“What are we to do?!” Rosa exclaimed, her voice quivering, her complexion drained of all colour.
“Ring the police! Now!” Melati urged, retreating a few paces, her frame visibly trembling.
“There’s no time!” Felzein barked, a steely glint in his eyes. “I’ll take care of them! Both of them! Myself.”
He wasted no time on deliberation. His steps were swift, almost predatory, as he advanced towards the rear door of the pharmacy.
His hand seized the key with a fervent urgency, fingers trembling, not from fear, but from the electric charge of adrenaline that surged through his veins.
He understood, with unnerving clarity, that hesitation was a luxury they could no longer afford.
“Doctor Vradistza! Please! Don’t be rash!” Cherlyn called after him, her voice catching in her throat as she hovered at the threshold, her gaze pleading, haunted by the shadows of what might unfold.
“Felzein! You mustn’t go alone!” cried Rosa and Melati in unison, their tones edged with dread, desperation clawing at their voices like a storm against glass.
But Felzein was already gone.
The door, now fully unlatched, yielded beneath his hand.
And without so much as a backward glance, he disappeared into the uncertain dark. Undaunted, unflinching.
Moments later, Felzein’s gaze fell upon the two intruders who had crept in through the apothecary’s rear entrance.
Both were masked, their features obscured by fabric and shadow. Yet Felzein’s eyes narrowed as recognition struck like a bolt of lightning.
“Welly!” he called out, his voice edged with disbelief.
Startled, Welly recoiled a step. Even behind the mask, he sensed he had been unmistakably recognised, and it unsettled him.
“W-Who are you?!” he barked, his voice uneven, eyes darting with growing unease as he faced the tall, striking figure who now blocked his path with quiet authority.
Felzein took a measured step forward, the calm in his tone more disarming than any shout.
“Have a guess,” he said, almost conversationally. “Our paths have crossed before. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
Welly’s brow furrowed. He searched the recesses of his memory, but the details remained elusive, veiled in fog.
Confusion danced in his eyes and the air grew tenser by the second.
Gaga, standing tensely beside Welly, grew visibly uneasy.
His eyes flicked about the dimly lit storage room, scanning for exits or advantages, before landing once more on Felzein’s poised figure.
With a sharp nod towards his companion, he barked an urgent command, "Take him out, Welly!"
Without waiting for affirmation, Gaga hurled himself forward in a reckless burst of aggression.
Welly, spurred by instinct more than reason, followed close behind.
He no longer cared who this sharp-eyed, broad-shouldered man truly was, only that he stood in their way.
In moments like this, there was no time for questions. Only survival.
What followed was not so much a scuffle as a storm, a blur of limbs and breath and barely restrained violence.
Gaga led the assault, his right fist arcing towards Felzein’s face with brute force.
But Felzein moved like water around stone. He dipped his head just out of reach and twisted his body, driving a solid elbow into Gaga’s sternum.
The sound was dull and sickening. Gaga stumbled backwards, the air knocked from his lungs in a dry, choked gasp.
From the left came Welly, launching himself into a sweeping kick aimed at Felzein’s ribs.
Quick as a striking serpent, Felzein blocked the blow with his forearm, then seized Welly’s leg in mid-air.
With a swift turn and shift of weight, he flung Welly to the ground. The thud echoed, followed by a sharp exhale of pain.
But there was no time to breathe.
Gaga, wheezing but not defeated, charged again. This time from behind.
His hands gripped Felzein’s shoulders, trying to hold him in place, to give Welly a chance to recover.
But Felzein dropped low with practised efficiency.
With a fluid roll of his spine, he drove an elbow upwards into Gaga’s abdomen. The blow landed with ruthless precision.
Gaga doubled over, a strangled grunt escaping his lips as he stumbled away, his grip broken, his balance lost.
Felzein advanced, calm as a winter moon and twice as cold.
The clang of the fallen blade echoed faintly as he took a measured breath, the metal rod still gripped tightly in his hand.
His eyes flicked between the two intruders now reduced to nothing more than broken threats.
Welly sprawled amidst shattered vials and crushed cartons, and Gaga curled upon himself like a man nursing regrets deeper than bruises.
Welly attempted to rise, groaning through clenched teeth, his hand reaching for a support that had long since given way.
Blood trickled from a cut on his brow, mingling with sweat and humiliation.
But before he could find his footing, Felzein was upon him.
His boot planted squarely against Welly’s chest, pressing him back to the cold linoleum with a quiet finality.
