn't just to be written in records, it wasn't just to sign the papers and finish the plan. It was more than that, much more that he didn't realise until that very moment when they were truly announced as husband and wife and he wasn't dreaming anymore.

Everything about that day was magical, at least to him.

Whilst Alessandro dreamed over and over of their life after war, without divorce, he wasn't sure if Akila would want any of it and he didn't have what was in him to bring up such heavy conversation through the amount of responsibilities they both had.

Every day, their number went higher, and more people offered to join and fight beside them which only meant the same for the enemy.

Neither Alessandro nor Akila knew their exact number of armies and soldiers, so they made sure to gather the biggest amount possible and train them.

Dante and Emilion were assigned for training supervision along with Pablo, while Adriano took over planes and helicopter work, leaving Armando in charge of weapons.

Each one of them had a task to rule and accomplish before the sun would set into the dark sky and soldiers went off to sleep.

At midnight, the main group meets up to update their stations and the following assignments. Everything was going according to plan, and it was about time until the Romanians struck their boards and broke Hell loose.

It was sunset, in the middle of the day or the middle of the night but there were forces all around, patiently holding back, waiting for any strange noise before they attack and send signals to begin the war.

They waited four more days. A week after Akila and Alessandro's marriage, there was still no sign of anything.

Alessandro checked on the base every morning, making short discussions and taking notes of progress.

Despite the cold face he wore and the sharp gaze he drew, Alessandro was thankful for every second, every blood and hand that was willing to help and stand by his side.

For some hours throughout his stroll, Kira would go on a walk with him, throwing in a little joke or two once every few minutes to lighten up his mood. She'd never told him but she always thought of him as an older brother, she always wanted him to be happy and never feel alone.

The rest of the girls did as much as they could to be useful, Lilianna healed those who got injured in training and Julia tried to assist her.

The two Romanians with white hair also showed up, having them on their side was enough of a wave to shock thousands.

Ever since Whitie was told of his true story, his real background and who he was, who birthed him and what rightfully belonged to him, he'd been more quiet and calculating, gazing around and watching in silence, not making more jokes or stupid comments that would irritate Alessandro, however, deep down, he missed them.

Now, they all sat around in a circle, eating and drinking red wine on a peaceful evening after attending to their chores, the clock right past two.

Kira leaned on Emilion's shoulder, the rest sat around in pairs except for Armando who'd sent hesitant glances toward Narcisa that only Alessandro noticed.

"He totally likes her," Akila whispered in Alessandro's ear, stealing the words from his mind. She looked at him through her long dark lashes, grinning before sipping on her glass.

It was one of the few occasions when he saw her drinking wine. He wanted to know what went through her head, what she thought and saw within the dark.

Sunlight broke through the small opening of the tent, it was scorching hot outside so they made sure to stay in and enjoy the cool weather.

It wasn't until two forty-five, Adriano forced Lilanna to dance with him, Armando finally moved closer to Narcisa, and Dante tried to break the loneliness out of Whitie. And Akila, Akila looking at Alessandro and smiling as if the whole universe was to die in front of them and they were the last two standing.

It was a smile he would inject into his veins, carve into his head and bones, he'd give up everything to earn it all over again.

But when the ground shook beneath them and a loud sound cracked through the air, the sky unfolded and twisted.

Liliana lost balance and Adriano quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, catching her before she fell from the earthquake. They all started moving, rushing out until it was just him and her.

It was Alessandro's turn to look at his wife and say, "I love you." If they were somewhere else, if they didn't have to fight for their lives in minutes, he might've pulled her in for a kiss, for a long hug, and for escape, to run away where they could live with no war and no deaths. But Alessandro knew that wasn't the life they were both made for so instead, "I'll meet you on the battlefield." She encouraged him more than he could ever make out.

They didn't wait any longer and rushed out of the tent. When Alessandro walked out, it was the blazing sun to blind him first, and then it was screams, men, and weapons running before him in all directions, grabbing the closest weapons and regrouping, forming hundreds of lines of warriors against the flowing wind, learning The Romanians, The Russians, The entire earth to them.

Alessandro caught sight of Dante, already changed in his armour and barking orders. Emilion and Armando came out right after him, their bodies covered with guns and bullets for a thousand reloads.

The view forced Alessandro to hurry, rush into his attire and get out as soon as possible. He stripped out of his old pants and put on thick material ones, he wore a comfortable fabric across his board chest that clung to his body, tracing his muscles. He slid his feet in hard boots and lastly, he armoured himself with knives and daggers and guns and any sort of weapon he could grab before stepping out to an empty training space where there was once the life and hustle of his people.

Loading a gun hanging on his side, his boots echoed back as he walked forward to the hundreds and thousands of souls waiting for him.

They partnered from each side, creating a straight line, a path, and a ground for him to march down. His eyes didn't drift off to any of his friends, he knew they were there and it wasn't time to look after one another, it was time to look and fight for their home.

Far away in the distance, he could see their armies, uncountable figures of men he didn't recognize. Except for one.

Enzo stood on the other side, working his jaw, and tensed the moment Alessandro walked out, stopped and his power leaked all around him.

The Twins had planted Enzo right next to them, to show the world which side Enzo had chosen, what betrayal he'd commit against his own blood, his own son, and oh how gladly he submitted.

With that, there was no longer a chance to spare him a reason or an excuse for his disloyalty to the throne. And Alessandro was amused by the idea, finally, his true faithful followers had witnessed what Enzo had chosen to become and who he'd stand against.

The Twins walked in silence, approaching closer to home, to Alessandro as both armies watched in stillness, eager for all this to go down.

Alessandro noted The Twins had no use or possession of weapons. Their feet hit the earth as if they were floating on top of it, effortlessly moving forward to meet him at the start of what was about to become and erupt above and beneath.

But Alessandro never stumbles. He kept his eyes on them each, buried and digging for secrets and traps, ones he was not going to fall into, not today and not ever.

He held his chin up and shoulders leaned and broad. The two of his legs were carved into the ground so that one day when he died, they'd know he stood and battled through Hell and back, he got up and protected his home and people.

    They knew. His friends watched and his followers believed. They saw him as a figure, a person, a friend. A leader. A symbol of bravery and strength, of capacity and fire.

    Even if they only heard tales, even if they only listened to stories, just by looking at him, they could hear and read millions of scars and marks he gained, he earned and proved his courage, having what it takes to grow and vengeance those who can't, those who couldn't.

    They'd write books about him in the future, study his history and admire him because Alessandro Alvaro Santoro didn't die for nothing, he didn't die for legends and he didn't die a hero. He died as his own creature, he died for his own world.

    The Twins came to a halt, speaking low little words. "What an appealing welcome, although it was unfortunate that we missed the wedding." The male twin spoke first, his thick accent rolling off his tongue like dark red wine leaving a stain. "It's lovely what you've done to the place, it will be heartbreaking watching it fall into pieces and dust." His sister went in and Alessandro wondered if they practised their lines to be in rhyme.

    They spoke in each other's tongues and finished one another's words. They dressed, looked, and stood the same in height and eye level.

    Alessandro's hoarse chuckle rang back and slammed ahead, breaking those with cocky beliefs of defeating them into fear, settling an uneasy shiver in the air.

    He leaned a step, his voice low and clear, daring and husky, "Go ahead and try, maiestățile voastre." Some gasps were loud, some were quiet, some were shocked by how fluent his Romanian was and some were angry at his insult, using their ancestor's holy language.

    A smile tugged on Alessandro's lips, his grin reflected by two sets of full brown eyes dying to rip his heart out and wrap up for dessert.

    They were in position, they were ready on the mark for any given second to start the war.

    Except there was no war without its Queen.

    For the second time, the crowd of criminals and killers shoved aside, clearing a path for her and the shadows, the demons and devils she summoned and trailed behind her.

    She wore tight black pants, her top tucked in and her silver armour flared with the sun's heat. Half of her hair was tied up, and the rest of her soft unveiled strands hung down her curves as the heels of her boots shoved away humans and ghosts.

    A long sharp blow sliced through the crowd, even if they didn't know her face, her real name, or where she came from. Akila's power was so much, too much that the hold she had on these people was undeniable.

    In his eyes, he thought she looked graceful, heavenly, and deadly. All that he'd ever wished for.

    And to them, she was the devil in human form. She was the black hole suffocating and vacuuming the space. She was what kept them up past twilight, she was what the world saw destruction and chaos.

    But oh when she stood next to him, how she made him feel, how she made the hateful urge and need in his guts ease and wash away when he needed them the most.

    It was like the world, the sun, the moon, and the stars. And to him, she was the star among gems, she was the moon among planets, she was the universe among worlds, she was everything.

    For that instant, for as long as it lasted, Alessandro was more determined and reckless enough to die saving Akila, lay in her hands one last time, and bleed. He'd lose all he had in twenty-seven years, into one year since he met her, leave for the one woman who proved life does not control or build you, no, life was so simple, challenging that it only wanted to teach and advise. It was us, it was him and it was her, she kept him alive in moments he heard the whispered call for him, she saved him when he thought he was not capable of surviving.

    She saved him when he thought he was not worthy of survival.

    And she'd been surviving on her own for decades, for time and torture she didn't deserve. She didn't let ruin or rip her into pieces and flee.

    Akila got up, she fought and she won and the minute he laid his eyes on her on that battlefield, he saw her, he looked into her and knew she was going to get up, she was going to fight and win this war. Alessandro only wished to live long enough to see.

    There were no warnings, there were no screams, soldiers were running towards them, there was the end.

    She can't hide the way she looks at you first, in danger, in silence, times when you notice and when you don't, on good and bad days, before and after fights, she turns her head to reach for you, she wanders with her eyes, to look for you. Akila was looking, she was staring into his soul and he'd then believe what Adriano said, what he meant.

    "I love you," Akila didn't whisper, she didn't lower her voice or hide anymore. She dedicated her love in front of many, she dedicated her love in battle, in life and death, "I'll love you now, and after."

    They got too close. She drew her sword and ran, she led his army and crashed into their enemies while the words hung in the air, "I love you."

    Ground shaking, metal breaking and blood spilling, Alessandro picked up his weapons and ran.

    He ran. He ran and reached his enemy, his partner, and his friend. He ran alongside his escape, his lover, his life, his death, his wife, and his Akila. My enemy. My partner. My friend. My escape. My lover. My life. My death. My wife. My Akila.

    He decided then, that this. This is the moment he'd look back and dream of. This is the time he'd go back to and remember, cherish in the after.

[V]

    While others clashed and screamed for victory, Alessandro was on a personal hunt. He was going to kill The Twins, Enzo, Gerardo, Vincent, and the list went on. He counted them, memorized their names and faces except for one he hadn't been able to spot, captured in between men and between shooting and sweating as the sun rose above and set them all on fire.

    Vincent was out there, he was breathing, still breathing. He was with them but he didn't show himself so far and Alessandro was ready to change that for whatever cost.

    Armed men charged, attacking Alessandro, dozens of knives flying his way. Romanians were skilled fighters, especially with their sharpened metal.

    He dodged a blade aimed at his neck and swept a soldier off his feet, dragging him to the ground when three other men got close.

    One came from his right, left and front, so Alessandro shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, his shoulders fell and by the time his vision focused, they were all on him.

