Revenge to the Alpha Mate - Chapter 233

Chapter 233: Chapter 233
Celena’s Perspective

The dull impact seemed to have echoed from the depths of the left passage. Jacob and I locked eyes. No time for debate. We dove into the darker tunnel.

Our flashlight beam carved a shaky path through the oppressive gloom, illuminating rough concrete walls and occasional damp patches on the floor. The air, perpetually cold and tinged with chemicals, now carried a fresh thread of blood and… the sharp tang of cordite. Faint, but undeniable.

“God, it’s black as pitch,” Jacob growled low. His wolf eyes should have an edge in the dark, but here there was zero light—a pure underground labyrinth. “Hold on.” He felt along the wall until his fingers found a recessed switch and clicked it.

Overhead, a few widely spaced fluorescent tubes flickered and buzzed to life, casting a ghastly white pallor that pushed back some shadows but made the corridor seem endless and even more foreboding. We could see now: the tunnel stretched straight ahead, vanishing into darkness again in the distance.

Now, utter silence. The earlier gunshots and impacts had been completely swallowed. Only a faint, muffled rumble of distant combat and shouts—filtering through tons of concrete and earth—hinted that Lily’s team was still keeping the Hunters busy at the main gate.

We picked up the pace, nearly breaking into a run.

We didn’t have far to go for confirmation.

The first Hunter lay prone, arms wrenched behind his back at impossible angles, as if snapped by tremendous force in an instant. Weak, agonized moans escaped him. A second was slumped against the wall, his chest a horrifying cavity, each wet, rasping breath bubbling with blood. A third… a fourth… about half a dozen men total were sprawled along the corridor in various grotesque, bone-shattering poses. They wore Hunter gear or civvies, weapons scattered around them. Most were alive but clearly out of the fight—eyes glazed over, faces masks of pain and lingering terror.

Jacob crouched beside one, his brow furrowed. “Not gunshots. Just pure, savage physical force… bones pulverized.” He stood, expression grim. “Like being hit by a freight train, or… mauled by something with bare hands.”

My stomach turned. Seeing the Hunters’miserable situation, I felt little pity. They were Karl’s people, our pursuers. But the one who did this… was the thing wearing Brett’s skin.

“It was her,” I said, my throat tight. “She came through. They were in her way.”

Jacob nodded, his gaze sharp as it scanned ahead. “Keep moving. Exit’s gotta be close.”

We skirted the moaning men and pressed on. The corridor began to slope upward. Stacks of wooden crates and rusted machinery parts appeared, marking a storage or logistics zone. Light seeped in from ahead—not the harsh fluorescents, but a murkier, diluted glow. Daylight, mixed with industrial lighting.

We shoved through a heavy fire door and finally escaped the suffocating underground maze, re-emerging into the main slaughterhouse structure. This was a vast, high-ceilinged loading bay, floor marked with faded yellow traffic lines, now eerily empty of vehicles or workers. A few high-mounted sodium lamps cast dull, orange pools of light. The air hung thick with the familiar, nauseating cocktail of animal, blood, and antiseptic, which now felt bizarrely, almost comfortingly “normal.”

At the far end of the bay stood a massive, roll-up door large enough for trucks, currently half-raised. Beyond it lay the factory yard and, further out, the chain-link perimeter fence.

We ran for the light. The floor was slick in spots, forcing us to slow. Finally, we reached the door, ducked under it, and burst outside—

The scene outside was infinitely more chaotic.

This was a loading zone near the plant’s main entrance. Several Hunter bodies lay in stiff, final poses on the asphalt, dark blood pooled around them. A couple of sedans and an SUV, clearly Hunter vehicles, were slewed at odd angles, windows blown out, bodywork riddled with bullet holes. One crackled with flames, belching black smoke that seared the air with the stench of burning rubber and plastic, overpowering the slaughterhouse odor. Walls and support columns were pockmarked and scarred by gunfire. A textbook scene of Intense firefight aftermath.

Lily and the guys had really torn this place up. I could easily picture the crew fighting a furious retreat through here.

“This way!” Jacob pointed urgently toward a breach in the perimeter fence nearby. The chain-link was violently bent outward, and fresh tire tracks led away from it. “She went through here!”

Just then, from behind a pile of discarded wooden pallets to our flank, two wounded Hunters staggered upright! Their faces were smeared with blood and grime, eyes wide with panic. They clutched rifles, and upon seeing us, they fired almost instinctively!

“Down!” Jacob reacted in a blur, tackling me to the ground. Bullets zinged and whined overhead, sparking and pinging off the metal roll-up door behind us.

We scrambled for cover behind debris and the wrecked vehicles. The two Hunters, clearly rattled, fired a few more wild, inaccurate bursts before stumbling and fleeing toward another part of the factory complex, disappearing around a corner.

“Go!” Jacob hauled me up. We ignored the fleeing men and sprinted for the gap in the fence.

We vaulted over the twisted metal. Outside ran an access road connecting to the main highway. Parked not far off was a pickup truck with a dented hood and a spider-webbed windshield, but otherwise looks like operational. The keys were even in the ignition—probably abandoned by a Hunter in the chaos.

Jacob slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key. The engine coughed, shuddered, then roared to life. “We got wheels!” he yelled.

