The Return of The Phantom General

Symphony of Broken Bones

The first second after the lights shattered was pure chaos. Gunshots erupted wildly from four directions, creating blinding flashes.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Shoot! Kill him! Shoot at the table!" screamed Dimitri, his voice panicked, drowned out by the roar of automatic weapons.

Bullets whizzed through the air, shattering glasses, wine bottles on the back shelf, and the wall mirror. Shards of glass rained down on the floor like sharp diamonds.

However, there was no sound of a body falling. No groan of pain from their target.

There was only a hissing sound. Like the sound of thousands of snakes slithering over dry leaves.

"Stop! Stop shooting, you idiots! You could hit me!" shrieked The Viper. Her voice came from the direction of Caleb's table, but it was now trembling violently. "There is something... there is something holding my leg!"

"Turn on NVGs! Turn them on now!" ordered Dimitri.

In the corner of the room near the kitchen door, an assassin named Sergei, the team's tactical specialist, with shaking hands lowered his tactical Night Vision Goggles (NVG) from his helmet. He pressed the activation button on the side of the device.

The pitch-black world suddenly transformed into a monochromatic green spectrum speckled with static.

Sergei wished he had stayed blind.

What he saw through those green lenses made his heart stop beating for three full seconds.

The cafe was not empty.

The 8x8 meter room was packed. Not with humans. But with invisible shadows.

Hundreds of transparent figures stood crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, filling every inch of empty space. They were not standing on the floor, but hovering a few inches above the shattered glass.

Sergei saw a soldier in ancient Roman armor with half his face destroyed, holding a rusty sword. Next to him, a World War I soldier with a cracked gas mask, his neck wrapped in barbed wire. There was also a medieval knight with an arrow stuck in his eye.

They were all staring in one direction: At the assassins.

Their rotting mouths were wide open, displaying sharp black teeth.

"God..." whispered Sergei, urine seeping into his tactical pants. "This is hell... we are in hell..."

In the middle of that sea of ghosts, Caleb still sat calmly in his chair. He looked like a king amongst his dead subjects. His right hand still held the coffee cup, while his left hand held The Viper's waist to keep her seated on his lap.

Caleb turned his head slowly towards Sergei. Through the NVG lens, Caleb's eyes shone blindingly white, contrasting with the green ghosts surrounding him.

Caleb placed his index finger on his lips. "Shhh."

Then, the slaughter began.

"ARGHHHH!"

The first scream came from Ivan, the assassin standing near the window. Sergei watched as two 18th-century mercenary ghosts lunged at Ivan. They didn't hit him. They went inside his body.

Ivan convulsed violently. He dropped his weapon and began clawing at his own face.

"Get out! Get them out!" roared Ivan.

His fingernails tore the skin of his own face until red flesh was visible. Then, something invisible pulled both of Ivan's arms in opposite directions.

CRACK!

The sound of the humerus bone snapping sounded like a wet firecracker exploding. Ivan's arm twisted behind his back at an impossible angle, white bone protruding out tearing his leather jacket. Ivan screamed again, a scream that turned into a gurgling of blood as the Roman ghost in front of him thrust its ghostly hand into Ivan's throat and pulled out his vocal cords.

"SHOOT! SHOOT THEM!" Dimitri fired blindly at the ghosts. But the bullets passed through their bodies without impact, only damaging the wall behind them.

"Your bullets cannot kill what is already dead, Little Bear," whispered Caleb.

In Caleb's lap, The Viper struggled wildly. "Let go of me! Let go!"

"You said you liked the dark," said Caleb softly, very close to the woman's ear. "You said you wanted to see fear in my eyes. Look around you, Natasha. Is this scary enough for you?"

The Viper couldn't see the ghosts as clearly as Sergei, but she could feel them. Countless cold hands began to grope her body. Gripping her calves, squeezing her thighs, pulling her hair. Not a sensual touch, but a hungry touch. A touch that wanted to tear flesh from bone.

"Help..." sobbed The Viper. "I was wrong... mercy..."

"It's too late," said Caleb. He released his grip from the woman's waist. "They like arrogant meat."

In an instant, The Viper was forcibly pulled from Caleb's lap by an invisible force. She was dragged to the floor, disappearing into the darkness under the table.

"NO! DON'T BITE! AAAAAAAA!"

The Viper's high-pitched scream rang out, then turned into chewing sounds. The sound of teeth meeting flesh, the sound of tendons snapping, and the sound of bone marrow being sucked.

Sergei, still frozen in the corner, ripped off his NVG helmet and threw it on the floor. He couldn't bear to watch anymore. But closing his eyes didn't help. That sound... that symphony of broken bones... was more terrifying than the visuals.

One by one his colleagues died. He heard Gregor, the knife expert, begging his mother before the sound of a snapped neck ended his prayer.

Finally, only Dimitri remained. The team leader was still standing, his breath ragged like a dying bull. His bullets were gone. He drew a large combat knife.

"Come out, you coward!" roared Dimitri into the darkness. "Face me man-to-man!"

Calm footsteps were heard approaching.

Caleb emerged from the shadows, his face illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight entering from the bullet holes in the window. His suit was clean without a single speck of blood. He was still holding his coffee cup.

"Man-to-man?" asked Caleb flatly.

Dimitri lunged forward, thrusting his knife at Caleb's chest.

Caleb didn't dodge. He caught Dimitri's wrist with his left hand. The movement was casual, but his grip stopped the Russian giant's momentum instantly.

"You are not a man, Dimitri," said Caleb. He squeezed the wrist.

SNAP.

Dimitri's wrist bone crumbled into powder. The knife fell. Dimitri howled, falling to his knees in excruciating pain.

"You are just dog food," continued Caleb.

Caleb poured the remaining hot coffee in his cup onto the kneeling Dimitri's head.

"Finish him," ordered Caleb to the darkness.

Dozens of shadow hands emerged from the floor, grabbing Dimitri's legs, arms, and head. They pulled him in all directions at once. Like medieval quartering punishment, but done by ghosts.

"Wait! Julian! Julian Sterling sent me!" shouted Dimitri as a last resort.

"I know," Caleb turned around, walking towards the exit.

Behind him, a loud tearing sound was heard as Dimitri's body was divided into four parts.

Silence finally descended again upon Cafe Odette.

Caleb opened the front door. The snowstorm wind hit his face, clearing the smell of blood from his nose. He stepped out, leaving the small hell he had just created.

***

The next morning.

Sunlight shone on the cobblestone streets of Zurich's Old Town. A milkman passing in front of Cafe Odette dropped his milk bottles, shattering them.

He screamed. A scream that woke up the entire block.

The front glass windows of the cafe were all shattered. Inside, a gruesome sight was displayed like a butcher shop window.

The five bodies of the assassins were not scattered. They were arranged.

They were seated around a round table in the middle of the room, as if holding a meeting.

Dimitri's body sat in the main chair, but his head was not on his neck. His head was placed in the center of the table, on a silver platter, with a red apple stuffed into his mouth.

The Viper, Natasha, was seated on the lap of Dimitri's headless corpse. Both her hands were nailed to the table with her own knife, in a position as if hugging Dimitri's head. Her beautiful face was frozen in an expression of terror, her eyes bulging staring at the entrance.

The three other corpses were arranged in "listening" poses, their ears cut off and placed in front of each of them.

On the back wall, a message was written painted using their own blood. The handwriting was neat, elegant, and terrifying:

"PRINCIPAL DEBT PAID. ONLY THE INTEREST REMAINS."

The message was not for the police. Not for the public.

It was a bloody love letter to Julian Sterling.

***