    He ducked and punched. The guy on his left got knocked out within a few hits while his companions stood up and fought again.

    And again. Alessandro sighed, grasping their passed-out friend into his arms, before they knew it, he threw the unconscious body, taking them down at once.

    He didn't want to waste time playing with these weak morons. He wanted their heads, their death before his own.

    Death had been surrounding, near and closing, and trapping everything in. The eight people, his people battling and dying, winning and losing, frightened him, and that on its own made it worse.

    But it pushed him more, it sent shivers down his skin. He wished to scarlet himself with the blood of those who pained him, of those who pained the ones he loved, of those who he wasn't going to stop until they were dust and a forgotten tragedy.

    Therefore instead of keeping that rage, that wrath locked and untamed, he unleashed, he loosened his furry, his fear. He collapsed into clots, small pieces of what Hell must've been like, and freed his men, he helped those who were on the edge and killed those who took from him.

    Alessandro stabbed a man in the heart, he twisted the knife in his rib cage, shattering his bones and stopping the heart.

    The man's body slammed down his feet, Alessandro bent down and pulled his knife back, "I'll need that." He wiped off the blood on his shirt and caught another.

    He sliced and slaughtered as if it were a little game. As if he was a wolf among dogs. He struck and rushed to bold once again. At some point, his mind wasn't a matter, it wasn't there, almost disconnected from reality and earth. It was his nerves that acted, his past that suffered, his long wait for this, for revenge.

    Revenge was sweet, it was bitter and light on his tongue. Breaking a man's arm, Alessandro thought of his father, of what he'd done to his own son for all those years, what he'd done to his own wife. His mother.

    He pierced a dagger in one brown eye and thought, he remembered, he watched her die in front of the world, he cried and screamed to the sky and the heavens to save her, to take him instead.

    The man clutched the dagger out of his right eye, taking his whole eye out. The eyeball rolled next to him. Alessandro stepped on it, he looked at the one-eyed soldier one last time before his leg was in the air, kicking a guy who'd attempted to sneak up on him.

    Although Alessandro was certain his army was winning, The Romanians were increasing, their numbers were repaired and reset as if it was endless.

    Men were coming for Alessandro, from every angle, and there was no one assisting him. It didn't matter to him, help or not, he was not dying before taking Vincent with him.

    Alessandro handled the attack swiftly, showing and tugging on the years and hours he'd spent training. He slit throats, broke bones, blinded some and tasted blood on his lips.

    His hair had gone messy, sticking to the back of his head and falling on his forehead.

    His face was covered with dots of blood for each cut he created. His clothes were splattered with crimson, bright and dark, all types of blood.

    He lost count of minutes, in dead bodies lying beneath him, damned and never getting back up. Something about that made him decompress, made the most powerful leader to ever exist, mile, in war with dirt and blood shadowing his front.

    Alessandro got bored of fighting. He snatched a gun and hit someone's head, sending them back home.

    That's enough. He told himself, walking away from these useless combats. He wanted to go find his wife.

    Despite the smell of blood and the war taunting, the word never failed to burst the blood into his veins, dragging goosebumps down his forearms and a strange twist in his stomach.

    She was his wife, his rightful betrothed. However, it seemed he had a hard time believing that they'd been married for almost two weeks. He hasn't stopped calling her that ever since, only in his mind.

    A part of him, in the depth of his brain, told him to keep quiet, not call her such things in case she hated it, in case she wanted divorce more than she admitted.

    Alessandro would give her a divorce, he would give her the whole galaxy on a stick if she asked. But it hurt him, it stung and ached him how quickly it happened and how early it was ending.

    He wanted to marry her since that night she came down from the midnight sky and caught him off the ground, saving him from the counting bomb. He wanted to marry her that day her family was in his land and he thought of nothing but protecting her.

    He wanted to marry her since that moment she said she loved him and she would love him no matter what and where and how. Those many moments he looked at her and she was looking back.

    And there she was, covered in more blood than him, cleaning through dozens, taking their last breath and locking their souls away.

    She held her blades in both hands, gripping them so tightly they almost shrunk down her skin and became a part of her bones. Her hand and long nails worked as smaller knives, scratching and ripping off flesh.

    She shifted with the air, driven by the wind's move, finishing one job after another. She stood on two feet and looked like an ancient warrior, a legend of depth, violence, dominance and fortitude. 

    They jumped on her, trying to bring her down but she threw them off, legs barely shaking, she held two men's weight on her back and pushed them off to the ground.

    When more cleared out, Alessandro snuck behind her. She spun before he could touch her and wrapped a hand around his throat to kill him.

    Alessandro let out a low choke and she released him immediately, "what are you doing," she hissed at him, knowing she could've killed him if she hadn't recognized his eyes.

    Akila checked where she choked him, looking for any bruises she may have caused and then she studied him entirely, hoping the blood on his hands wasn't his.

    When their eyes met, and he realised she was checking to see if he was okay, he smiled at her and leaned into her ear, "I missed you." He was crazy, absolutely and completely out of his mind.

    We're in the middle of war, she thought to herself but oh how she missed him too, how she wanted to hold his hand and kiss him, make love and watch him between her legs, hooked on his waist as they became one.

    As her husband, he would bite and lick the inside of her, suck on her round breasts and take her nipples in his long stroking fingers, rub himself against her until the world disappeared and blurred. She would pull on his hair and her body would pound, asking him for more. More and always.

    She wanted to feel him, in any given way. She wanted his clothes off and herself naked. Akila had many, many of these thoughts. On the most important missions and every time his skin made contact with hers.

    Some days she was turned on without touching him, he could be standing there, working out, cooking or simply doing business. She would imagine him taking her raw in the middle of nowhere.

    She couldn't let these ideas get into her head. She shook them off and focused more on what the hell was going around them when she caught a glimpse of the Twins.

    Alessandro followed her gaze and he knew what they had to do.

    They took off, chasing after the identical duo who were running into the forest with eight generals protecting their backs.

    Akila lived in those woods, she raised these trees and shared her secrets. She knew a faster path to catch up with him. "This way." She told Alessandro before taking a turn and he followed, he'd follow her til the earth stopped rotating and fell into oblivion.

    Within a few minutes, they found the Twins and watched them. They were jogging, the guards on full alert, stopping every five seconds to make sure no one followed them.

    Alessandro stayed on Akila's heel, running behind her in silence. His warmth washed over her, making her feel things she shouldn't.

    Akila's attention was drawn back to the Twins, they were escaping. None of it made sense, they started this, how could they run away and hide?

    Unless they were planning a phenomenon greater, much more vicious and deadly than war.

    The Twins ordered their guards away to work on something neither Akila nor Alessandro figured out yet.

    So instead of hiding and waiting for their next scheme to unravel, they walked into the light, revealing themselves to chaos.

    "I see your wounds have healed." One of them spoke and grinned at Akila, it didn't matter which, they were both dead.

    "Tragic, she looked remarkably fragile with them." It was the male, it was his hollow voice that sent Alessandro on his heels, attacking first and taking himself and the man down.

    The female twin went around and ran, abandoning her brother to save herself but Akila was there. Akila was chasing after her.

    She didn't get far. Akila summoned one of her blades and held aim, she narrowed her eyes for focus, whispering to her weapon before it flew into the air and hit the target.

    "Sweet baby Eleonora." Akila clicked her tongue, using, knowing the queen's name. After hiding it for years, she and her filthy brother banished royalty. Akila still knew, she always did.

    Eleonora crawled on her knees, holding onto anything to save her, to sail and drift far away from the woman standing, the woman playing with her pointed daggers and smiling as if they were mouse and cat, but Akila wasn't just a cat, she was a tigress winning her hunt, welcoming her prey to the end.

    Akila didn't kill in ages. Her fingers curled around the chills forming on her body, how badly she wanted to strip Eleonora out of her skin, crush her skull and burn her blood until nothing remained.

    Eleonora screamed, the mountains shook behind them, crows fluttered their wings and flew away from the vile creature returning home.

    Akila wrapped her hands on Eleonora's ankles and yanked her back. Akila looked down at the poor girl, her hair was no longer neat and clean, her face dirty with mud and her bones shaking.

    Eleonora screamed. She whimpered and broke, she cried and bled until everything froze, the wind held its breath and waited before Eleonora was dead and the wind blew past her soul.

    Her body was left for nature to consume. Animals and birds to feed while she rotted in the forest. 

    In future legends and myths, they wrote about The Twins. They didn't die of old age, diseases or accidents.

    They were murdered.

    They were slaughtered and slayed by two monsters.

[V]

    Akila went looking for Alessandro. She was furious with worry. Did he get injured, is he alright? She felt the panic travel up her neck, choking her with every step she took and didn't find him.

    Her thoughts spoke on top of each other, some screamed that he was okay, he was strong and capable of taking them all down alone. But a part of her begged to find him faster, to reach and shield him from any danger.

    And when her eyes finally found him, her knees buckled in relief. Alessandro felt her presence almost immediately and was about to hold her, take her hand and lead them away from this mess when Akila shifted, she looked behind him and her eyes turned red.

    He was confused for a long minute before he realised it was Gerardo standing on the other side.

    Alessandro saw the hesitation in her veins, clear and tense, stuck between staying with him or chasing after the man who made her childhood a living hell.

    "Go," Alessandro shouted across the massive trees, reassuring her that he would be fine on his own because she had to bring Gerardo down, she had to be the one who ended his life in fear and misery.

    It was hard for Akila, between the man who stole her innocence, and shredded her pure youth and the man who loved her, took care of and listened to her like no one else.

    She had to finish Gerardo once and for all. Alessandro was a great fighter, he was the best she'd ever seen. He will be fine, she will be quick and come back to him.

    With that, Alessandro watched Akila race and dart after her father. Seconds after they vanished out of his sight, the long-lost eight generals returned.

    They started seizing him and it was Alessandro's turn for a little fun.

    While Alessandro dealt with the remaining guards, Akila followed her father. Her father. The word rang into her head and clutched, shattering the walls where she sealed and kept her old trauma, lost and unspoken memories hidden and buried behind her hazel eyes, behind lashes and punches, harassment and torture she bore for thirteen years until her mother remembered the child she gave birth to and didn't dare save.

    Teresa Albir could've done so many things. She could have run away with her little girl, she could've killed her daughter. But instead, she slept in warm beds and clean sheets every night. Every night. While her teenage daughter was dying in the basement of their home.

    For so many years, Akila wanted to break. She wanted to set herself on fire, to cry until her eyes dried out and fell on her lap. She wanted to shred her skin into pieces, she wanted to hang herself and rip out her throat.

    And even after she left her family, Amelia and everything she'd ever known. She felt like no one, she was no one. She was nothing.

    She was weak, naive and dead. She was what was left of human flesh and bones. Her face was thinning. The colour in her eyes and skin faded away, ready, waiting to crumble, descend and leave that world. That cruel place she only received grief and pain from.

    Every night of her first month after escaping, she'd wait. She'd truly wish and hope. Beg for death to come. To claim what was left of her broken ribs, her dying heart and her black eyes where they were once colourful, filled with light and emotions that gave away too much.

    She hated them. She hated her eyes, she hated her face. She wanted to cut her head off and watch it burn in flames.

