The world around Ochieng was a collapsing inferno, but all he saw was Gideon. The man stood tall, his dark suit now smeared with dust and blood, his usual smirk curling into something more sinister.
"You look tired," Gideon mused, rolling his neck. "Is the great Ochieng finally breaking?"
Ochieng didn't respond. He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and took a step forward. "You talk too much."
Gideon laughed—a cold, guttural sound. "That's what makes this fun."
Then he lunged.
Ochieng barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his ribs, sending a jolt of pain through his body. He twisted, blocking the next strike and countering with an elbow to Gideon's jaw. The impact sent the man stumbling, but not down.
Gideon wiped the blood from his lip. "You still hit like a starving dog."
Ochieng's only response was a brutal roundhouse kick that Gideon barely dodged. The fight was raw, no wasted movements, no unnecessary theatrics. Every punch thrown was meant to end the other.
Flames licked at the walls around them, the building groaning under its own weight.
Then—a sharp pain.
Ochieng barely registered the knife until it was buried in his side. Gideon had moved faster than expected, his hand twisting the blade deeper.
Ochieng's vision blurred for a second, but he gritted his teeth and grabbed Gideon's wrist, yanking the knife out and plunging it into the man's thigh.
Gideon howled, staggering back.
Breath heaving, Ochieng pressed a hand against his bleeding wound. He couldn't afford to collapse. Not yet.
A sudden crash—
The burning ceiling began to give way.
Gideon's eyes darted upward. A fatal mistake.
Ochieng used the moment to charge, slamming his fist into Gideon's throat. The man gasped, his balance faltering, and Ochieng drove his knee into his stomach, sending him flying into the crumbling debris.
Gideon didn't get back up.
Ochieng didn't wait to confirm. He turned, scooped up Celestine's unconscious form, and ran toward the shattered exit. The moment he crossed the threshold, the building behind him collapsed in an explosion of ash and flame.
He didn't stop. Not until he was far enough away to breathe.
Then, finally, he sank to his knees, exhaustion crashing over him like a tidal wave.
Celestine stirred in his arms, her fingers weakly grasping his shirt. "You're still alive…"
He gave her a tired, bloodstained grin. "You sound disappointed."
A shaky laugh. "Not yet."
The night swallowed them, the fire behind them a testament to the war they had just barely survived.
But it wasn't over.
Not yet.