“Stay down,” he said, voice low but firm, like a verdict rendered.
Gaga, gasping from the pain in his wrist, watched with wild, disbelieving eyes.
Gone was the pretence of bravado. He looked now like a child who had wandered too far into the dark.
Felzein’s gaze met his, unreadable, piercing, but without cruelty.
There was no gloating in his stance, no triumph in his breath. Only necessity.
A tense silence settled in the room, broken only by the shallow wheeze of two failed assailants and the slow, deliberate footsteps of the man who had bested them.
Felzein turned his head slightly, listening, always listening.
The chaos at the front of the shop had quieted. The diversion had failed. Time, he knew, was a luxury he no longer possessed.
He lifted the rod once more, not to strike, but to let its cold tip rest against the floor with a quiet clink.
“Your plan,” he said evenly, “ends here.”
Felzein stood upright, his breathing steady despite having just faced two assailants at once.
His eyes, sharp and unwavering, swept the room to ensure neither would rise again anytime soon.
Outside, Dewi’s unease deepened. From the rear of the apothecary came faint sounds of commotion. Shuffling footsteps, the soft crash of glass.
Her brow knitted with concern as she cautiously stepped towards the source, intent on discovering what was amiss.
But before she could grasp the middle door’s handle, the front entrance suddenly swung open.
Abdi surged inside with silent urgency and, in an instant, seized her from behind.
His left arm encircled her shoulders with iron strength, while his palm clamped firmly over her mouth.
“Quiet!” he hissed, low and sharp with an edge of menace.
“Mmph! Mmmph!” Dewi struggled helplessly, her muffled protests filled with fear and confusion, eyes wide with panic.
She thrashed beneath his grip, but Abdi’s hold was merciless.
He was certain Welly and Gaga had taken care of the threat at the back.
His mission now was clear. Silence the vigilant shop assistant who had witnessed far too much.
Without hesitation, Abdi glanced through the glass to the street beyond.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, he sent a covert signal to two figures lurking across the road, Aryo and Diga.
They moved instantly.
Crossing the street with the stealth of shadows, they crouched low and slipped through the front door left unguarded.
Inside, the atmosphere thickened, taut with tension, a storm barely contained, ready to erupt at the slightest spark.
Abdi maintained his grip on Dewi, steady and unyielding, while Aryo and Diga advanced with measured steps toward the apothecary’s rear, every sense alert to the unknown that awaited them.
“Evidently, handling someone is far simpler than anticipated,” Abdi murmured, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
In mere seconds, Aryo and Diga slipped inside the shop, their movements swift but cautious.
“How does it look?” Diga’s voice was low, barely more than a breath.
“Welly and Gaga seem occupied with someone at the back. Let us proceed,” Abdi responded, his tone threaded with certainty.
“And the woman?” Aryo indicated Dewi, who was still struggling feebly within Abdi’s iron grasp.
SMACK!
Without hesitation, Abdi delivered a sharp blow to the nape of Dewi’s neck. She sagged instantly, unconscious before she even hit the floor.
“All taken care of, then?” Abdi’s voice was casual, as if dismissing a minor inconvenience.
Aryo and Diga stood rooted, caught between astonishment and dread at the brutal act.
“You’re mad, mate!” Aryo breathed, a mixture of admiration and fear lacing his words.
“Mad? No, he’s a proper maniac,” Diga added, still grappling with what he’d witnessed.
Abdi let out a soft, almost amused chuckle, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, let’s move to the back.”
The two exchanged wary looks before nodding and trailing after Abdi, deeper into the dim confines of the apothecary.
The three men advanced swiftly towards the rear of the apothecary, only to be halted abruptly by a scene far from what they had anticipated.
Instead of witnessing Welly and Gaga overpowering someone, they found the pair sprawled unconscious upon the floor, faces and bodies marred by bruises.
“Welly! Gaga!” Abdi, Diga, and Aryo called out in unison, their features tightening with dread.
Standing nearby was a tall, striking young man, his countenance cold and inscrutable.
A sardonic smile curled his lips as his piercing gaze locked onto them with unyielding intent.
“Finally, the last of your band have decided to show themselves,” Felzein spoke with calm menace, each word weighted with quiet authority.
Abdi’s fists clenched tightly. Diga’s jaw clenched with barely restrained fury. Aryo’s eyes narrowed into slits, seething with silent rage.
The sight of their fallen comrades ignited a fierce storm of wrath within them.
One thought consumed their minds utterly, Vengeance.