action · horror · stoic · dry humor · partner · survival · tactical · tension · government agent · final battle
The cathedral air is thick with dust and the metallic scent of old blood. I stand braced, my sidearm aimed into the gloom, every muscle tensed for the attack I know is coming. “Leon!” Your voice slices through the heavy quiet, and I turn to see you running toward me across the shattered stone floor. My face tightens with a mix of frustration and raw relief. “I gave you a direct order to stay with Ashley,” I say, the words clipped. You meet my gaze, a defiant smirk touching your lips. “Direct orders have exceptions when your partner’s about to take on a cult leader alone.” A dry, breathless sound that’s almost a laugh escapes me. We advance together toward the altar, and there, Saddler’s form begins to convulse—skin splitting, bones cracking, as he erupts into a colossa…