    But they were the same pair of eyes, the same pair of amber and green. The eyes she once looked into and felt ashamed of, the same eyes he looked into and loved.

    Sometimes she liked to think that he fell in love with her eyes first, and then everything else after. Because, from that very first moment, she opened her eyes and looked around his house where they locked her, when she glared at him, something didn't go right. 

    She was used to people lowering their gaze, stumbling away in fear and hiding from her reputation. They called her Venom, they called her poisonous and damned and lethal. She thought he'd listen to those claims, those stories that were true.

    Yet, he held her eyes in his and didn't let go. Her heart had started racing, her nerves were struck with confusion and surprise. She had a plan and he had a plan.

    And neither ended up happening.

    Gerardo reached the end of the shore where the ocean trapped him. He twirled back around to find Akila only a few metres away from him.

    She saw the panic on his face, the sweat dripping down his throat. Good. He should be scared. It wasn't a secret Akila was to kill them all. They received that message when Amelia tricked her into meeting her parents and she shot Gerardo to prove, show him that the little girl he abandoned to be enslaved and ruined was now a full-grown woman. The most feared woman to walk this earth and vengeance her girlhood.

    "A-Akila please." Hearing her name off his tongue trembled her walls. It pushed something in her but she gritted her teeth, she bit the inside of her cheeks and got closer to her father.

    Gerardo held his hands in the air, slowly stepping back. "I was wrong about you, we were all wrong. Please just give me a chance, hija." Darkness flashed into her core, so much darkness, so much pain and so many wasted years.

    When she only stood a few inches away from him, her voice was deep and keen, "You had twenty-four years." Her tone was cold, fierce and outraged. "I was dying," her voice broke but not out of fear. Her heart broke for that girl, that lonely girl, damaged and torn, with no family, with no soul, with nothing.

    Akila swallowed and focused her gaze, "I was dying, and you didn't save me." Her father shuddered, the defeat growing in his hazel eyes—her eyes.

    "W-we can fix it, we can try again, together," he said—suggested after decades. After years and hours and nights.

The hair on his arms stood. His muscles tensed when Akila started laughing. She laughed and she laughed. She couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop. Her laugh wasn't joyful, it wasn't content and lively. It was a laugh of madness. A laugh of insanity and agony.

    Fix. Try. Together. She laughed harder, the sound echoing and roaming them. The world was shut off, somewhere far. The war behind them moved away, the ocean stilled and the wind hurried afar. It was just Akila and her father

    And as if it never happened, Akila stopped laughing in an instant and looked down at Gerardo, "Forgive me, padre, for letting you live this long, for letting you breathe one day after what you've done to me. Forgive me." Her fingers curled around her blade until her skin bled, and she was stabbing her father in the neck, driving her dagger into his throat, she twisted and fell with him.

    He gasped at the cold metal and went down. Akila cupped the side of his face as his legs failed and he kneeled on the ground. His eyes were still open, shining with tears of pain, tears of regret, tears of her life, flowing and dying.

    At that time, she wished to feel anything. She wished for her heart to pump and emotions to kick in, but they didn't. And perhaps it was better this way.

    Akila pulled the blade out of his throat, looking down at her father one last time, kneeling in front of her, one tear running down his left cheek. She raised her right leg and pushed on the middle of his chest with her foot, his body fell back into the ocean and the sea carried him away.

    Her face was tight. Neutral and out of motion. She wrapped the end of her shirt around the sharp knife and cleaned her favourite blade out of blood.

    The blade was made of silver, the hilt painted in black and dark green, and three diamonds were carved into the back while a tiger's head sat at the front, its mouth opened and covered in blood.

    The silver was for the chains she was tied within the basement. The black was for her death, her grief, her fear, and her depression. The dark green was for her rebirth, her growth, her jealousy, her greed and her peace. The three diamonds were for her first purchase with the money she earned.

    And the tiger was for her vigour, her ambition, her courage, her confidence, her dignity, her ferocity, her sternness. Her life.

    That very blade took her father's soul, killed her enemies and swayed in her hand night and day, serving the new purpose in the life she created.

    Akila looked at the sky, clear and neutral like herself. She breathed in and for a second, for a beat she almost missed, her heart liberated and released.

    It was a strange feeling, she never listened or paid attention to her heart but now, it was beating differently. As if it shrunk back and rose once again. But she knew she couldn't cling to that feeling for longer, so she was ready to halt and go find Alessandro.

    A handful of men surrounded her, lost between anger and grief for Gerardo who must've meant something to them. They stared at her and she stilled in place.

    She could sense the warmth in the air. She could hear their thoughts, the vile things they were to do to her after she killed their friend, their leader.

    Akila didn't move, she waited for them to come to her. And after a long minute, one stepped forward, closing the distance between him and her.

    His eyes burned, no one was sure what to do with her. Go ahead with the kill or watch what she'll do first.

    But the man was impatient and he stretched out an arm towards Akila. A part of her praised his courage. When the man's hand caressed Akila's chin, and he raised her head, she looked up grinning like the devil. 

    It was moments after his body crashed into the ground that she realised this may have been her uncle. To his luck, she had no time for family meetings.

    The last four men started shaking in what could've been the rage, terror or perhaps panic. Akila didn't care, she was set to kill first, ask questions later. She was a machine, an animal. A creature on the loose. So her tongue ran down and wet her bottom lip, she flashed her pointed teeth and unleashed.

[V]

    Akila's ears shuddered. The men were slightly difficult to rid of her body. They were huge and bulky, almost twice her age and very, very upset with what she'd done.

    After a little kick here and a bloody showdown, she managed to get rid of them one by one.

    Still, the sound of their screams and howls launched a headache against her front. Her sight was dizzy but she held herself up, she had to. She had to return and find Alessandro.

    On her way, she noted the white hair shining through the crowd of soldiers. It was Narcisa, she was struggling to push off two men attacking her.

    Akila sighed and rolled her eyes before taking a short turn and crashing into one of the two men seizing Narcisa.

    She kicked his back and he fell on his stomach crying. His friend snapped and aimed his gun at Akila. She dodged the bullet and rushed closer to Narcisa. "Not so much a boxer like hiding from a fight, are you now?" Akila mocked her and approached the other man, smacking the gun out of his grip. "In a ring, we're not fighting to kill," Narcisa complained and Akila almost let the man shoot the white head or she'd do it herself.

    The man came running with a fist and Akila ducked, only for Narcisa to get knocked out. She coughed on the ground, the man smiled down at her before Akila snatched the gun and hit the back of his head.

    He fell right next to his friend. Akila spread her legs and stood on top of them. "But the best thing about killing, my sweet Narcisa, is that you don't just win. You take their life, their soul. They're yours." Akila's tongue clicked and two daggers were thrown, aimed and landed on the two bodies.

    Narcisa watched in horror, taking a careful step back. Akila broke into laughter. When her head rolled back and the amusement died off, "Go find Armando, he'll show you." Akila could've said any name, anyone. But maybe she wanted to help Armando one last time.

    This time, Akila didn't stop. Whether to assist someone with a kill or save them. She was going to make sure Alessandro was fine first.

    She hurried back into the woods, looking around and searching. She found nothing.

    The sun started to drift away from the sky as it got darker. It wasn't time for sunset, it was something else.

    That worked Akila's pace faster, her eyes sharper, slicing through trees and recollecting every inch of the forest. She couldn't spot him and it messed with her head. 

    He couldn't have lost against those generals, they were fragile. No. Alessandro wouldn't fall that easily.

    But then where was he? Akila marched out of the woods, somewhere near the hill her castle sat on top of, she heard something break.

    Silently, she snuck around the area, hiding behind big rocks. She kept her focus and prepared.

    And that's when she heard two female voices. Akila's entire body froze. She knew that voice, she heard its sobs and screams. She could recognize her mother's voice anywhere.

    Akila slowly released the tension in her muscles and followed the sound of them.

    The other woman was Amelia and it seemed like they were both planning something. Something big. Akila had a feeling she wouldn't like it very much.

    She didn't. Because when Akila walked into the scene of Alessandro, on his knees and her mother holding a pistol to his head while Amelia stood a few metres away, steering her gun at Akila in regard. Akila was not happy.

    Nonetheless, she kept walking calmly, approaching them without making eye contact with Alessandro. She didn't understand why he'd let them do this to him, she knew he could brush them off like a set of curtains, so why?

    "What did you do?" Her mother yelled into her face. Akila tilted her head, confused at the act. Teresa was a gentle delicate woman, she wouldn't act so vulgar.

    "Did you kill him?" Teresa's voice broke, her hands were shaking and tears burned down her cheeks. Akila stopped and held her mother's weary gaze. "Kill who?" Akila knew what she was doing, she needed to distract her mother away from the pistol.

    "Don't act foolish now, where is he? Did you kill him?" Her mother's face was beautiful. If Akila was an artist, she would paint her mother, with tears and dread covering her defined features. She looked more alive and less plastic with the flush on her cheeks and the redness creeping into her brown eyes.

    "Akila, listen to me," Amelia said, and Akila listened indeed. Akila was willing to listen all day long. "He's using you," she cried out, pointing her weapon at Alessandro. "He's using you and you're so blinded by his charm, by his power. You'll never be his equal. I've seen him, I've worked with him. He's not who you think he is." Amelia lowered her gun, "Akila, please. If he wins this, we will die. He will take you, he will lock you away and it will be over.

    "Your mother will forgive you," Teresa opened her mouth to protest but Amelia shut her up with a glare, "Just come with us, we'll protect you. We will be a family again. You, me and Teresa. Nothing will stop us." The passion in Amelia's voice made her easily convincing.

    Akila drew closer, she steadily took each step until she stood in front of Alessandro and her mother at his side.

    Her hand itched and she found herself reaching for him, her fingers brushing his jaw. His skin was warm against her cold one. She lifted his chin and his eyes locked with hers. Her palm cupped the right side of his face and her thumb rubbed beneath his eye.

    He was smiling. Not a fortunate smile, a safe smile. A smile of understanding, of acceptance. A smile so peaceful and serene.

    She couldn't read his thoughts. Was he waiting to die or did he know she wouldn't betray him?

    Amelia was now beside Akila. "Forget him," Akila looked down at Alessandro again, he was smiling and she was smiling too. "Forget the past. Come with us. Come home." Her words whispered into Akila's ears like a casting spell, but there was one thing Amelia missed.

    Akila never, never forgets.

    Unstrapping the weapon on her hips, Akila took out the gun and shot Amelia between the eyes.

    Alessandro stayed on the ground, aware of the pistol held to his head. Surprisingly, Teresa didn't scream this time, she didn't weep and beg for sympathy.

    "I told her. I warned her not to trust you." Teresa's tone went cold and distant. Her body was still shaking and tears ran down until they dried. "I should kill him, and you." She pressed the tip of the pistol into Alessandro's hair. "I should kill him like you killed my husband. Your father." She spat on her last word and angled her weapon.

    Akila inhaled deeply, trying her best to take it slow with her mother. "You're not going to kill him." Teresa stared into her daughter, unable to recognize her, to see any part of that young girl she helped run away.

    "Yes. Yes, I will." Teresa's hand braced and fixed but before she could pull the trigger, Akila knocked the pistol out of her hold. Alessandro was on his feet in a second.

