Chapter 36: When Madness Gives You Migraines...
ORION’S POV
"They are the people that care about me, Orion, and you’re not one of them."
The words refuse to leave him, they follow him down the dark hallway like ghosts tearing into the itch in his skull.
Orion’s fist crashes into the jaw of the first man who reaches him. Bone cracks beneath the force of the blow. The man collapses instantly, dropping like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
Orion doesn’t even bother watching him hit the floor. He’s already moving.
Without wasting a second, he cocks his gun and fires a bullet through the eye of the next man advancing towards him. His body jerks violently before crumpling to the ground.
Orion continues walking. There are dozens of men packed in the hallway, but he doesn’t bother counting them. Counting would imply that he’s seeing them.
None of his men stand at his back. He has no support whatsoever. It’s just him going through the motions, killing and putting down everyone standing in his way.
Exactly how he likes it.
That metallic scent of blood staining the air. The feeling of warm blood splashing against his skin. The resistance of a neck breaking beneath his hands.
Those are the things he enjoys experiencing on his own.
"You care about me as much as you care about your nails...you keep them cut bluntly because they’ll affect the way you handle your weapons otherwise."
The words echo again.
In the thick of battle, he glances at his well-kept nails. They are immaculate.
"Tsk..."
The sound leaves him before he can stop it. He slams the butt of his gun into another man’s skull twice. The sickening crunch of collapsing bone echoes through the dark hallway.
"If I bore you too much, you’ll cut me down too."
The accusation lingers in his mind, like smoke on clothes. Not necessarily because it could be true, but because Adrien believed it when he said it.
Orion steps over a corpse and spots a flashbang hanging from the strap on the dead man’s waist. He pulls it off and throws it into the melee of attackers, only after shielding his own eyes from the visual assault.
By the time they manage to shake off the effects of the blinding light, Orion’s bullets are already lodged deep in their bodies.
As they fall, other men climb over them to take their place. The hallway becomes a river of flesh and blood.
"You like it when I act out and hate it when I do. You try to paint this as a relationship where I have to depend on you to survive, but tell me, Orion...’
A man fires wildly, causing him to bend sideways. The bullet misses its mark, and the shooter doesn’t get a second attempt.
’What is the use of depending on you if you are more dangerous to me than every single person who wants to hurt me?"
As he slides a man’s gun from his hand and fires it into the skull of another unsuspecting one, Orion slows down. Not physically, but mentally.
His body continues killing while his mind drifts backward, back to Adrien and his fury.
He sees the hate and the resentment in Adrien’s eyes as clear as day, and he feels that same strange feeling he felt when he was leveled with that gaze.
"Should I just be the bad guy he’s painting me as?" He muses as he stomps down on a head, feeling the skull cave in, and leans backward to dodge a bullet.
The attacker barely has time to process how that metal shot did not meet its mark before Orion shoots him through the throat.
Orion isn’t a saint.
Even in the eyes of those who would bend over and spread their ass cheeks for him, he is the farthest thing from a saint. He knows this. He’s a hypocrite not a liar.
Yet, listening to Adrien talk, one would think that Orion was the one who initiated their relationship. Like that little shit didn’t spend years of his time following him around with hate-filled glares.
The memory almost makes Orion laugh. Almost.
"Because it makes it easier for me to hate you...it makes it easier for me to regret none of my actions. In fact, I’m starting to appreciate them more and more."
The words affect him more than they should, because Orion understands exactly what Adrien means. His duckling wants a monster he can name without guilt. Someone he never has to forgive.
And Orion would fit that role perfectly.
The problem is that Adrien insists on pretending he’s different. That he’s better and more moral than everyone else. If Orion is the type to accept who he is, Adrien is the type to hide from it.
That’s why he put that gun in his hand and helped him pull the trigger.
"So what if I killed his best friend?" The thought emerges casually. "The least he could’ve done was ask why...or maybe tell me what they were planning."
Orion frowns as his thoughts wander. "If they had been plotting something together I would’ve killed him too, and he wouldn’t have to deal with that thing..."
He crosses his arms and taps his chin thoughtfully. "What’s it called again?"
The last man stares up at him in pure horror. His eye focused on Orion with an intensity that would put his most dedicated stalker to shame.
But Orion isn’t even acknowledging his gaze. He’s trying to remember that thing, that psychological nonsense people are always parroting about.
The answer arrives suddenly, brightening the fever in his gaze.
"Yes! Survivors’ guilt!" He snaps his fingers in a fit of excitement. "If he had just simply confessed, I would’ve put him in the ground without even giving a shit— "
He’s a hypocrite, not a liar.
He sighs. "No, instead of killing him, I would’ve found other uses for him."
"Wouldn’t it be better if I just died so I don’t have to ever worry about being hurt by the next person?"
The memory makes him laugh softly, eyes wide and crazed under the dark lighting of the hallway.
"Should I just hurt him so much," Orion murmurs, "that no one else ever gets the chance?"
His tone is thoughtful, as though he’s genuinely weighing the possibility. The man before him looks horrified. Orion notices his expression and notices something else.
The still silence and the complete lack of movement. His gaze drifts downwards to the bullet hole winking at him from the center of the man’s face.
His right eye to be exact.
Orion remembers now. He’d already shot him through the eye several minutes ago. The man wasn’t listening or staring, because he had been dead the entire time.
He’d been conversing with a corpse.
For a second, Orion simply stares, then realization crashes into him. A sharp, disbelieving laugh escapes from him as his shoulders begin to shake.
"Oh, that’s fucking hilarious." The laugh grows louder.
Bodies litter the hallway around him. The floor and the walls are slick and covered with blood and death. And standing at the center of it all, surrounded by corpses, Orion Vassilis throws his head back and laughs.
The sound echoes through the corridor. Wild and unhinged.
Because somewhere between the slaughter, the gunfire, and Adrien’s accusations, Orion has realized something. The dead man isn’t the only person he’s been talking to.
Adrien isn’t here either.
Yet, Orion has spent the entire battle arguing, explaining, and defending himself from accusations clawing at his skull like old ghosts.
And somehow, that realization is funnier than the tapestry of corpses at his feet, and the enlightening conversation he had with one.
_________
Far away from Orion’s madness, yet still in the same building, Niko is in his element. He’s doing nothing, yet everything is being handed over to him.
"In ten minutes, Orion will be here, and our lovely conversation will be over, Don."
He caresses the cheek of the man kneeling between his legs, gently pushing his head down so he rests on his thighs. It’s relaxing, like petting a dog.
"Even if the Basilisk were a god among men like his followers praise him to be, he would still not be able to go through all of my men, Wildcat." Don Antonio responds, cigar dangling between his lips.
They sit across from each other, neither willing to give an inch.
The study is heavily soundproofed, so neither of them can hear the commotion going on in the hallway. And according to the rules of the game, the Don isn’t allowed to watch the fight through the CCTV monitor in the study.
And neither is Niko.
"Orion isn’t a god amongst men, Don." Niko grins as his fingers dig into a certain pressure point at the back of the ear, and the man resting on his thigh shivers in pleasure.
"He’s more of a disaster that we don’t really try to contain."
"Then the legend of that disaster is going to end tonight, Wildcat. The Basilisk alone does not have the ability to kill sixty of my finest men." The Don responds coldly.
But instead of responding to him, Niko flashes a disarming smile at the man resting on his lap.
"Well, when he does come here, I’ll be sure to tell him to spare you, because you’ve already provided me the best entertainment possible."
******
Many games will be played in this volume.
Keep your eyes open, and your mind clear.
— TheLovePoet
