The armour sagged in silence, its joints seizing one after another until the last motor gave out. Thin trails of smoke curled from the gun barrels, the acrid stench of spent munitions hanging heavy in the air. Dreykov slumped inside, chest heaving shallowly, his face dimly lit by the flicker of dying control screens.
With a single motion, Luthar wrenched apart the chest plating. Metal screamed and bent, fragments of incomplete reinforcement clattering to the floor. Dreykov spilled forward, limp and tangled in disconnected cables.
Luthar crouched. From his robes, he drew a slender device. Before Dreykov could speak, he pressed it against his neck with a mechanical click.
Convulsions tore through Dreykov's frame. His eyes glazed as the device pulsed, faint streams of light crawling across Luthar's augmetics — his technology, not Dreykov's, filtering and harvesting.
Images flooded his systems: the dormitories of the Red Room, endless drills, cold overseers shaping children into weapons. Names, codes, facility schematics, handler networks — all extracted, stripped away from Dreykov's mind until nothing of value remained.
The man sagged in the ruined armour, still breathing, though shallow and uneven. His eyes flickered weakly, lost in the aftermath of being emptied.
Luthar stood in silence for a moment, regarding him as one might regard a broken tool. Then, without ceremony, he reached down. His gauntleted hand closed around Dreykov's neck.
A single twist. A wet crack.
The body fell limp, lifeless, still tangled in the wreckage of the half-finished suit.
Luthar slid the device back into his robes. Rising to his full height, he turned from the corpse without a word. Behind him, the silence of the Widows lingered, their expressions caught between unease and awe.
Luthar's gaze shifted to Irina. His voice cut through the silence with mechanical weight.
"Anya Derevko. Go to the medical corridor and wait."
She stiffened at the sound of her full name, spoken by Luthar. After all, there was no reason for him to know it, as she had never told him.
When Anya did not move, Luthar looked at her in brief confusion. Then, as if realising the situation, he spoke again, tapping his head.
"As you can see, I just extracted all his memories — so now I know everything about you." His tone remained flat. "Which also means I know how to keep you under control. Go to the medical corridor and wait for further instructions."
After saying this, Luthar connected himself to the Red Room's speakers, his voice modulation shifting until Dreykov's tones reverberated across every corner of the base.
"All personnel, proceed to the medical corridor immediately. This is mandatory. Do not engage in any fights. If you find anyone injured, take them to the medical room."
Agents who had been preparing for the next fight quickly switched to following the command. They obeyed without hesitation.
After understanding why he knew her full name, Anya left without hesitation, while Irina, whose full name was Irina Vasilevna, completely ignored Luthar's instruction, as she believed only Freya had the authority to give her orders.
Luthar did not press the matter. His gaze shifted away, discarding Dreykov's broken armour like discarded scrap. He stepped into a larger chamber.
The second room resembled a miniature workshop — cables strung across, tools scattered, prototypes left incomplete. Unlike the pristine false control room, this space bore the marks of actual use.
Before Luthar could advance further, a figure lunged from the flank — armoured, compact, moving with precision. A shield flashed in the light, followed by the silent edge of a blade.
It was Taskmaster, the daughter of Dreykov — a complete and efficient tool.
The first strike clanged against Luthar's vambrace. Sparks sprayed as the blade scraped his armour. Without hesitation, using his enhanced strength, he gave a single counterstrike — a gauntleted fist driving into her chestplate — sending her crashing against a reinforced table. The impact twisted metal and snapped tools across the floor.
She tried to rise, unsteady but already shifting into another stance.
Luthar stepped forward, closing the distance in a single stride. His boot swung with brutal precision, connecting with her helmet.
The impact rang out, sharp and final. She dropped to the floor, motionless.
Luthar stood over her, his mechanical eye flickering once as he confirmed her vitals — unconscious. After this, he started to take out servo-skulls from the system space, as they would be quite useful for managing this place.
As Luthar was taking out the servo-skulls from his system storage, Natasha finally staggered forward, catching her breath after the whirlwind of the last moments. The events had unfolded too quickly for her to process. Her fingers itched for her weapon, but she knew it was already late — he was already dead. Memories of past missions, betrayals, and losses collided in her mind, amplified by the sudden, crushing finality of the moment.
Freya's eyes flicked between Natasha and the corpse. There was a faint tension around her. "Is there really anything special about this man?" Her voice was quiet but clear.
Instead of Natasha, it was Irina who replied. "He was trash," she said. Her gaze hardened as she surveyed Dreykov's form. "A man who thought shaping women into spies and tools."
Natasha did not reply. She only tightened her fists, the silence stretching, heavy and deliberate.
From the corner of her vision, she noticed Luthar shifting slightly, the servo-skulls buzzing closer to the consoles. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence was enough to mark the room as under his control, and the weight of that control pressed down like an invisible hand.
Hearing about Dreykov, Freya thought: if he was trash, then what was Luthar? After all, what he was doing was even more disgusting.
Natasha finally exhaled, the air trembling slightly from the depth of her tension. Her eyes softened, though only marginally, as if acknowledging the truth Irina had spoken.
While Luthar's silhouette remained distant, his calm dominance unchanging reminding them that while one tyrant had fallen, another had claimed his place.
Authors note: this is one of the chapter where I thought my confident have a hit Rock bottom unfortunately that was just a star to any five star writing everything I might end up with 10000 word essay about my problems.
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