    Teresa stumbled back, she tripped on a piece of branch and fell on her back. Akila picked up her mother's pistol and strolled above her trembling body.

    "Akila, no," Her mother sobbed, shaking her head, she had nothing to do. Akila had nothing either. She didn't see her mother. She didn't see anything in the woman lying beneath her.

    The emotions were lost and parched. She couldn't feel for her mother, she couldn't stare her down and find anything worth saving.

    "Thank you," Akila said to honour that night her mother once, just for once tried to redeem herself and give Akila a chance at a new life.

    "No no no no no," Teresa bawled, stuttering and fading. Akila realised this could've been her. This could've been Akila. The Akila who didn't escape, the Akila who didn't fight, the Akila who gave up and wrapped herself around a man instead, so he would protect her, woo her with money and luxury. She would've been the woman on the ground, weak, frightened, and breakable.

    Akila pointed the pistol at her mother, "Goodbye, Mom." The bullet choked Teresa before she could let out her last word.

    Blood leaked out of the bullet hole. Akila silently watched, whispering to her mother's soul. Be thankful. Because while Akila could've butchered her mother first, make her pay for those years, for that day she chose to keep a child only to abandon it later. Akila spared her mother the torment and waited a few minutes until she felt the weight of Teresa's soul fly away.

    When Akila faced Alessandro, his thoughts were worried and unsettled. "I killed them." The three words were like silk softly stroking her in approval. Alessandro grew worried and offered his arm, "Come here." She trusted him. She went up to Alessandro and sunk into him.

    He kissed her hair and ran his hand through it, massaging her scalp. He leaned into her and mumbled against her head, "I'm here," Akila buried her face deeper into his chest, "I'm with you." Now and after.

    "FIRE!" The scream broke them apart.

    They heard the sound before the shouting. Something exploded and the trees were catching fire, one by one, everything and everywhere was igniting.

    Akila and Alessandro shared one last look before sprinting. More men shouted and names were called for rescue.

    The flames sucked out the oxygen, making it harder to breathe into the open nature. Alessandro's eyes wandered, trying to capture the sight of his friends. Anyone he could save.

    And Akila was looking over Alessandro, making sure he didn't walk into danger while he searched for his men. She watched his steps before hers, protecting him through her piercing gaze.

    Someone called Alessandro. His head whipped to the voice and he found Emilion being dragged away by a man.

No, not any man.

Marcello Benvetti.

    His name was burning against his skin. Alessandro wasn't seeing, he was focused on Marcello and Marcello only, for having Emilion tangled in his arm.

    Marcello was laughing like a maniac, keeping a rigid grip on Emilion. He knew Alessandro would go as far as the edges of the earth to get back one of his men.

    Akila wasn't pleased with the scene. She didn't doubt Alessandro's commitment and the unsettling way he'd sacrifice himself with no second thought for anyone he truly loved and cared for. But it wasn't a good sight either.

    As if Marcello read her thoughts, he dropped Emilion.

    Yet he knew that Alessandro would still chase him for attempting to steal that man Alessandro found on the streets who came from nothing and turned himself into everything. Emilion had gained trust and loyalty. He'd become Alessandro's best friend and left hand.

    So Alessandro didn't stop. And neither did Akila.

    The sky groaned above them. The clouds closed on each other and launched a loud shrill followed by thunder.

    The sun completely shrunk, taking away any light left. Replaced with a dark grey haze and fog creeping onto the land.

    The fire stopped Alessandro, splitting the path between him and Marcello. Akila stalled before crashing into Alessandro's back and waited for his next move.

    She'd go with him. Even if she didn't like it, even if she didn't approve or rathered an alternative where she took him somewhere safe. She knew they weren't made for that purpose. They were made for this.

    Alessandro had known what it meant to her, to go after Gerardo and stab him. Finding Teresa and watching her die. And it was Akila's turn to know, and understand his need to erase those who fucked with his own.

    From a short distance, Armando came into view. His face was touched with dirt. His muscles were aching, and the tips of his fingers were quivering. He had a few bruises across his forehead, some on his arms and a bloody large cut at the side of his left thigh. His head went still. Emilion was limping, Alessandro stood on the other side, Akila on his left and a man with his back turned faced them.

    Armando noticed how badly injured Emilion was. He was bleeding into his shirt. Someone had struck an intense cut across his stomach and he was losing too much blood. The thick locks of his black hair stuck to his temple from the sweat as he lost more balance.

    It took Armando a few seconds to put the pieces together. He tried to meet Alessandro's eyes but failed. So he made himself useful and rushed to Emilion. He helped Emilion stand on his feet, an arm supporting his waist. 

    The sky didn't seem to do them any favours as the world split in half and poured down rain. The water kicked on the fire spreading across the forest. Each element trying to claim dominance of the earth.

    The rain kept falling and the fire grew taller. No one would know which one would win. Which one would continue till the end of the fight. 

    And it all felt similar to the war unyielding and gaping closer to an endless void.

    Emilion wrapped his hand around the wound. He told Armando the faceless man was Marcello and they both watched the scene unfold in front of them.

    Before Alessandro could let go of Marcello for the moment, deciding he wasn't worth it. Marcello grinned and Alessandro caught the shadow figure of Enzo.

    That did it. Whatever dignity Alessandro was reaching down to hold onto and stay behind had sunk deeper and disappeared. He took off after Enzo. He walked into the fire like it was a soft breeze of air. And Akila,

    Akila went after him.

    Armando's eyes widened and he'd then realised that Akila. The Venom. The heartless woman who the world feared and hunted, she'd walk through fire for Alessandro.

    The fog curled around them, cleaning their trail as they pushed further away from the battlefield.

    Enzo wasn't running, no, he was walking away from the chaos he was part of and Alessandro stormed after him.

    A few seconds later, Akila noticed Marcello sneaking up behind them. She let out a deep sigh and leaned into Alessandro, "I'll take care of Benvetti." she whispered to him before taking a left which of course, Marcello followed.

    Fool. She hissed into her head and held back a grin. She drove Marcello far away from Alessandro so he could take all the time in the world to deal with Enzo.

    Akila didn't try to hide or silence her steps, she knew Marcello was watching. She wanted him to watch and find her.

    When Akila stopped, she felt Marcello's gaze buried into her back. She chuckled and flexed her fingers, "You're going to hide now?" The rain fell harder, collapsing on her shoulders and soaking her clothes.

    Marcello's voice spoke over the storm, "I would love to come out, only if you promise not to attack me, princess." Akila fought against her thoughts to strangle him, drag his body across the forest and play with his bones.

    After no response from her, Marcello gave up. He stood behind her, leaving mere inches between them. He breathed in, her scent lingering and filling his lungs. "You smell too good," he purred into her ear.

    Akila was losing it. From the small distance, he left between them and the previous comment he made.

    Marcello's hand rose and his fingers faintly brushed against Akila's arm. His skin was warm, dirty and sickening.

    "Say something, princess," Marcello bent down, gently resting his chin on Akila's right shoulder. She held her breath and stared into his green eyes.

    He stared back, a smile spreading on his thin lips. Akila smiled too, but it didn't reach her cheeks.

    In one swift measure, her fist swung and she punched Marcello in the jaw.

    He stumbled back on his feet and blood burst out of his lower lip. He wiped the blood with his thumb and looked up at Akila who was turned and glaring at him.

    He took a moment to study her physique, her war attire and the amount of weapons she strapped herself with. "I've always admired you, my daring Akila." He spit more blood and took a step closer. Akila drew her dagger and copied his move.

    Marcello was pleased with the challenge. "Talk to me, princess." He teased Akila with the nickname to get any reaction, to mess with her concentration. So Akila played along and led him to believe he trapped her in.

    "And what is it you want me to say?" Akila's voice was baiting. Silky and luring. She did good at that part, she was always good at the pull. That drag on her tongue, welcoming and captivating to trap her prey and take the kill.

    Marcello seemed paralyzed by her tone. Blinking the surprise away, he went on, "Whatever it is on your pretty mind," he wasn't bad either. Akila pushed forward, "I'm thinking two things," she confessed.

    "One," her hands hooked together behind her back. She circled Marcello like an animal hovering over its next meal. "How the blood stained into my skin makes me feel alive." A grin slipped on her lips, flashing a pair of pointed fangs.

    "And the second thing?" Marcello asked, the excitement running down the tip of his words like sweet honey. Akila narrowed her eyes through the dark colour of her long lashes. She suddenly stopped whirling around Marcello and stood in front of him, "What your head would look like on a stick." The dagger was mid way through the air when Marcello ducked.

    But Akila never missed.

    Alessandro had reached his limit and pulled his father around to face him. Enzo jerked his arm away from Alessandro and his nostrils flared.

    For what felt like an eternity, Enzo was silent. He didn't move, he didn't do more than breathing. His muscles were tense but frozen and Alessandro wondered what could possibly be going into his father's head.

    Enzo didn't look at his son, he didn't risk meeting those eyes. Eyes so similar to his, so green and darkened by life and death.

    No one knew if Enzo truly loved his son, if perhaps he did care but failed to show his gratitude. 

    If life ruined them both and dumped whatever was left, between war and blood. They didn't know how to speak, how to communicate or even launch the first attack.

    But that all didn't matter. None of it did.

    Enzo saw it first. He always did. Whilst Alessandro, he was too busy staring down his father. The man who raised him, the man who trained and taught him the fastest way to kill. The same man who killed Dianna, faked having an elder son only to banish his real son off the throne. Because Alessandro was getting too powerful. Too strong and lunatic. Lunatic and in love with a wicked beast held within human skin and flesh.

    Alessandro was falling deeper everyday with the one woman Enzo disapproved of. The female child that was never meant to be but happened. The teenage girl that was meant to perish but escaped. The woman that was meant to burn into dust but instead, she rebelled from the ashes and came back from night and death.

    She came back from the moon, the stars and midnight sky. She shielded and protected her heart, that exquisite intricate part of her she had to turn into stone cold to survive until Alessandro. He who knocked on her walls and eased the years, the trauma and the distance of her entity, and her forgotten soul.

    She'd been the last memory in his mind, the last image painted onto his walls and his final thought when he heard something break against the back of his head. His ears rang with what might've been pain or his loud cry travelling in the distance. His vision blurred and unfocused. In a heartbeat, Alessandro's knees buckled. He lost his balance. And his body slammed to the ground.

[V]

His lips trembled as his voice broke, "A-akila.." Alessandro choked on his whisper one last time before his eyes closed and never opened again.

[V]

    Akila's eyes were open. She felt the sweat drip down her forehead and sink into her hair. She smelled of blood and dirt. She'd killed dozens and yet it wasn't enough. Nothing satisfied her, not until she made sure Alessandro got out of that war alive. And she'd fulfil that oath no matter what it costs.

    No matter what it costs.

    Death was one of the costs. So much death and agony and sorrow. She knew what she'd put him through but it didn't stop her, nothing would. Because for the first time, Akila didn't see blood. She didn't seek revenge or murder. She saw a life, a man she loved and was willing to save in exchange for her life.

