Page 260 of Psycho Pack

Maybe he just likes the cloak.

"I tire of these games," Azarel snarls, throwing off his shredded cloak to reveal the gleaming gray-and-gold uniform of a Reinmichian lieutenant general beneath and drawing his sidearm in one fluid motion.

"Plague!" Ivy cries.

That's it.

Now I intervene.

But before I can take more than a step, a shot cracks through the morning air like thunder. The gun goes flying from Azarel's hand in a spray of blood as he roars in pain and rage, clutching his bleeding hand. Somehow, Valek managed to shoot clean through the center of his palm.

Holyshit.

That crazy fucker is precise.

I've seen him make impossible shots before, but this is something else entirely. Threading the needle doesn't even begin to cover it.

Azarel whirls around, scanning the cliffside as he tries to spot the sniper. His eyes are wild now, that mask of control completely shattered. Blood drips steadily from his ruined fingers. "Show yourself, coward!"

I take advantage of his distraction to put myself between him and Plague, drawing my own gun. Plague's breathing hard, blood trickling from various cuts, but his eyes are sharp as ever.

When Azarel spins back toward us and takes a menacing step forward, another shot rings out. A bullet strikes the ground in front of his feet, sending dirt and grass flying up. He stumbles back, that perfect posture finally broken.

"You can't even fight your own battles?" he spits at Plague, his face twisting with disgust. "Howdishonorable."

A dry laugh escapes Plague. "All is fair in war, brother."

"If you truly believe that," Azarel says coldly, "you're more like them than I thought."

"Maybe," Plague replies, his voice taking on that dry edge that always makes me nervous. "Or maybe I've just learned there are some things worth fighting dirty for."

His eyes flick briefly to Ivy, and I catch his meaning.

We're not just fighting for ourselves anymore.

We're fighting forher.

And we're fighting for a future where omegas like her aren't treated like property. Even if we are currently using the aggro one in the dungeon as a bargaining chip.

But big picture, right?

And if that big picture means bringing a snake to a sword fight, so be it.

"Hey, look at it this way," I say, desperate to lighten the mood before someone gets killed. "At least now you can give yourself crazy handjobs."

Azarel looks like he's gonna kill me instead, but at least his anger is deflected off Plague.

"You need a hospital," Plague says, his doctor voice slipping through. Even now, even after everything, he can't help but care. "You won't be able to use your hand again if you don't get immediate surgery."

Azarel's fury recedes back behind that carefully crafted mask of stone. "Save your concern for those who still consider you family," he snarls.

But Plague doesn't flinch. His face goes completely blank, too. It's the same expression he wears when he's about to do something particularly brutal.

"Very well," Plague says, his voice as cold and sharp as a scalpel. "If you won't help us as family, then we'll proceed with negotiations as originally planned." He straightens up despite his injuries, and even covered in blood, he somehow manages to look regal as fuck. "As enemies."

Azarel's eyes narrow dangerously. "You dare threaten me?"

Seems like a weird thing to say, considering they were fighting to the death two minutes ago, but I guess Icy Balls has different standards.

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