The Supreme Commander Returns

Chapter 3

Chapter Three - A Woman From Decades Ago.

"What do we do, commander?"

Marcus, standing beside Draven asked, his voice audible only to Marcus alone.

"I'll take the woman out of this place."

Draven took one step forward.

Scarface stepped forward, looking at the men with cold and an unwelcoming expression.

"Who the fuck are you Mongrels?" He barked, casting a disdainful look like they were pieces of trash in the wrong room. "Scram now or you die!"

Draven didn't even speak. He didn't move.

Marcus moved fast, impossible fast for a man of his bulky size. He was standing before Scarface in the next second with a deep frown seated on his face, staring him down like an insignificant speck of dust at the bottom of his boot.

Scarface gasped slightly, surprised by his movement.

"How.. how did you move.."

Marcus's expression twisted slightly in disgust.

"You low-life had the guts to open your gutter mouth to speak to my master." His palm shot like a cannon ball, smacking Scarface in the face. His head snapped to the side, saliva, blood and teeth flying from his mouth.

Scarface collapsed against the wall.

He stared at his own teeth on the floor, his eyes wide in horror.

"Holy shit!! My teeth..my teeth..it hurts.. I'm fucking bleeding." He cried, his voice shaking as he flared into anger.

His finger snapped at Marcus.

"What are you all looking at! Kill them!!" He screamed.

The four thugs got ready. They pulled out weapons. Knives, cutlass, and reinforced Baton

One charged at Marcus with a knife. Marcus caught his hand mid-swing and twisted his wrist. Bone cracked. His wrist twisted at an unnatural angel. The blade clattered to the floor and his eyes widened in horror. Before he could scream in pain, Marcus followed with a devastating hook that snapped his head and threw him across the room like a rag doll.

He walked over to the thug bleeding on the floor and finished him with a powerful pick, his boot connecting to his jaw and splaying blood into the air in wild Arc. He collapsed heavily and died.

Another soldier caught the second thug, picked him up effortlessly as though he was weightless and threw to the wall, his body burst through the window, his scream echoed through the air and stopped. A jagged spike drove into his chest killing on the spot.

Scarface started shaking seeing the fight. He backed towards the wall slowly, fear cracking through his earlier arrogance.

"Who are you people? What are you people?" His voice was shaking with fear.

The other two thugs, seeing what had just happened made a break for the exit.

"None of you will leave this place alive." Marcus declared, his voice absolute and final.

He dashed forward and caught one thug by the collar. He threw him backward. His body smashed against the wall, forming cracks on the concrete and his backbone might have as well shattered. He slipped to the floor without standing again.

The last man paused seeing what happened to the other thug escaping with him.

He was shaking and palpitating.

He ran back into the hall as though he suddenly realized his escape was more dreadful than submission.

He crumbled at Draven's knee, his palms pressed together in front, apology tumbling out from his mouth in rush and fear.

"Please forgive me.. I was only told to follow them. I didn't touch her. Please.. please... spare me."

Draven didn't even glance at him. He walked beside him to meet the woman unconscious on the floor.

Marcus immediately understood the task. One clean powerful kick to his chin and his head snapped back. Blood and teeth forced out, flying back in arc and splattering across the floor as his skull exploded under his boot spreading out red and grey matter. He hit the floor like a sack and became motionless.

Natasha's eyes widened in horror. Her knee buckled as she stumbled back, her expensive designer down rustling. Her eyes widened, darting on the men sprawled lifeless on the floor.

Scarface was shaking, his entire bravado crumbled like fine dust in the air. His men were gone and he knew he was the next target.

Draven walked over to Alessia's unconscious body and scooped her in his arm gently. Her face was inflicted with marks, dried blood clung to her face and her body was frail. Her appearance suggested she'd been through hell and had survived the torments unleashed on her.

His blood boiled in anger.

"I'm sorry for coming late." He whispered. His heart, forged from steel that had never melted under any pressure, ached at this woman's appearance.

He turned his head back and his gaze landed on Scarface. His eyes were cold, his expression fierce and unforgiving.

"None of you deserves to live for laying your filthy hands on her."