He looked at Morwen's body lying in a puddle of black ichor, then shifted his gaze to the four people frozen in the middle of the hangar.
"You killed him," Roy said, almost thoughtfully.
"I'm curious,how did you manage that?"
Flash, still gripping the revolver in his numb hand, stepped forward. Roy didn't even glance in his direction.
He simply raised his hand and slammed his palm into Flash's chest.
Flash flew backward as if hit by a battering ram. His back smashed into the concrete wall with such force that dust and small fragments rained down.
He slid to the floor. The revolver slipped from his fingers and rolled away. The silver bullet remained in the cylinder, now too far out of reach.
Roy didn't even follow it with his eyes.
He was looking only at Ethan.
Ethan stood leaning against the crate, his left hand still clutching the knife Bruno had dropped.
Blood dripped from his fingers onto the floor.
"You," Roy said quietly.
"You're the biggest pain in the ass. Why?"
Ethan didn't answer. He simply straightened up as much as he could and raised the knife.
Roy smiled.
"Alright. Let's see how stubborn you really are."
He moved forward without vanishing into thin air like Morwen. He simply knew the prey wasn't going anywhere.
Ethan backed away.
His heels caught on an overturned metal chair. He grabbed it by the backrest and yanked it toward himself, thrusting the legs forward like a shield.
"You're not getting me!" Ethan shouted.
Roy struck. His fist cut through the air where Ethan's head had been a second earlier. The chair exploded into splinters from a single touch.
Ethan darted to the side, snatched a piece of metal pipe lying by the wall.
The pipe whistled through the air. Roy dodged it without effort and answered with an open-palmed strike to Ethan's shoulder.
Ethan spun around. His shoulder went instantly numb, but he didn't fall. Instead, he kicked the nearest crate, sending it flying straight at Roy.
Roy caught it with one hand. He looked at Ethan over the crate as if it were a newspaper.
"You seriously think this will help?"
He tossed the crate aside. It smashed into the wall and shattered like a matchbox.
Ethan was already running along the wall, grabbing anything he could reach, a metal barrel, an old lamp on a stand, a piece of rebar.
He was trying to put at least some distance between them. Roy followed unhurriedly. Every time Ethan glanced back, Roy was one step closer.
"Why won't you give up?" Roy asked, with almost genuine curiosity.
"You understand this is the end. Your friends can't help you anymore."
Ethan, breathing hard, pressed his back against an old shelving unit. He grabbed a rusty wrench from the shelf and hurled it at Roy's face.
Roy ducked. The wrench clanged against the concrete behind him.
"Because…" Ethan spat blood.
"I need to kill you…"
Roy laughed.
"Ha-ha! You're funny. Remember our first meeting?" Roy said.
He stepped closer. Ethan lunged to the side, grabbed a heavy chain hanging from a hook, spun it over his head, and lashed out.
The chain wrapped around Roy's arm for a moment. Roy yanked, and the chain snapped like thread. Ethan was thrown backward again.
He crashed into a pile of metal sheets. They clattered loudly, collapsing around him.
Roy walked right up and leaned over.
"Tell me," he said softly, looking straight into Ethan's eyes.
"What's so special about you? Why does Anna cling to you so tightly?"
"Why does Michael want your head on a platter? Why did even Morwen…", he nodded toward the body, "find you interesting?"
Ethan, lying among the debris, slowly lifted his head. Blood trickled down his temple.
"Because…" he rasped, "…I'm not afraid… of things like you."
Roy narrowed his eyes.
"That's it?"
"No," Ethan smiled.
"Also because… I have help."
At that moment, Gideon, who had been silently supporting Bruno against the wall, raised his pistol. His finger trembled, the barrel aimed precisely at the back of Roy's head.
Flash, who had crawled to the revolver, raised it as well.
Roy froze. He didn't turn around. He only smiled very slowly.
"So that's how it is."
He straightened up.
"Then… let's continue."
And the air thickened once again, this time with the anticipation of fresh blood.
Roy smiled almost tenderly, like a man who had just found a forgotten toy in an old closet.
"Then… let's continue."
In the next second, he vanished.
Flash didn't even have time to pull the trigger. The revolver was ripped from his fingers with such speed that the air whipped across his skin like a lash.
The weapon flew upward, spun in the air, and disappeared into Roy's palm. He reappeared behind Gideon.
Gideon began to turn, but it was too late.
Roy's hand settled on his shoulder almost gently and pushed. It simply flung him away like a useless scrap of paper.
Gideon flew backward, tripped over the overturned chair, and crashed onto it. The chair cracked, one leg broke off and rolled across the concrete.
Gideon hit the back of his head on the floor but stayed alive. The impact only knocked the air from his lungs, and he coughed, gasping for breath.
Meanwhile, Ethan was trying to stand. His left hand was still pressed to the wound on his neck. Blood flowed between his fingers in thick, warm streams, dripping onto the floor.
He reached for the wall to steady himself, and his fingers accidentally closed around the broken chair leg. The wood was rough, soaked with his own blood mixed with the wisteria poison still pulsing through Ethan's veins.
Roy was already turning toward him, revolver in hand, finger on the trigger.
"Now you…" Roy continued, reaching his hand toward Ethan.