The shot rang out.

Time seemed to warp and twist as the bullet tore through the air—a streak of green fire, moving faster than thought itself.

A deafening crack split through the hall.

Then—impact.

The ballistic enclosure  exploded, the reinforced shield shattering like glass  as the green flames detonated on contact.

A shockwave rippled outward, sending people stumbling, falling—screaming. Don flew back from the exploded glass seemingly unharmed with a soft purple glow around him.

However, others were not so lucky. The force slammed into Marcus, launching him backward like a ragdoll.

Air left his lungs.

He barely registered the moment his back crashed into a table, the wood splintering beneath him.

Pain flared up his spine, his vision flickering between black and white flashes.

For a second—just one—all he could hear was static.

Then—

Chaos erupted.

Screams. Shouts. Footsteps pounding against the floor.

The hall erupted into mayhem as people trampled over each other, desperate to escape.

The Secret Service agents around the Heads of State had been completely knocked out from the explosion, their bodies motionless on the floor.

Some were groaning, barely conscious. Others weren’t moving at all.

The sprinklers activated, raining down over the burning wreckage, trying to snuff out the eerie green smoke quivering in the air.

Sofi shielded her face, coughing as she forced her way through the panicked crowd.

On stage, Don John Treagan was still down.

He had been blown backward, now slumped weakly against the padded wall behind the ruined podium.

His chest rose and fell unevenly. He was still breathing. Barely.

Marcus’s vision spun as he forced himself to move.

His ribs screamed in protest. His head was still ringing.

But none of that mattered.

His instincts screamed at him—this wasn’t over.

His head snapped upward.

Through the thickening smoke, he could just barely make out—

A silhouette. A rifle. A second shot about to be fired.

His blood ran cold.

Marcus:
"Fuck—"

He pushed off the shattered table, his feet pounding against the floor as he sprinted forward.

He barely processed, as Don was stirring slightly, groaning, still trying to recover from the impact.

Marcus:
"Don! GET DOWN!"

His voice cut through the chaos, but it was already too late.

The second shot was coming.

Marcus’s heart slammed against his ribs as he reached the steps of the podium—

His body moving before his mind could think.

One last push.

One last chance.

He leapt.

CRACK.

The second shot ripped through the air, splitting the echoes of panic.

Marcus had already prepared for the worst.

His body moved on instinct, his training engrained into every fiber of his being—

But this time, there was no time to counter, no time to push Don away, no time for anything but one last decision.

Time slowed.

Marcus was mid-air, his body suspended between action and fate.

His right foot barely touched the ground.

The bullet was coming.

He couldn’t stop it.

But he could intercept it.

Every muscle in his body tightened, his adrenaline spiking beyond reason.

Marcus (Thinking):
"No time to push him out of the way."

The sniper’s aim was dead-on.

A perfect kill shot.

If he moved an inch differently, Don John Treagan was dead.

Marcus adjusted mid-air, his body twisting—not toward Don, but in front of him.

A human shield.

And then—

Impact.

The Disembark

CRACK.

The sniper round lodged itself deep into Marcus’s right temple.

A shockwave of searing pain rippled through his skull—but only for a moment.

Then—nothing.

No pain. No sensation. Just… silence.

His body jerked violently, the force of the impact slamming him into Don.

SLAM!

Both men collapsed onto the ground, the momentum sending them sprawling across the ruined stage.

The purple barrier—a strange energy field that had briefly flickered to life around them—disappeared.

For a moment, the world was still.

The screaming. The chaos. The gunfire. It all faded.

"Marcus? Oh fuck—MARCUS!"

Don scrambled up, his hands gripping Marcus’s shoulders, his face a mask of pure terror.

Don Treagan:
"Oh fuck, Marcus, are you alive?!"

Footsteps pounded toward them.

Sofi.

She skidded to a stop, her breath hitching as she saw Marcus motionless on the ground.

Her heart clenched.

Sofi:
"MARCUS! PLEASE GET UP!"

She dropped to her knees, grabbing his face, her fingers trembling.

Sofi:
"MARCUS, GET UP! PLEASE! You have to make it—our promise together! I cannot do it without you, you can't leave me!"

Don’s chest heaved, his hands gripping Marcus’s arm so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Marcus’s eyes flickered.

A weak gasp escaped his lips.

Slowly—he moved.

"I… I’m alive?"

Both Don and Sofi froze.

Their eyes widened as Marcus shifted, his body trembling as he slowly sat up.

Don Treagan:
"Wha—"!

Sofi’s breath caught in her throat.

Sofi:
"How?!"

Marcus touched his temple.

His fingers brushed against the bullet—still embedded in his skull.

It should’ve been fatal.

But he was still here.

Breathing.

Alive.

His eyes flickered between them, a haze of shock and confusion settling in.

Marcus:
"I felt it… I felt it hit me. But I’m still—"

Then—

The burning began.

A spark of green light ignited from the bullet wound.

Then another.

Then—fire.

Marcus’s entire body ignited in emerald flames, consuming him from head to toe.

The pain hit like a tsunami.

He screamed.

Marcus:
"AAAHHHHUUGGHHHHHHHH!"

His skin crackled, the fire spreading rapidly, burning too fast—too aggressively.

Sofi’s eyes widened in horror.

Sofi:
"NO! MARCUS!"

Her hands flew to her mouth as she watched in helpless terror.

Don Treagan:
"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!"

The flames weren’t normal.

They weren’t burning anything else—just Marcus.

He staggered backward, his feet stumbling across the stage, his hands clawing at his body as if trying to rip the fire away.

But it wouldn’t stop.

Marcus gasped for air.

His lungs turned to fire.

His veins glowed, his flesh blackening, crumbling—

His nerves were searing away faster than they could register pain.

Residing his fate, in his last breath, he muttered to his best friend and lover.

Marcus:
"I'm glad I could at least save you bo…"

His throat burned away, the world falling silent.

His eyes boiled in their sockets.

The last thing he saw was their faces—Don and Sofi, horrified, helpless, reaching for him.

His vision faded to black.

The flames died abruptly.

Marcus was gone.

Nothing but a pile of blackened remains remained where he once stood.

The sprinklers above rained down, clearing the smoke and fire, only to reveal…

Marcus’s burnt body with a small tuft of golden hair lay untouched to his crisp blackened skull, a single piece of him in contrast to the charred body beneath it.

Sofi collapsed to her knees.

Her hands trembled over her lips, unable to speak.

Don stared.

His hands balled into fists, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

His best friend. His brother.

Gone.

And there was nothing he could do.

Up in the rafters, the sniper lowered her rifle.

She had stayed long enough to confirm the kill.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her lips curled slightly— not into a smirk, but a scowl.

???:
"Shit… I killed the wrong guy."

She exhaled, tapping her fingers against the barrel.

???:
"Let’s hope it’s not a wasted effort. Maybe something will come of this… though I doubt it."

She glanced at the horrified figures below, then sighed.

Lifting her boot, she pressed it into the ground—

A green flame erupted beneath her feet.

Her body sank into it, vanishing into the fire.

The flames snuffed out instantly, leaving nothing behind.

The assassin was gone.

And down below—

The world had just lost one of its greatest men.