Page 30 of Eternal

AZRA

“How Villains Are Made” by Madalen Duke

Present

F ocus, Azra. Focus.

Every mission starts the same way, no matter how indignant or messy it might get, no matter the issue or the difficulty.

The process is always the same. Emptiness first, I lock away my morality, stowing it in the recesses of my mind where it can’t reach me while I fight.

Humanity doesn’t belong here, not when a knife is in my hand or when I aim a gun on someone.

No stress. No hesitation.

I can’t afford either, I have to become a machine the moment my feet step into the perimeter of the mission, no feelings are allowed.

Anything less would get me killed.

Vik always said that calling me during missions wouldn’t even help to bring me back.

I think he’s stupid because this isn’t true, the only feeling allowed when I’m not Voron, but Azra is rage.

Deep breaths. Let's go.

The corridors here were exactly as I thought they’d be, cold and quiet, nothing out of the ordinary, this kind of place was always calm and silent at this hour.

My boots made no sound against the concrete floor while I crept along the loading dock slowly.

Two missions in one.

A stolen shipment and the man behind it.

It should be simple, but in reality, I was one misstep away from catastrophe, especially with Damir nearby being all watchful and suspicious.

He was clearing the front exit, and I could hear the muffled echoes of scuffles, the bodies hitting the ground, the sharp hiss of suppressed shots.

This rebellious clan were amateurs.

That’s almost sad for them.

I slipped through the maze of crates, and my eyes were fixed on the office at the far end of the loading dock. I’m pretty sure he’s there.

This is a stupid steal, but Ricciano wasn’t the one behind it and from what I’m seeing, he’s clearly a negligent thief. This wasn’t protected well at all; he was way too confident that the worst part was already done.

A faint sound of feet behind me had me spinning, a man stepped out; his pistol raised toward me.

Finally, some action.

I darted forward, my blade flashing, finding flesh before he could pull the trigger or even blink, he collapsed without a sound, and I stepped over him, letting the adrenaline take control.

But he wasn’t alone.

Three more men appeared from behind, one had a crowbar, another a shotgun, the third a machete.

How not gentlemany of them to attack a woman at 3 versus 1?

Stupid men.

The one with the shotgun raised it, but I was faster, I threw my knife, the blade burying itself in his throat while I closed the distance to the man with the crowbar.

This bastard knew how to use it.

It was brutal, he swung wide, and I ducked and let my fist drive into his ribs.

His weapon clattered to the ground as he gasped for air, but the machete-wielding one was already coming for me.

I grabbed the crowbar and swung it, the metallic clang reverberating meeting his blade.

My second swing connected with his jaw, and he dropped.

“For fuck’s sake, three weapons?” I whispered to myself breathing back normally.

They were supposed to protect the office.

Only three men?

That’s absolutely stupid, or maybe he doesn’t care to stay alive?

The office door creaked open behind me, and I turned quickly, knife in hand, ready, a man stepped out in between the office and the hall, a little older, a deep scar cutting through his left eyebrow, he didn’t look like a fighter, but his smirk said otherwise.

Is this the thief? He might be, judging by this enormous ego I feel here.

Ridiculous.

“You must be Voron,” he said, stepping back into the dimly lit office, his voice carrying an oily confidence, the kind that grated on my nerves. “The Don and Pakhan’s pet assassin. They warned me about you.”

I didn’t reply, words were for people who didn’t know what to do with their hands.

I glanced at my watch, three minutes late now, fucking stupid machete guy.

Rafe leaned lazily against the desk, his grin widening as if he had the upper hand. He didn’t . He never would, I took a single step forward, knife angled for the quickest throw, but his hand shot up, that smug smirk still plastered across his face.

“Ah, ah. You wouldn’t want to miss out on what I have,” he said, gesturing toward the window. “It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? The shipment.”

The smile that ghosted my lips wasn’t friendly.

Before I could advance, the door behind him opened, and a man stepped through, not just any man, a fucking giant, he moved with precision, like he didn’t need to show off. Military, definitely not from the Cosa Nostra nor the Bratva.

Rafe chuckled, stepping aside as if to give us space. “You’ll have to go through him first.”

The giant’s eyes met mine, no fear, he’s like me.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath.

The giant struck first, his blade slashed toward me in a clean, practiced arc. I sidestepped, the knife whistling past my ribs, and drove my knee into his side, nothing, he didn’t even grunt.

