Chapter 96 Damian
Damian
The compound swallowed us whole.
The moment Oliver and I breached, gunfire ripped through the courtyard, bullets sparking off stone and steel.
I dropped the first guard with a clean shot to the chest, pivoted, and cut down another before he could raise his rifle.
Oliver swept left, his bursts precise, deliberate, leaving bodies crumpled in his wake.
“Tower cleared,” Gage’s voice snapped over comms. A heartbeat later, his rifle cracked again and another body tumbled from the wall. “West side open. Keep pushing.”
“Copy.” I slid into cover behind a pillar, pain flaring hot in my shoulder as I reloaded. Cyclone’s voice crackled, tight with focus.
“North wing’s the nerve center. That’s where the servers pinged last night. Luthor’s either there or close. But Damian—he’s dug in. Expect traps.”
I bared my teeth. “Good. Let him try.”
We pushed forward. The halls were narrow, every doorway a choke point. The stench of sweat, oil, and stale smoke clung to the air. Two men rushed us from the side hall—Oliver dropped one, I slammed the other into the wall, rifle butt crunching bone before I fired point-blank.
Adrenaline roared in my veins, but under it all, there was clarity—an anchor. Morgan’s voice, her touch, her kiss still burning at the back of my mind. It sharpened me, steadied my aim, drove me harder.
We hit the north wing doors, heavy steel reinforced with bars. Cyclone’s voice cut in, smug even through the static. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your key.”
A sharp click echoed through my comm. The locks disengaged.
I shoved the doors wide.
The room beyond was cavernous, humming with generators, walls lined with servers that blinked like an electronic heartbeat. And at the far end—Luthor.
He stood flanked by two guards, his suit immaculate despite the chaos, his smirk carved in place. He didn’t look surprised to see us.
“Mr. Cross,” he drawled, his voice amplified by the acoustics. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. You’ve been…persistent.”
Rage burned hot in my chest. My rifle snapped up, sight trained dead-center. “Tonight it ends.”
Luthor chuckled, a sound that made my skin crawl. “Perhaps. But not the way you think.”
The guards moved, rifles rising—
“Contact!” Oliver barked.
Gunfire shattered the room, the fight erupting all over again.
And through the chaos, I locked eyes with Luthor. The man behind every cage, every scar, every sleepless night.
This wasn’t just another mission.
This was personal.