    It was both enchanting and saddening how both of them shared that dedication equally. Despite the terrible and inevitable truth, death would unite them one way or another. Even after all those years and decades, they fought against it. Against the void, the emptiness, the easier ending they could've both chosen instead of this. Instead of life. They'd now take death for one another. They'd eagerly choose dying for one to live and hustle for a better life, a peaceful one away from chaos and torment.

    A life that would last only a while until they could reunite again in the after.

    Akila shook her head and felt her lungs burn. Her heart was heavy against her chest. She didn't understand the feeling but she knew what to do with it. Trust it.

    So she did. After she dumped Marcello's body deeper into the woods so wild animals could prey on him, she felt the first ache with the strike of lightning shocking the warry sky.

    Her clothes were damped with blood, wet and sticking to her skin. She breathed blood, tasted it and carried it on her body. She had no time to clean her hands off Marcello, there was barely time left for anything. It was running, far away and out of reach.

    And that terrified her. If she was too late. If she was too early. She didn't know.

    Akila didn't know.

    And that petrified her.

    But she had to keep moving. There wasn't a choice anymore. None of them had a choice. Regardless of their power, their titles and force. In the end, everyone was equal. Everyone was fighting to survive, to see another day and live.

    Akila didn't care about all that. She didn't want another day, she didn't need a new life of silence and ease. She liked the damage, she enjoyed the destruction. She loved the insanity.

    It kept her going. She was fine with her past and civil with what she had to endure. And if she were given a chance to go back, she wouldn't change a thing.

    That person she was, broken and wretched. It forced out the woman she became. Secure and fearless. Strong and formidable. No. She wouldn't change a second of it.

    She was not ashamed of the scars covering her hips. She was not afraid of her demons. Therefore she shifted and slayed them. Earned her place in the underworld and ruled all the malicious creatures begging for a queen. A queen only she can be.

    Akila believed in Heavens and Hell. She believed in Heavens and the seven levels. And she also believed in one Hell. One stage for the sinners, for all monstrous creatures where they could altogether burn. She knew which was her path. Which she belonged to.

    She'd accepted her fate that night her eyes flashed with light. They rayed and shined the brightest. When the first murder plan caressed into her mind, sang into her ears, ran with her blood and clung onto her scent, her fingers, her demolished morals. Everywhere that it consumed her and turned into an addiction. One she couldn't get away from. One she wouldn't control.

    For the last two decades, she'd only dreamed and craved death for her benefit. She'd murder and slaughter for her sake and profit. For satisfaction and peace. To protect herself. And only herself.

   But then he showed up. Akila groaned quietly to herself. Paranoid of not finding him, she kept her pace and stepped into puddles of dirty water that almost looked like a path made of footprints. 

    She followed the way thinking she might be making it up. Imaginary for the hope to lead her to Alessandro and yet it seemed like there wasn't any better option.

   The footprints were no longer human sized. They turned into one long line, deep into the earth and filled with water. Her eyes wandered for moments, studying the trees around her. Something was wrong.

   She never came to this side of the forest. She never knew it existed.

    That was impossible. Akila knew these woods like the distant sound of her heartbeats. She marched down these trees every day and night for the last five years. She couldn't have possibly missed such a dull spot.

    It was different. The trees. The trunks were not the rich colour of deep brown wood. The leaves were not the vibrant colour of chlorophyll light green.

   The trees were dark, dimmed and black. She'd never seen anything like it before. But something felt awfully familiar to them.

    Akila stopped in her place. Her vision fainted for a second before she shook her head when the ringing started. The trees were tall. She couldn't bring herself to look up further without her head snapping at her.

    Her throat grew dry. Her stomach twisted into knots and her blood clotted into her veins. The trees. A voice shouted in the loss of her mind. But the shouts and screams were muted, covered and hidden by another force she couldn't put her hand on.

    Her gaze traced down every tree and her heart raced. Akila started searching. Ripping through her mind and memories of those ruinous black woods. Her hands froze. She saw black and white spots around her. She was surrounded by the cursed trees and she couldn't move. She found nothing.

    You know me. You know me. You know me. Akila covered her ears with her dead hands. The voices loudened and hissed at her in rage. And yet her eyes kept looking up. She couldn't stop. She was out of thoughts. Out of plans and escapes.

    Akila had lost control.

    She felt the shake within her bones before her body. Her palms became warm and sweaty while a strong wave of nausea hit her. She couldn't catch her breath. She was choking. She was running out of air.

    Akila's eyes widened in realisation. Her fingers shivered in terror and shock because she knew. Akila knew she was having a panic attack.

    "A small world we live in, my darling nieta." Akila choked and the air burned down her lungs. GrandDaughter.

[V]

    The tall figure of Vincent was only a few feet away from Akila. He stood board and motionless, staring at his granddaughter for the first time in twelve years.

    His eyes never left hers. They were silent for the wind, the rain and the skies. Words were not enough. Nothing was ever enough to escape that man because no matter how far she went, no matter how long she hid and survived. He had found her and she was at loss.

Akila broke. Tears stung the back of her head but she held her place. Her mind was playing tricks after another. Her heart had sunk and buried itself far before any of this could've been possible. And there she was, standing in front of the great Vincent Albir who took her youth and freedom.

    The man who took her innocence.

    She never imagined what it would feel like seeing him again. In flesh and battle, his hair the colour of raven and his eyes a darker shade of hers. His clothes were loose and his arms were empty of weapons.

    The tanned pigment of his skin vibrated through the open area of his shirt exposing his chest while a tattoo sat across his collarbone.

    Akila's gaze fell on his hands first. And for a flash of lightning, she'd imagined claws growing under his fingers and crawling back in. "I hope you like the trees," A thick accent danced on his words and a grin crept on his cold lips. Akila sucked in a deep breath, fighting the urge to draw a blade and cut her ears off.

    Vincent's head tipped to the right and he watched his only grandchild with curiosity. "Do you remember?" The sound of his chuckle groaned with the storm, "I planted them just for you." He took a step closer and Akila gritted her teeth so hard, her jaw almost fractured.

    She felt her heart awakening, the heat flushing her cheeks and the rage. The hollow rage that lived and rotted within her body. The anger that dimmed and lost its flames. The sadness. The desolation and the fear.

    The dread and angst she had to live for years, for decades. Alone. With no help. With no one.

    From the first blink into the world, to the very moment she lived, she had to stay with her past, she had to heal her wounds. She had to fix and repair and fix and rebuild and fix. She had to be strong.

    She was a child.

    She wasn't supposed to be strong, she was supposed to be protected.

    But where was her father? Where was her mother?

    Where were they when she wanted them? When she needed them. Because what was she but a little girl who wished for love, a small toddler who hoped for care and warmth.

     What was she but a hopeless broken kid? Abused. Assaulted. Anguished. Abandoned.

    Forgotten.

    Where were they? They were dead. She'd kill them. She'd watched the life drain out of their eyes. And their souls. Dragged away somewhere she would meet them again and repeat her sin.

    "Do you remember?" This time, his voice was demanding, impatient and unkind. She'd heard all the tones of his voice. She had to learn them, to think and act quickly or he'd get more upset.

    And yet no matter how much she tried to please him, nothing was ever enough to stop him for just one day. For one night where she would lay on the ground and beg for sleep to come, beg for death to take her away.

    Some days he only hit her with his bare hands, others he stripped her naked and whipped her fragile body to oblivion.

    But the worst days were when he touched her. When she was left soaked in her own blood the next morning with nothing to cover her bruised flushed skin.

    Young Akila would sit by the steel door of her cell, listen to his footsteps, to the way he inhaled and exhaled. Trying to determine how hard he'd go on her. Trying to prepare herself for the next lonely and frightening hours instead of panicking and causing more trouble.

    Oh how there was no one there to tell her she wasn't causing any trouble, she wasn't a problem at all. She was just a girl, dragging herself to stay alive and make sense of that mortifying life thrown at her.

    Looking at him now, after twelve years of survival. Of failure, of trauma and loss and so much, so much pain. Too much anger trapped inside her, striking her flesh, fighting against her will to let go of the past, to move on and live because that's what she deserved. That's what the world owed her.

    The world owed her peace and life and liberty. But those never came, no, she was forced to start over.

    She didn't start from zero, she started from underground and she kept digging up. Up...up...up.

    One tear broke and rolled down her cheek, she didn't feel the need to wipe it. That was it. That was all.

    Akila swallowed everything she was feeling and winced quietly at her dry throat. Slowly, she looked up, catching the eyes of the man who taunted her being. "I remember."

    His face erupted with a smile, watching her carefully, he signalled her to go on.

For the longest beat, Akila didn't feel. She stood there, her bones shaking and her mind blank. Everything she had ever known seemed to flee, escape the nightmares, the horror and the burden that finally dared to become, to turn into reality and twist her guts.

   My fifth birthday. Almost twenty years ago, Vincent Albir thought of a surprise for his granddaughter. He planted her pitched black trees. Long marvellous trees towered the house.

    Five years old Akila was so excited. When her grandpa took her outside, to see the midnight sky and count the stars. She had smiled the brightest that night. For the first time, her lips knew what it felt like to curl up and smile big, her cheeks to rise and redden with excitement.

    What baby Akila didn't know before that night was the feeling of a grown man raping her. Vincent took his grandchild in the middle of five big black trees and played a little game with her. Every time he kissed her, she had to remove one item of her clothes.

    Akila only had a dirty white shirt and torn thin pants.

    She was cold. She was scared and lost.

    She screamed. Through it all. She screamed and yelped and cried and begged for her grandpa to stop. To hit her instead. To put her back in the basement and she will never complain again. She will never dare wish for a mother, a father.

    She will never dare wish for love again.

    Just put her back. Put me back. Put me back.

The touch of his hands was the worst of it all. He would plant them on her premature chest and rub himself hard. And when his grip went lower, he drove himself into her deeper only for her screams to louden.

He loved it when she cried. When she fought against him so he could hold her back in place and make her feel pain. His dry lips traced her stomach, he bit and sucked on her waist, the curves around her ribs and shoulders.

Vincent didn't stop until he came inside the child trapped between his arms. And to end it, he forced her to taste him, swallow his seminal fluid before he was satisfied and done with her for the night.

    When she was thrown back, Teresa had heard of what happened and visited the cell. Akila didn't move, she didn't know how.

    Teresa shook her daughter for hours, asking if she was okay if she was hurt but if she really cared, why didn't she come sooner? Why didn't she save Akila? Why didn't she?

    Why didn't she do so many things.

    While Teresa sobbed and knelt next to her kid for answers, Akila sat silently for days, perhaps weeks or months. She couldn't forget the image of her grandpa's male genitalia. The feeling of it sliding inside her, the burning pain in her stomach, the ache deep within her shattered heart. So weak and tired.

    She felt dirty, worthless and nauseous. She threw up every hour. Her grisly clothes absorbed the vomit of what little she threw up from her empty stomach.

    She wanted to crawl out and tear her skin apart. She wanted to take a pin and a string and seal her eyelids shut. She wanted to stab her brain with a million knives. And lastly, she wanted to reach down her throat and take out her heart so she could stop hearing its beat.

    She stayed in a corner, the sight of him rewinding in her head, in front of her eyes no matter how many times and how strongly she closed them shut, she still saw it happening again. Over and over. Each time worse. Each time harder.