I barely got the passenger door closed before he slammed the accelerator. The pickup lurched forward, tires screeching on gravel. The alignment was off, pulling to one side, but it moved.

In the distance, further down the highway, another rapid burst of gunfire echoed—moving, shifting fire. Fainter and more erratic than the sounds from Lily’s battle.

“That direction!” Jacob jerked the wheel. The pickup swerved onto the paved road, speeding toward the gunfire and the monster that had stolen Brett’s body.

Lily’s Perspective

Jacob’s call came at the perfect damn time. Brett… possessed? By a witch? A demon? Hell, that was creepier than a whole platoon of armed Hunters. But at least we were warned.

“Everyone, listen up!” I barked into the radio, crouched behind a disabled Hunter SUV, ramming a fresh magazine home. “Eyes on swivels! Potential target… ‘Brett’ may appear. But Jacob confirms it’s not him! I repeat, not Brett! Maintain extreme distance. Do not, I repeat, do not approach!”

Dave’s “Copy that” crackled from behind a concrete barrier opposite. Jim, on overwatch further down our flank, offered a terse “Roger” over the comms.

We were still in a sporadic firefight with the remaining Hunters across the loading zone, but the heat had died down. Both sides were licking wounds and looking for an opening to either finish it or break off. That’s when I caught movement from a corridor entrance on our side, leading deeper into the facility.

More Hunters. Reinforcements, four or five of them, trying to flank our position.

“Three o’clock, fresh meat—” I started the warning over the radio when all hell broke loose.

A figure blurred from the shadows behind the approaching Hunters with impossible speed.

It looked like Brett. The build, the face. He—it—was wrapped in a filthy grey blanket, barefoot, yet moved with a predatory grace that was utterly alien.

What happened next nearly made my jaw hit the floor.

The first Hunter to sense the threat from behind began to turn, bringing his rifle around. “Brett” simply reached out, seized the man by the throat, and hurled him like he weighed nothing into the Hunter beside him. The two men collided with a sickening crunch of bone and armor, flying back several meters to land in broken heaps.

Another Hunter fired in blind panic. The muzzle flash was aimed point-blank, but the figure just seemed to flow aside, the round tearing through the blanket’s edge and smacking into the wall behind. It wasn’t a miss—it had moved, faster than the eye could follow, reacting to the flash itself.

“Brett” didn’t pause. He closed the distance to the shooter in one fluid step and kicked—the motion looked almost lazy—square into the man’s chest. I clearly heard the crunch-crack of shattering sternum and ribs. The Hunter, a solid 180 pounds, launched backward as if yanked by a wire, sailing through the air to slam into a stack of metal drums. He didn’t get up.

The last two Hunters broke completely, firing wild, unaimed bursts over their shoulders as they turned and fled. “Brett” didn’t give chase. Instead, he strode to a Hunter panel van nearby, its engine still idling. He ripped the door open, hauled the screaming driver out by his collar, tossed him aside like garbage, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared. The van accelerated hard, aiming straight for the chain-link fence. With a deafening shriek of tearing metal, it plowed through, bursting onto the access road outside. It skidded into a tight turn and sped off toward the highway.

The entire sequence took less than half a minute. The firefight between our group and the remaining Hunters had ground to a halt, everyone staring in stunned disbelief.

“Holy hell…” Dave’s awed whisper over the radio said it all.

That was not Brett. Brett was skilled, but he never had that kind of monstrous strength or speed. Jacob was telling the truth.

The remaining Hunters, also shaken by the sudden, violent intervention and the swift demolition of their comrades, quickly refocused. Their primary target was escaping! Shouting orders, they piled into whatever vehicles were still mobile—two SUVs and a sedan—gunned the engines, and roared out through the ragged hole in the fence, giving chase. Rifle barrels emerged from windows, poised to continue the fight on the road.

“Lily, what’s the play?” Jim asked.

I assessed fast. Sticking around to trade shots with Hunters here was pointless now. Our objective had… morphed, but the core of it was still that thing. Letting the Hunters run point as cannon fodder suited me just fine.

“Mount up! Follow!” I ordered. “Hang back. Let them tangle with it first.”

We sprinted for our two relatively intact SUVs parked on the far side of the complex. Engines fired up, and we fell in a cautious distance behind the pursuing Hunter convoy as they hit the highway. The Hunters up ahead were driving aggressively, and sporadic gunfire popped—they were trying to shoot out the van’s tires.

A few minutes into the chase, my phone buzzed. Jacob.

“Lily! Our position? We’re out, in a pickup. Hearing gunfire ahead!”

“We made visual contact,” I said, keeping it brief, eyes on the road. “Took a van, smashed through the fence. Hunters are in pursuit. We’re trailing them. Follow the main road, you’ll see the damage and tracks. Catch up!”

“Copy! On our way!”

Not long after the call ended, I spotted in the rearview a pickup truck—hood dented, trailing a wisp of smoke—come speeding up a side road behind us. Jacob and Celena.

I slowed, hitting the hazard lights. The pickup quickly pulled alongside. Through the windows, I saw Jacob’s tense profile behind the wheel and Celena, pale but resolute, beside him.

Dave leaned out from our back seat and gave a sharp wave. Jim offered a grim nod from the front passenger seat.

Xavier and Adrian flashed thumbs-up from the other SUV.

No words were necessary. The pack was whole again.