Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 835 - 837

Chapter 835: Chapter 837

Silhouetted in the doorway, drenched from the storm, stood Ayla. Her coat clung to her form, dripping water onto the cold floor, and her eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were filled with something softer, concern, maybe. Or grief. "He’s here," she said quietly, stepping inside, her voice catching on the wind. "The one they call Black Thorne. He entered the city tonight. No one saw how." Jude finally looked at her, his jaw clenched. Black Thorne wasn’t just another name on the High Table’s list, he was their executioner. Silent, merciless, and precise. Where he walked, Guardians vanished. "How long do we have?" Jude asked, though he already knew the answer. Ayla shook her head. "Not long. He’s already taken the eastern tower. Ryn and Sol are gone." Jude exhaled slowly, not allowing the ache in his chest to rise. Sol had taught him how to disarm an explosive with a spoon and a cigarette lighter. Ryn had once carried him three kilometers through enemy fire when he’d been shot in both legs. They were more than allies, they were family. And now they were ashes in the wind.

"We can’t win this fight," Ayla whispered, stepping closer, her boots crunching softly on broken glass. "Not like this." Jude turned his back to her, staring again at the altar. "Then we don’t fight it." Her breath caught, and she moved to stand beside him. "What are you saying?" "We don’t fight him. We distract him." She stared at him in horror. "You want to bait the Black Thorne?" "Not me." He looked at her then, and the unspoken truth passed between them. Her eyes widened. "You’re insane." "No. I’m done." "Jude, " "You said it yourself. We can’t win. But if we can stall him, buy enough time for the others to escape the west wing, get the survivors to the southern docks, " "You’ll die." "We’ll all die if someone doesn’t stand in his way." Silence thickened around them, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. Ayla closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were harder. Colder. "Then I’m staying too." "No." "You’re not giving me orders." "I’m not. I’m asking. Please." She looked away, jaw trembling. After a long moment, she nodded. "You have an hour. After that, I pull you out. Whether you like it or not." He smiled faintly. "Fair enough."

As she left, Jude knelt before the altar, placing a small object on the stone. A pendant. Old, rusted, the symbol on it nearly worn away. It had belonged to his sister. He hadn’t worn it in years, but tonight, he needed to remember why he fought. Why he had to stand alone, even when everything in him screamed for him to run. The cathedral grew colder. Shadows deepened. And Jude felt it, the presence. Heavy. Cold. Watching. The Black Thorne had arrived. A tall figure stepped into the light, dressed in black from head to toe, face hidden beneath a dark hood and mask. No insignias. No words. Just death. Jude stood slowly, his hands empty, his stance relaxed. "You came fast," he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. The figure didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Jude took a step forward. "You kill Guardians. But I’m not just a Guardian. I’m the last of the Red Circle. You know what that means?" Still no response. "We swore to protect this land. Even if it kills us." The Black Thorne moved then, swift, silent, like a shadow detached from the ground. Jude barely had time to react. He dodged left, rolled, grabbed a blade hidden beneath the altar. Steel met steel. Sparks flew. The sound of their clash echoed like thunder in the hollow cathedral.

Jude fought like a man with nothing to lose. Every move was calculated, every strike designed not to kill, but to stall. But the Black Thorne was relentless. Precise. He didn’t make mistakes. Within minutes, Jude was bleeding from two deep cuts along his arm and shoulder. He backed away, panting. "You’re good," he gasped. "But not invincible." The Black Thorne tilted his head, as if amused. Then lunged again. Jude ducked, slashed upward, caught a piece of fabric, but nothing more. A fist collided with his jaw, sending him sprawling. Blood filled his mouth. He spat and rose again. "You think this ends with me?" he hissed. "You kill me, and someone else rises. We don’t stop. We don’t fade." The figure paused. For the first time, he spoke. "Then I will keep killing. Until there are none left." The voice was mechanical, distorted, but it chilled Jude to the bone. Still, he grinned. "Then you’ll be very tired." They clashed again. Blade met blade. Fist met flesh. Jude lost track of time, of pain, of everything except the next movement, the next breath. But he knew, he wouldn’t last much longer. His vision blurred. His limbs trembled. He was slowing, and the Black Thorne knew it.

Then a sound, distant but clear. A flare exploded in the sky outside. Blue. The signal. The survivors had made it to the docks. Jude smiled. That was all he needed. The Black Thorne struck again. Jude caught the blade with his bare hand. Blood poured from the wound, but he didn’t care. He twisted, slammed his elbow into the assassin’s side, and tackled him to the ground. They rolled, grappled, fought like animals. Finally, Jude pressed his blade to the Black Thorne’s throat. The figure didn’t move. "Do it," he said. Jude hesitated. His vision swam. The blood loss was too much. He wavered. Collapsed beside the figure. They lay there, breathing hard. "You can end it," the Black Thorne said again. "Kill me." Jude laughed bitterly. "You’re not the end. Just the beginning of another nightmare." He tried to move but couldn’t. "I don’t need to kill you," he whispered. "I just needed to delay you." The sound of boots approached. Ayla. Others. Reinforcements. The Black Thorne vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving only silence and blood. Jude felt hands on his chest, pressure, voices calling his name. But all he could think of was the pendant. The promise. And that, for once, he had kept it.