Page 87 of Veil of Dust

I move fast.

One breath, and I’m already on him. My machete swings wide.

He blocks with a forearm—metal plate sewn into the jacket sleeve. Clever.

But I pivot. Step inside his reach. Elbow to his ribs. He grunts. I bring the machete down into his gut.

The plate doesn’t cover his stomach.

Steel sinks in.

He grabs my shoulder, strong, trying to hold me there. I twist the blade.

His mouth opens.

No scream.

Just the sound of breath leaking out.

I yank the blade free. He stumbles, hands clutching the mess where his stomach used to be.

Intestines spill onto the sidewalk like thick rope.

Vespera steps beside me. Not to stop me.

To shield my right.

Another guy rushes.

She’s faster.

Her blade flashes.

She doesn’t slash—she thrusts, right under the ribcage.

He collapses against the hood of a parked car.

Screaming erupts from the street.

Locals scatter.

Windows slam.

A man runs out from Alfeo’s side—young, fast, gun raised.

I shoot him once in the neck.

He spins, hits the ground hard.

Another behind him hesitates.

I shoot him, too.

Two down. Three left.

They start to retreat—half-hearted, like maybe they weren’t told this could go sideways.

I raise my voice. “You think you scare us?”

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