“Oh, you’re not mafia,” I said, breathless but steady, dodging his next swing. “These techniques are way too rigid.”

His only response was to advance, his blade aimed at my throat, I ducked and countered, slashing across his forearm, he barely flinched, the cut shallow but enough to confirm what I already knew.

“We train in adaptability in the Zennites ranks. Special forces, perhaps?” I taunted, throwing a low kick toward his chin, he blocked it with ease, stepping into my space.

“Nah… Too weak.”

His hand shot out, fingers grazing my cheek as I twisted away, but not fast enough to avoid the swipe of his blade across my abdomen, pain blossomed, hot and sharp.

“Bastard,” I hissed, staggering back. “Didn’t they teach you how to treat a woman in whatever mercenary group that trained you? Stabbing women isn’t exactly charming.”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes… surprise . It was brief, but it was there. He wasn’t some hired thug. Military training, for sure, paid for muscle with a past.

“Thanks for confirming it,” I said, my lips curling into a dangerous smile as I spat that last word.

His eyes widened slightly, and I struck. My blade found his thigh, sinking deep. He faltered, enough for me to spin behind him, locking my arm around his neck. My knife pressed against his carotid, and for a moment, we were both still, breaths ragged, muscles straining.

“You know,” I whispered against his ear, “you’re good and all that. But I’m way better.”

He growled, his elbow slamming into my ribs where he already stabbed me. Pain shot through me, but I tightened my grip, cutting off his air. His strength began to falter, and I drove my knee into the back of his.

With a final, brutal twist, I buried my blade into his throat, silencing him for good. Blood gushed, warm and sticky, as his body crumpled beneath me.

Rafe’s laughter broke through the heavy silence. “Oh, you really are something, aren’t you?”

“You know, Rafe, I hate being late when people are waiting for me,” I turned, my breathing heavy, and found him seated at the laptop, his fingers flying over the keys. “Oh no, you don’t,” I snapped, yanking my knife free from the giant’s corpse and striding toward him.

He didn’t even flinch when I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back from the screen.

“You’re going to tell me who tipped you off about the shipment,” I said, my blade pressing against his throat.

His lips twisted into a grin, even as his pulse hammered beneath the blade. “What makes you think I’ll talk?”

“Because” I murmured, leaning closer, “the alternative is less talkative than I.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment, but then his teeth snapped toward my hand, desperate and stupid.

The movement sent my knife deeper, slicing through his neck, blood spilled over my fingers, I shoved him off the chair, ignoring the sickening squelch when his body hit the ground, my side screamed in pain, the ache spreading like wildfire beneath my ribs.

Don’t look. Don’t think about it. It’s not that bad. It’s messy. Messy I can handle.

“Too bad,” I muttered under my breath, swiping at the sweat dripping down my temple, my hand brushing my abdomen, and the wetness wasn’t sweat, it was sticky… Blood .

My jaw clenched as I pressed my palm against it, the sting making my breath hitch. “Look at the mess you made.”

The laptop screen flickered faintly, dragging my attention back. I leaned forward, the motion tugging at the gash in my side, a sharp hiss escaped me, but I pushed past it, squinting at the details.

A map, routes, timelines.

But not simple vague guesses, this was precise.

Exact paths, coordinated times, the kind of intel that only came from someone on the inside.

No way.

I clicked through the files, bile rising in my throat with every detail I uncovered, then, the photo, grainy, dark, like it was taken in a hurry, but still unmistakable.

This is a plan coming from our base, it was taken there too. Someone in our ranks?

The air left my lungs in a sharp exhale, this wasn’t random, someone had gotten close, close enough to see us, to know us, to betray us.

A traitor.

The word clanged in my head like an alarm, growing louder, heavier, my grip tightened on the USB as I yanked it from the port, the edges biting into my palm.

I tried to sit back, to breathe, but the pounding in my side matched the thrum in my skull. Pain blurred the edges of my vision, and for a second, I thought about the blood soaking through my shirt, warm and sticky.

Later. I’d deal with it later.

For now, I had this, this fucking USB that suddenly felt like a grenade in my pocket.

What the hell is going on?

My eyes darted to Rafe’s lifeless body, slumped over the desk, his phone, I need his phone.

Maybe in his jacket on the chair?

Jackpot, I whispered to myself as my fingers brushed over the phone.

“A fingerprint lock, how irritating are you, even dead,” I whispered to his body.