Chapter 1385:


    Her heart hammered violently, hands mped over her ears, yet she still felt the gunshots reverberating in her bones.


    Rnd crouched in front of her, eyes locked on the direction of the attack. He extended his arm, phone raised, its shlight cutting through the darkness.


    A matching beam of light red from across the hall. Brielle held her phone too, her hand trembling but resolute.


    Courage sparked between them like a chain reaction. One light became two, and then dozens.


    The crowd formed a barricade of blinding beams, shining directly onto the lurking figure hidden in the shadows.


    The attacker stepped into the light like a cornered animal—masked, face obscured, but radiating unmistakable, chilling intent.


    Just as he lifted his weapon to fire again, another bullet shot in from somewhere unseen. A sharp, explosive crack resounded, unleashing a fresh surge of screams.


    In the whirl of crossing lights, a sudden mist of blood burst outward.


    The assant’s right arm jerked violently, snapped aside as though struck by an invisible sledgehammer.


    A sniper round—its force devastating—had nearly obliterated the arm’s bone and muscle in an instant.


    His gun ttered to the floor, its metallic clink drowned by the bem.


    The masked man let out a shriek—high, piercing, skin-crawling.


    Meanwhile, a distance away, Maxwell’s eyes burned red. Clinging to the dim maintenance tform, his shoulders heaved, veins standing out across his forehead.


    The weak safety lights caught the tears sliding down his cheeks.


    “Bastard!” he roared. The sound ripped from somewhere deep and desperate—fury, fear, and regret braided into one raw, shaking scream. His whole body shuddered with it.


    In the next heartbeat, Maxwell pulled the trigger again, unleashing the fury that roared through his veins.


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    The first shot cracked through the night. Bang!


    The bullet tore forward like a lightning bolt, sinking into the attacker’s chest with brutal finality.


    Another sh followed. Bang!


    Sharper, faster—this one carved straight through the assant’s throat, painting the dim air with a thin crimson arc.


    A third time, Maxwell’s finger tightened. Bang!


    The bullet left the barrel with the cold precision of Death’s own hand, severing whatever thread of life the attacker still clung to.


    For a single suspended moment, the man’s body wavered as though something unseen had drained him hollow, and then he copsed, boneless, to the floor.


    Blood unfurled across the tiles in dark, uneven petals, like the remnants of a flower crushed under a soldier’s boot.


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