    Across the decade, it did get worse. It did get harder. But her mother no longer came to plead. Teresa stopped checking up on Akila and her story was pretty much done.

    The days blended into the nights and the light became an endless void of darkness. And Akila lost her dignity, her body and her soul.

    She was a waste of air. An object played with. A toy beaten into pitiful pieces.

    Her end was near, Akila knew that. She knew it in her dying heart, in her rancid bones, in her corrupt flesh and mouldy skin.

    What she didn't know was that after thirteen years of abuse, harassment and shame. Her mother had a plan to help her run away.

    And after another twelve years, she realised it wasn't her fault to feel shame. It wasn't her fault, nothing was.

    But none of it compared to what she felt when Akila snapped out of the memories and saw him.

    Alessandro was being dragged to the ground, his body unconscious and breathless. Enzo was pulling his son by the ankles, he didn't stop until he stood a good distance between Akila and Vincent.

    Enzo threw Alessandro's unmoving body in the middle of the three of them and Vincent grinned to himself.

    Akila's fingers started to twitch. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the memories. And maybe it was the chilling view of Alessandro's still body, his calm beautiful face, his long dark lashes closed against his green eyes that carried so much atonement and devotion in them. 

    "You see, nieta, this is how grown men deal with disobeyed children." Vincent looked down first at Alessandro and shook his head. He then glanced up to find Akila staring at him in livid.

    He raised his chin higher, "Look what happens to dreamers." That he wasn't wrong about. Alessandro has always been a dreamer, one who sought the stars and wished for the better, wished for his friends to be safe and happy. He chased away the worst of Hell and brought down the eternity of Heaven to those he loved.

    He also dreamt of someone like her. Every. Night. Of a woman full of power and strength. A woman who's fierce and fearless. A woman that would come into his world and create life. Show him things he never thought were possible. Teach him the stuff he needs the most.

    Alessandro dreamt of a woman he would cherish, he would love and care for until his final breath. He would worship the ground she stepped on, adore the rooms she walked in and die in the palms of her hands.

    Alessandro was a dreamer and he dreamt of her.

    "I've had enough of you two. You made him a fool. A fool in love." Enzo hissed at Akila, cursing her name for ruining the son he had been building for twenty-six years.

    "He was going to be a great leader, a disciplined machine that took orders with his head bowed but you," Enzo paused, his eyes drowning in hatred, "you destroyed everything I've ever taught him. You burned all those years of training and wasted work."

    Akila didn't notice the blood pouring down her hands. She clenched her fists so hard, her nails pricked her skin and gushed blood until the tip of her fingers turned blue.

    Again, as if recent history repeating itself, Akila took out her pistol and shot Enzo in the ribs near the heart.

    She wasn't thinking, she wasn't seeing or feeling. Her body was acting out of control.

    Enzo opened his mouth and blood spilt through his lips. He choked on air and struggled to speak, "Y...yo..u l..led him here and now he's...dead." The world stopped. "HE'S DEAD" he cried, "he's dead, because of you." Enzo took his last breath before his face slammed against the ground.

    Enzo Santoro, former leader of the Italian Mafia, Husband to the dead Dianna Santoro, Father of the Alessandro Santoro, was dead.

[V]

    Akila taught herself many things. From learning how to fight, hunt and steal, to catching herself, enduring the past. Starvation. Defeat.

    But nothing prepared her for this. Nothing compared to Alessandro lying dead beneath her feet.

   Akila ran. She ran to him and collapsed to the ground. She held up his head on her lap and ran her cold fingers in his hair, calling his name, shaking her head, breaking in half.

    It isn't true. She forced the words over the world, she forced the orders with a ragging scream that flew miles and skies.

    She wasn't going to let him die. She can't.

    His body was so big next to hers. And yet she clung to him tight. One arm wrapped around his right ribs while her hand soothed his messy hair.

    Akila held onto Alessandro with her life. She clenched into his body in hope his soul wouldn't be able to escape, his lungs would rise and break free with one more breath.

    "Wake up." Akila cried, tears blocked her vision and filled her mouth until she drowned in melancholy. She kept punching his chest, her knuckles turned red and blood crimsoned her compressed fists.

    Alessandro wasn't waking up and Akila was losing her mind.

    What she needed was release. And that's exactly what they gave her.

    A handful of men surrounded them, followers of Vincent's orders, the ten most deadly men to ever exist were sent to finish these two. Finish what was never meant to be. Finish what grew and perished from evil and sin and maleficent.

    That was her. That was Akila. That was The Venom to the world. She was the villain. She was the rogue. The wicked child, the demonic woman that roamed the night and wrapped herself in the shadows.

    For criminals, she was what ruled the devil. For assassins, she was what took the goodness, the light and hope. And for sinners, she was what lingered and bred the evil in this universe and shaped her demons from ruinous and death.

    Akila Lorenzo wasn't brought. She wasn't hatched or found. She wasn't cruel from birth or blood.

    She was created. Fabricated from darkness and wrath.

    She rose and awoke from the deceased. From the doomed and forgotten. She came back and she was ready for more blood.

    They called her The Venom, the illicit witch, the abominable creature slaying the earth.

    Veraciously, she was these things. She was abominable. She was illicit. She was venomous.

   Akila was made of venom. And it was her time to come. To finally. Truly. And Wholly, lose herself in the madness.

    Alessandro was dead.

    She had nothing left to lose.

    So for the first time in twenty-five years, Akila let herself go.

    Those who saw her before didn't recognize her now. There no longer existed a human within her body. There no longer whispered voices within her mind.

    There no longer was Akila.

    It was just battle. Fighting instincts and protecting him.

    She was like an animal. Depended on smell and senses and sounds. Her eyes were vicious but her teeth were sharper and her strikes were acid.

    Her long legs moved around his body, never once touching or stumbling on him. She blocked attacks and tossed men five times her seize across the woods.

    They flew and slammed into the black trees. The thoughtful gift Vincent presented for his granddaughter. Twice.

    Three men hovered around her and she managed to dodge their punches. She took out her blade and took out one of them.

    Greed was deadly. And her thirst for blood was worse. Letting her focus off the other two gave them an advantage over the fight. Akila turned swiftly to find two legs swinging at her. One man kicked her in the chest while the other aimed for her neck.

    Akila's body was thrown back, her knees dragged and slithered against the ground. The skin around her knees got torn and shredded until her bones were visible. But Akila didn't feel a thing.

    Instead, she used her long nails to dig into the mud and stop the force she was moving back with.

    She got back on her feet and bit off the remaining of her chipped nails before running back to the men with a scream of the untamed vengeance reaching down her throat.

    Sweat broke on Akila's temple, her bones were getting weak by the minute. She was losing a lot of blood. Her ankles were sprained and her dominant wrist was broken. Her knees were bloody and exposed.

    Akila was dying. She was going to die in this war. But she was standing. She was fighting. She was fighting until her very last breath.

    They killed him. She sobbed between her moves. They took him from me. Tears collided with her hits.

    But suddenly she started laughing absurdly. She broke into sniggering and giggling like a maniac which threw her enemies off guard and gave her an upper chance.

    Did it matter? If she wins or loses? To her, it didn't. She had already lost him. All and only that she lived for.

    Her laughter rang in her ears, she coughed and choked between her cackling. Tears kept running down her damaged face. Purple and black marks coloured her cheeks and arms. She hasn't seen herself in bruises like these since she was thirteen. And something about that burst the adrenaline into her veins despite her power slipping away and her strength weakening.

    Even so, everything had a price. After misting three men in one round. Akila felt dizzy and wobbly. She saw things in front of her, she tried to blink them away and it didn't help.

    Out of ideas, she started aggressively shaking her head to make it worse. No one knew what she was doing. They were confused by her behaviour. But there was barely much you could do for a woman who had gone completely and utterly insane.

    While Akila was drifting into whatever hallucinations she was seeing, men watched her carefully, prepared for any tantrum she might cast at them.

    The sight was bizarre and unsettling. She looked disturbing. Her head twitched to the left every second and her arms itched abnormally.

    It was saddening to look at. Akila was not herself. She was drained, stripped out of her mighty form, her fearless psyche and that dominant irresistible hold she had on everything.

    Now she looked like a drug addict. With wounded front and constant outrageous actions. She would break into laughter for a moment and the next she was crying and weeping again.

    They sent her weird, concerning looks. Eyes bore into her. Eyes if she were in her right mind, she would have folded with fear and stabbed into blindness.

    After a long wait and hesitation from the last four men. One dared get close. Break into her circle and touch her shoulder.

    Akila wasn't aware of the man standing behind her. So when his fingers made contact, her neck snapped back and almost broke. She hissed at him but it was too late.

    The man was taken aback by her reaction and before Akila knew it, his knife was in the air and landing on her left eye. The sharp metal ran down the middle of her brow, through her eyelids and down to the end of her eye bags.

The world fell quiet then, silence suffocated the air around them and gasps turned into a hushed whisper.

    He had slashed her eye.

    Akila fell down. Both hands covered her face. Those who searched close enough saw dark red, a pool of blood pouring out of her eye.

    The cut could easily blind her. It was atrocious and deep. The nerves were ripped apart and the eyelid was split.

    Except that didn't stop Akila. Her hands seemed stuck to her face, she rubbed her bloody palms all over her cheeks and forehead and jaw.

    She didn't stop before everyone was watching her again. Their attention pierced through her and when she finally removed her hands, she looked up at them, smiling, with a face covered in dirty blood and a lethal line across her left eye.

    She looked horrifying. Bright scarlet flesh was sticking out of her eye. It was unfathomable how she was capable of keeping her eye open. Let alone see.

    Only then she had truly looked like a monster. Like a devil who survived all stages of Hell and came back to claim the damned souls of mankind.

    Some took a step back, afraid of what she was to become. In their minds, she was a story, a myth and a lost tale.

    In their eyes, right in front of them, beneath the dark sky, against reality and matter and everything that had ever made sense, Akila was still standing.

    She braced herself and stood back up. Face ruined and muscles crumbling. With one blade at her side, she gripped the tiger's head with her cursed life and pushed against the shivers running down her spine.

    The last bits of her tattered clothes were falling off her pale figure. Akila returned to Alessandro's body and spread herself on top of him in a defensive manner and sense.

    In death and destruction, Akila was to stand by him. She oath to defend and honour him in the face of ruin and decay.

    Because no matter where they were, no matter how they were, Akila knew she was bound to him. She was bound to shield and mourn and love him to her very last breath, to the time mark her heart would shrink, and never beat again.

    To the moment she died.

    It sounded humorous, imaginary and real all at once. Alessandro was dead. She didn't know if the rest won or lost the war. Her castle was fading into the distance. And they were dragging her down.

    More men joined and circled her, loading their guns and carrying different kinds of weapons. All for her. All to kill her.

    They could try. Bring out their deadliest guns and draw their longest swords. Akila Lorzeno wasn't afraid of spilt blood, she wasn't threatened by huge soldiers and sharp metal.

Through the years she suffered, she never took a step back from a fight. She might've trembled, she might've cried and screamed for help. She might've begged and stayed on the ground a little longer. But she always fought back, she always got back up.

She had found comfort in the pain.

She had found peace in the violence.

