Before Rhys could leave, fifty men and women in bulletproof vests burst out of their vehicles and pointed their guns at him. Rhys calculated quickly—what he could and couldn't do and smiled, raising his hands innocuously and waiting.

  The officers gathered, and several of them tackled Rhys onto the ground, pinning him beneath their weight. "Don't move, mother fucker. We've got you pegged for over a dozen murder charges, Trefor. There's nowhere for you to run."

  "Does it look like I'm running?" Rhys calmly chuckled as he felt their knees digging into his back.

  What responded was a fist to his face as the officer spat. "Don't be a smartass with me. You're just a homicidal psychopath."

  "Whatever you say, officer. Gonna read me my rights and tell me anything I say can and will be—used against me?"

  "You don't deserve it." The officer glared before signaling to the others. "Take him away."

  They grabbed Rhys aggressively, pulling him by his arms and heaving him forward until they tossed him into the back of one of the cars. The doors slammed shut, and the officers entered their cars one after the other, blaring the sirens and burning rubber as they set off.

  After a few minutes on the road, Rhys laughed. "Do you know the worst part of wanting to send a message?"

  The two officers in the front looked at him through the rearview mirror. "What're you on about, Trefor?" One of them asked, disinterested words, but they humored Rhys nonetheless.

  "When you want to send a message, it's easy for you to make mistakes. Such as leaving someone alive when you really shouldn't have."

  With those words uttered, Rhys tensed his core and lifted his feet, kicking at the metal cage that separated him from the officers. Once, twice, kicks peppered the cage like veritable sledgehammers, quaking the car and startling the officers. The driver was about to move his foot and break when the cage creaked and slammed off its bolts, pushing the officers down and pressing them against the front dashboard.

  Instead of breaking, the driver managed to have his foot pincered against the gas pedal, causing the car to jolt into a frenzied sprint across the pavement.

  The officers struggled to push the cage up and regain control of the situation, but they were powerless to act.

  Soon after, they heard a snapping sound. Rhys dislocated his wrist and escaped the cuffs, not for the first time nor the last time. He snapped his wrist back in place, mildly grimacing in the process, and then he moved the cage back just enough that his arms could reach for the steering wheel.

  Everything happened so quickly that the other cars were barely catching up. Rhys took advantage of that fact, jolting the wheel to the left into one of the oncoming cars and veering it hard off its course. Then he did the same again, slamming against the cruiser on the right and causing its wheels to spin out of control and collide with the car behind it.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Two more cruisers pressed against the one Rhys was in from the back, knocking the car slightly forward and further disorienting the two pincered officers. "If you don't want to crash, hit the break," Rhys whispered to the driver before pulling the cage off his back just enough to give him space to move his legs.

  The disoriented officer cursed, but his body was trembling. He slammed the break as ordered, and the car jolted backward, spinning uncontrollably as the other cruisers collided. Shards of glass burst across the pavement, scattering like stars in the sky. Flames erupted, and shouts and screams bellowed from the destruction, and among one of the cars, a slamming thud sounded.

  Rhys kicked down the door and stepped out of the blazing cruiser. Shards of glass caused the man's clothes to tear in more than a dozen places, and blood trickled down, but he walked like an unstoppable storm.

  From the crash, many of the officers pulled themselves out from the wreckage in far worse condition than Rhys himself. Despite their condition, they turned toward the man, cursing and shouting.

  Their ego caused them to believe that despite the unforeseen situation, they still held the upper hand. Little did they know that Rhys Trefor was a man who had seen countless pigs squeal in his days overseas. Rhys rushed toward one of the officers closest to him and firmly palmed his face, slamming the back of his head against the heated metal of the blazing cruiser before letting go and lunging toward the next pig.

  Blood splattered from the officer's head before the man even realized what had happened. His eyes were in a daze, but Rhys was already moving toward the man's partner and slamming his knee into her face. The woman squealed and spat out blood and teeth, but that wasn't enough to distance Rhys. He grabbed her ponytail and tugged with such visceral force that he tossed her in the direction of three officers who were still struggling to stand up, knocking them all down further flat on their asses.

  "You fucking bastard, Trefor. The Ouroboros Eye won't take this challenge of yours lightly. You're a dead man walking, Trefor! DEAD MAN WALKING!" One of the wounded officers howled, struggling to pull his gun out from the melted-in holster. "They're going to butcher you like that bitch brother of yours."

  Rhys took a single step and then stopped.

  A stifling silence drowned out the screams and billowing flames and all that existed in that brief area that encompassed the officers.

  Rhys took a step forward. And then another.

  He calmly walked toward the officer who spoke out, but it chilled the hearts of everyone still conscious. There was something different about the man, something monstrous. As Rhys came close, he knelt beside the cop and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Officer, did anyone ever tell you to be careful what you say?"

  "They haven't, that's for sure," Rhys added with an icy laugh, "if they did, you wouldn't have sacrificed your life like this." With those words uttered, he plunged his finger into the man's eye socket and tore out his left eyeball, tossing it behind him toward the other wounded officers who screamed at the sight of the rolling eye. The man himself howled as blood flowed down his face. He tried to utter some words, but those unspeakable words were not meant to be shared as Rhys shoved his hand into the cop's mouth, stifling his speech.

  "Have you ever seen how an animal is butchered, cop?" Rhys took his free hand and ripped out the other eyeball, "I hope you have. Since you won't have a chance to see it any longer."

  "Stop this, Trefor! You can still be forgiven if you let us go—" One of the officers cried out.

  Rhys merely put his bloodied finger to his lips, "Be silent now. Don't remind me that you're still here."