    Akila ignored the striking pain reaching down her lower back and forced herself to stand straight. She wielded her blade to embrace tightly against her palm and stuck to her hand in case her body failed her commands.

    She was entirely losing every last ounce of life and strength. She was falling apart and the skies knew that this time, once she fell, she wouldn't go back up.

    So instead of letting the world choose her fate, Akila did what she could best—she created a new reality.

    Biting onto her lower lip until they bled, she spread her arms open and welcomed her enemies to come and get her. Get closer so they could drive their hatred into her heart, search for its faint muted beating for once and for all.

    Just a little bit closer.

    They gave her doubtful looks, her arms started to cramp from staying in the air for too long. She wanted to look them in the eyes, yell at them to attack, to launch the last bow and end it.

    Because there was no point in hiding the truth. Of running away from nature and hiding until the sun rose for another day.

    She had done all she could in this world. She was brought against her will. She was kept and abused her whole childhood. She was broken and lost after her escape. She was growing and learning through her last years of adolescence. She was strong and determined to live and live.

    She was proud. Akila was proud of every second she spent her last twenty-five years of living. She was proud and glad of every night she was on the edge of taking her life, but never once struck herself. She was thankful for her body no matter how much it was hurt and brought her down in pain. She was grateful for the life she made. The life she changed and blossomed into, in her own dark, sick twisted way.

    And she was sincerely, wholeheartedly, and madly, honoured to have met Alessandro.

    Akila didn't believe in luck or blessings. She didn't believe in shooting stars and wishes. She didn't believe in anything as fast and confident as she believed in him.

    She didn't believe in anything apart from herself and yet on the first night she laid her eyes on him, she couldn't keep herself from believing him, believing in him.

    For the first time, she couldn't stop herself from wondering, from thinking about him, what he was doing, what he was up to. Was he thinking about her? But why was she thinking about him.

    So many questions left unanswered just like his left unattended. They were so similar, their souls were like a piece of glass. Glass that fell and broke into pieces. And while putting them back together, she was short of a part she didn't realize was empty. Only when he looked at her, he had wanted to fill that shallow space, overwhelm her with love and affection and promise. He had given her his piece and watched her smile again, blush at his compliments and hide away her flustered cheeks, roll her eyes at his stupid comments, laugh until her dimples deepened and her hair fell on her face so he could brush it away and stare at her, get lost within her intricate eyes and forget there was a world without her that existed.

    He had erased everything before her. He had woken up at night to make sure she was there. She was real. He had stared at her until his eyes watered in pain, until his heart filled and hammered against his chest to explode because of how much he felt for that woman, how much he wanted to wrap every aspect of him around every aspect of her. Aline the stars they were born under and let the world die away. And if she were the last star in the entire universe, he would roam and orbit around her as space and gravity and matter fall apart.

    As long as she lived. As long as she had another chance, he would be the one to sacrifice for her. He would be the one to enlighten her light when it's dim and weakened.

    He would die to save her. He would die protecting and looking after her.

    And he may have not been able to do these things on his last breaths. But Alessandro died saying her name.

    She was the last thing on his lips, on his body, on his thoughts. She was scarred on his tongue. She was carved into his eyes. She was painted on his mind.

    She was imprinted on his soul.

    So when her head fell to the ground and she saw him lying dead between her feet, she felt a part of her gone with him. The piece he had given up for her. To stay by him. To love and hold onto what they shared, what no one else would ever be able to understand and feel the way they did because their love wasn't physical. It didn't begin from goodness and ease and joy. No. Their love was hard, it was complicated and tangled and stellar.

    Their love was passion, it was energy and spirit. Intensity and Vitality. It was a symbol of will and unwillingness, of patience and impatience, of push and pull. Of love and hate. Of an afterlife, long enough for what to become of them.

    Their love was immortal, lasting for centuries and endless of millions and billions of years. Lasting for eternity.

    Their love was the best thing that happened and they were the best thing that happened to each other.

    He wasn't light or dreams. He was the devoted dark in her darkness. He was the fondness in her atrocious heart. He was what she ached for, his touch, his words, his hold. He was everything and they had taken him away from her.

    Hence for the sake of their last minutes on earth, Akila closed her eyes, she forced her lips to separate and suck in a deep breath. Her head rolled back and the voices stopped whispering.

    When she opened her eyes again and she faced the men wanting her. She gripped her blade so hard, her arms started to shake.

    For him, she would fight.

    For him, she would die.

    For him, she would run.

    So when they were running at her, she was running to them.

[V]

    Akila massacred through men. She cut through bodies and wiped them out one by one. She slit throats. She got hit and fell.

    She saw and did it all. After so much time and combat of being untouchable and unscratched, she felt a certain way towards the cuts on her shoulders, the bruises on her forehead.

    She felt out of skin, out of her body and nature. But she also felt alive. Free and clean. In some absurd way, through her filthy front and stained clothes, it made her vibrate with life. It made her shudder against the cold and breathe and pick herself up when she was thrown down, hold and call on her blade faster when she was under attack.

    Akila didn't work with her hands or body. She was moving with her soul. Her mind spoke to her bones and the blood stroked her veins and flared.

    And for the first time since Akila lived, she was warm.

    Her fists had gone red and hot, her skull burned her hair and her feet were numb.

    She didn't understand where that was coming from, she had always been cold-skinned. No amount of fire or heat would be enough to warm her confounded shape.

    Yet there she was, like flames sneering out of her pores, curl and swathe around her as a shield of protection.

    Perhaps it was him. Sending her signs, reminders of promises to stay by her in life and death.

    Akila was breathing heavily when she reached the last man in her sight. He was wounded and covered in blood, but that didn't make a difference because the man had decided. He was willing to stand in front of Akila and die trying.

    They could try. They tried.

    And they failed while she carried on.

    Alessandro's body was a few short feet away as Akila kicked the man in the stomach, his eyes wide open and his lungs dying out. His back slammed to the ground and his neck snapped.

    But the relief didn't wash over Akila. No. Not when Vincent was across from her, watching with an unreadable look on his face, swinging a forty inche axe made of gold in his hand.

    The Great Albir was tall. He was at least six foot five. He towered over Akila and stood out from crowds. He shifted the air to his will, he ordered the oxygen to spread over the earth, and that was the only thing Akila inherited from her grandfather. The control. The grasp she had over whatever surrounded her. The pull she had over things drifted far and roamed closer just for her.

    Vincent took a measured look around them, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he counted every dead soldier of his own.

    His stomach knotted from the smell of heavy blood and dirt, his lungs stung against the rushed wind slamming into his chest. Vincent was in shock, but he wasn't about to let Akila see that.

    She didn't need to see it, she knew. Akila knew.

    Her lips twitched, she stared down her grandfather carefully, marking his faint stir, the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed down his throat. And oh how she wished to rip him apart and watch the blood drain out of his neck.

    "Look at what you've done." Vincent hissed, his gaze burning through Akila. He hoped to scare her, to rattle the untamed animal inside her, telling her to prey, ordering her to kill.

    But little did Vincent know, there was no untamed animal, that was just her. That was Akila. That was the girl he locked in his basement, the child he kept as a sex slave, the granddaughter he tortured for pleasure.

    She was what survived hopeless years, she was what lived through molested nights, she was what grew from waste and wreck, she was what stood against the world. She, who flipped the skies, cursed the heavens and fought back. And she was ready. Akila was ready to avenge the past, the decades and the life that was taken away from her.

    Akila was going to do everything—anything—to make him pay for taking Alessandro. For taking his last breath, his days and future.

    For taking him from her.

    So when Akila's chin rose and she didn't break away from her grandfather's eyes, he felt a part of himself crumble.

    The last he saw her, he remembered the fear he planted inside her, the pain he grew into her bones, the ache he caused her soul. He made those things.

    He made her. He was the one to raise her, he was the one to choose her destiny because fate had failed her, and she was left in the hands of an abuser, an aggressive, revolting male who got off young girls. Who came and pushed himself inside his grandchild. His son's daughter.

Akila couldn't let those memories haunt her anymore. She wouldn't allow herself to fold and shrink away from his face. It had been twelve years, almost half her entire life on this earth and now was the only chance she had to completely and fully erase any last filth that was left.

He breathed while she suffered. Vincent lived years and decades in luxury. He had warm beds, big houses and power. Lines of hundreds of loyal soldiers tied to him, prepared to defend him against any harm and danger while she struggled. While she waited for the first drop of rain to taste water after weeks of insufferable thirst. She would pick the overgrown grass on the side of the road and eat it because her stomach was growling, her intestines started to ingest itself. The tissues were damaged and fed off each other until her skin became blue and purple and grey.

She looked inhuman. She was fading into bones.

And to stand in front of her at this moment, after she'd killed his best warriors, after she'd slaughtered through his armies and creation. After she'd survived him. Standing in front of her seemed mythical, delusive and unreal.

No woman was able to make what she'd created. No man was able to conquer what she'd built. No human was capable of doing what she'd done. No life has what it takes to be like her.

Akila may not have been a blessing to the world; a gifted child who grew and flourished into spring and summer. She may have murdered thousands and frightened millions. But at the end of the day, after a long night of marching with the shadows and clinging into the dark, she was a woman trying to live, she was a teenager searching for escape.

She was only a girl, wishing for love.

And instead of love, she was met by this ravelled reality. This maze of dreams and nightmares and runaway. These midnight clouds of scattered stars and light. These cavernous woods of vast trees and colours she held onto.

Akila did grow, she did flourish and mark the universe with her eyes and mind. But rather than flowers and vernal, she spread the shade into the shining, she lathered the gloom onto the gleam, she bathed the sky in dusk and nightfall upon dawn and twilight, she aligned the eclipse with the sun and liberated the stars.

If this was the last time she was to open her eyes and her heart gave out, she was going to make sure Vincent wouldn't live to see it.

    A shredding sound slit through the air. Both Akila and Vincent turned to look at the sky, and there was a giant helicopter above them, flown by Adriano.

    Akila didn't wait. She couldn't. Because the world could tear her to shreds and serve her corpse for the crooked and wicked, but she'd still get Alessandro out.

    Dead or alive. She won't let him fade away with the world, she won't let him dissolve with the deceased because Alessandro's death wasn't like any other. He was always greater than all. He was the best of worst.

    So Akila braced herself and kneeled in front of Alessandro's quiet body. She wrapped her arms around his waist and with shaking legs, she lifted him up.

    Adriano lowered the helicopter closer to the ground and the back doors opened, where Armando stood over the edge and held out a hand.

    Akila struggled. Her muscles were wrecked. Blood poured out of her like running water. She dragged Alessandro, and herself, to Armando, to Adriano, to Alessandro's home, to his people where he belonged, where he should be buried safely and peacefully.

    She owed him that. She owed him many things and it was mortifying how she'd never be able to pay him back. For everything he gave, and the sacrifice he took that day.

    The strong wind pushed against Akila, making her stumble, blinding the small vision she had. It had felt as though the world was against her, but not like it usually was. No. This time, the earth was threatening to manoeuvre a godly force, made to massacre. Framed solely to destroy her.

Still, she fought the sentence crawling in, whispering her death, and cursed the skies. She could see Armando, focus on the arm he was holding out for her. His face was shadowed and his gut would soon travel up his mouth.

When Akila neared the helicopter, when he saw Alessandro's unmoving body, how his arms swayed in the air and his legs went limp. At that moment he knew. Armando knew what had happened. Within his blood, his bones and his eyes. He knew.

And yet, his heart. His soul. He wouldn't believe.

Akila released a loud agonizing scream and tears failed to run down her cheeks. Only the sound of her sob yelled back, slamming her grief where it hurts the most.

She'd long forgotten about Vincent. At last, she called on whatever fortitude was left in her, she ran. She ran to catch them.

And she caught Armando's hand.

She made it.

She held onto him. She clung to his arm while she clung to Alessandro. Never letting go.

Armando pulled them up and when Akila climbed aboard with Alessandro strapped at her side, he couldn't bear to look at him, so he let himself fall on his back and waited for death to finish him.

Adriano kept shouting from the cockpit but no one answered him. No one could. Not when Emilion was also on that helicopter, his eyes wide open, lost in the sight before him, the image of his best friend, his brother. His savior. Lying dead in front of him.

His brain had gone out, his sense of touch and reality died out, and his heart pierced with a thousand daggers and it shattered piece after piece.

He'd see them both die that day.

Dante was dead. And so was Alessandro.

He was left alone again. Alone for the dark. Alone with the years before he met them both, when he was homeless and addicted. When he didn't know a new day from his last. 

Alessandro and Dante had saved him. They took him out of that void and surrounded him with life. They taught him loyalty and he gained their trust. And they'd become everything he'd ever known.

Everything he'd ever love.

And now, they were both gone. And he was left to suffocate into the unyielding desolate, whining for his name.

Armando couldn't read Emilion. He wasn't panicking or crying. He was rigid in his place, his stare bore through Alessandro and his chest didn't rise to breathe. He was in shock.

Left in the back, Adriano gripped the cyclic located between his legs and he flew the helicopter above the ground. He couldn't tell what was happening with the rest and he didn't have time to check or panic. He had to get them somewhere safe.

He learned of Dante's death. Adriano watched as Dante took the final blow, a bullet shot into his skull after he'd defended Emilion against a Romanian soldier. Emilion was falling apart, he was cut and beaten. He had taken down men after men that he'd lost count. And he survived every single one of them. But he was torn apart at the end.

At some point, Armando found him when everything was going down with Enzo and Marcello. He didn't care for anything apart from helping Emilion.  However, Emilion kept pushing him to go and fight, protect what was theirs and that he would be okay.

Armando asked him a million times if he was sure and Emilion assured him it was fine. And it was when Armando left him alone, a soldier snuck behind Emilion.

Dante had caught a glimpse of Emilion and abandoned whatever he was doing. He ran to Emilion in panic and strangled the soldier nearing to attack him.

He was so close. So close to winning and returning back home with them.

But the soldier knocked out Dante's last weapon and he pointed the gun. Dante had looked at Emilion one last time, Tell Alessandro I'm sorry. And the sound of the bullet sliced through his brain. Ending his life.

Dante wasn't supposed to die. He was ordered not to die. By Alessandro, he was made to promise, and that was the first and last time he'd ever defy the orders of his boss. The promise to his brother. And he'd die doing so.

Dante was the calmest of them three. He was the least to make jokes and show affection. After the years of torture, he'd been through, after surviving under his family and mourning the mother that left him as a babe. Dante didn't know how to feel anymore. He had suffered so much abandonment and depression that he lost feeling. He was numb, he didn't react or show emotions. He didn't know pain or happiness.

Dante Leone was dead inside. For as long as the stars could remember, he had lost all sense.

On one rainy night, cold and quiet, a boy his age stood next to him and since then, Dante found something. He found a purpose in life. It wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before losing grasp on reality. It was stronger. It was dedication. It was Alessandro who came knocking on his life and when Dante dared ignore his call, Alessandro broke through and he'd do that every time Dante was lost, he'd do that until his last breath. And Dante would be thankful for the greatest and most honourable time he was fortunate enough, to spend alongside Alessandro. And Emilion, his younger brother who he'd die for with no regrets and no hesitation.

He'd die with Alessandro's name the last thing on his tongue because Alessandro wasn't just his leader and brother. Alessandro was his escape, his belonging. He was the ground that held onto him when everything seemed to depart away from him.

    When Dante seemed to drift away. Alessandro pulled him. He'd never give up on him. He'd save him. He'd stop him from committing and bring him back to life.

Alessandro was the reason Dante lived to see another day, lived to attend his father's funeral and meet his little sister.

Alessandro was his salvation. His lifetime and he would remember it all in the face of death. And he'd apologize for leaving too soon. But he was given enough to let go. And he was happy to do it for Emilion. He was ready. And he finally, rests in peace.

Adriano arrived just in time to snatch Emilion and jump on the helicopter, pick up Armando who lingered close by and lastly, search for Akila and Alessandro.

He didn't know how to find the rest, how to save anyone in need of saving.

    Adriano saw a lot that day. It was war, and he'd seen worse before. But, nothing compared to watching his wife die. Lilianna wasn't as trained as the others were, still, Adriano made sure to teach her self defense and how to draw a dagger at the closest danger. And it had helped it, until the world decided it was time to be cruel, takeaway instead of giving.

    Lilianna died in the arms of the love of her life, and she'd never wish for a different fate. Adriano had carried her body to the ocean. With trembling hands, he ran his fingers through her hair, across her lips, along the curves of her beautiful face. And he kissed her forehead with a burning tear running down his face before gently giving her away to the water.

    He lost her. He lost his sunlight, his love.

    And the thought couldn't dare cross his mind. Because if Alessandro was dead, Adriano wouldn't think twice before going after his cousin.

    Adriano loved his wife dearly, more than he could ever love himself. But the bond he had with Alessandro held to no other. Alessandro was his blood. He was the reason Adriano had a purpose to live before Lilianna.

    He'd always been protective, the type of man to provide, serve and tie himself to those he couldn't bear the image of a life without.

    Adriano would take the hit instead of Alessandro. He would do it without needing to breathe.

    His trail of thoughts crumbled when a sound of gun shot came from the back.

Armando's ears rang, he looked to see where the shot came from and it was an unfamiliar face. A tall old man with dark hair and hostile eyes.

Akila recognized him.

Vincent was on the helicopter.

He was there to finish the job.

He fired another bullet, aimed at Akila. She rolled on her stomach before the bullet punctured through her chest and she stood on her feet. She could sense Armando behind her, waiting for guidance. It was her call.

So she attacked. She strode to Vincent and hauled him to the fuselage and his back ruptured. He howled in pain and yanked Akila off him. Armando marched towards him and kicked Vincent's face with his foot.

Akila landed on her knees and she swore no one else was to die at the hands of Vincent. She'd die before it happened.

Vincent shot on Akila as she ran across the other side. She grabbed a long piece of heavy metal and advanced towards him. Towards the bullets flying at her. In which one, hit the engine.

The helicopter made a raucous noise before it inclined sharply through the clouds. Objects went flying and the strong wind tore off the door.

Armando was down. He took two bullets, one in his right arm and the other gushed blood down his thigh which risked paralyzing him.

    Akila's body went flying across the floor. Fire torched her skin. Her nerves rattled and her bones felt heavier. The blood dried in her veins and layered walls of clots within her decomposed flesh. Soon enough killing her.

    Akila stood straight and found Vincent with arms clashing and nails clawing.

    She tackled him down and sent his gun flying out of the helicopter. He kept fighting her back, matching her weak energy.

    They moved in harmony, they punched and twisted as one, in sync. It looked almost poetic. Lethal and terrifying.

    With each tremble, they took turns and dominated the fight. Akila was on top, her fists connected with his face until his teeth fell out and his lip busted with blood. Her knuckles turned blue and she could no longer feel them when something shot them from underneath.

    The helicopter was going down. It had sent Akila off Vincent and Emilion, still frozen in his place, his head crashed and he passed out. Armando was holding onto a chair while Adriano tried to regain control of the aircraft. Clutching the cyclic stick, Adriano pulled on it, forcing the helicopter to go up before they got crushed. He had to land, the engine was down and time was running out.

    But the movement had struck. The fierce shift in direction and speed caused an aggressive shake. And before anyone could stop it, the surface of the helicopter bent and Alessandro's body fell out.

    Akila's throbbing cry carved bones. Everything around her blurred and she only saw the silhouette of Alessandro's body going down. Away.

    She was about to jump out when Vincent strangled her back. He choked her down and she scraped, violently trying to beat and throw him off her.

    Yet, she was weak. And Vincent was larger than her. Stronger. That's how it was, he was above her and she submitted beneath him. In fear.

    That's what she knew her entire childhood with Vincent. To live with the terror and embrace the destine. Because no one came to save her.

    That day, she'd save herself.

    Joining both legs together, she brought her knees close and with enough force, she kicked the center of his chest, near his heart, and he hurled back.

    It was now or never. Akila spotted a parachute and she was inches from getting hold of it when a hand clutched her ankle, Vincent yanked her down with him.

    The helicopter swung again, and Vincent's body was dragged backwards. The air pulled his body towards the opening.

    He should have fallen out.

    It was Akila holding on.

    Her body was out in the open, hanging in the skies. Her right arm cramped as her hand held onto the edge of the helicopter, the weight of Vincent heaved down upon her.

    The smell of burning carbon filled her. The helicopter was going down and the blast of heat scorched her skin, evaporated her blood and scalded her bones.

    Vincent's grip on her ankle drew blood. She could feel his hand imprinted into her. The way he'd dig himself inside her for years. The way he'd never let her live without killing her first.

    He wasn't letting go of her.

    Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. Akila could no longer see. Her body was shutting down and finally, wholeheartedly and weakly, she emptied.

    So when Armando came rushing to Akila's aid. She could form the parachute resting on his back. He had it. He had a ticket to save.

    Armando looked down at her in terror. He'd never cared about her. He never liked her. But when he stared into her eyes, and she was slipping away, she was beaten and defeated. No. She wasn't defeated. Akila didn't get defeated. She won. She fought and she stood against all that was real and impossible.

    She lived.

    She lived when she shouldn't have. She lived when she wouldn't have.

    She survived when she couldn't have.

    Armando would accept his best friend was dead. But he wouldn't let Akila die.

    Armando watched the last part of Alessandro disappear, falling through the air. He forced his eyes back to Akila.

    She was smiling.

    Not a joyful smile. Not a saddening smile.

    A smile of knowing.

    A smile of ending.

    Armando acted fast and he bent down, trying to grasp onto Akila's hanging arm.

    Something shifted in her eyes. Her brain altered and only two words echoed into her pounding chest.

    And despite the war. Against the world and falling stars, Akila's voice was as raw and knee as it had been the first day she'd met Alessandro.

    "Save him."

    Akila let go.

    She fell. Her hair sheltered above her hair and her body went light.

    She couldn't hear. Think. Feel.

    The last thing she saw was Armando jumping out of the helicopter, he had caught up to Alessandro.

    Armando wrapped his arms around Alessandro's body and he pushed them to a high cliff made of rocks near the ocean.

    He saved him.

    Alessandro was saved.

    With that, Akila closed her eyes.

    And she never opened them again.