The briefing room was a mess of chatter and laughter, the Crows barely paying attention as the captain spoke. They joked, placed bets, and passed the time like it was just another day. That was until Vega stormed in, breathless like she had sprinted through the whole building.

  "You bastards," she huffed, hands on her knees. "I want in on one of your missions too."

  The squad barely acknowledged her, their banter continuing while the captain droned on, almost like the briefing was just a formality. Finally, he snapped, telling them to focus. One of the Crows just smirked.

  "It's gonna be easy as always—no need for a briefing."

  The room broke into laughter. The captain chucked a stick at him, smacking him on the shoulder. The idiot just laughed harder, rubbing the spot before casually turning to the others.

  "Alright, bets are open. How bad is Vega gonna screw up? And who’s taking a bullet this time?"

  More laughter. More jokes. Just another mission.

  For them, at least.

  Vega leaned back against the steel wall of the AC-Crow, the same aircraft she had seen them jump from before. This time, she was in it with them. She had only half-jokingly asked to join a mission. Now, here she was, staring at the others as they sat dead silent, checking their gear. No jokes, no taunts, no reckless grins—just quiet, methodical preparation.

  She expected someone to break the tension, but no one did.

  For thirty long minutes, the silence sat heavy in the air.

  Then, the light above the exit turned green.

  "Drop."

  One by one, the Crows vanished into the night. Vega hesitated for half a second before taking the leap.

  The desert stretched out in every direction, endless sand dunes swallowing the horizon. Vega groaned, wiping sweat off her forehead.

  "How much farther?"

  One of the Crows turned his head slightly, voice flat. "Shut up and walk."

  After what felt like an eternity, they crested a dune—and there it was.

  A heavily fortified mansion sat in the middle of nowhere, guarded like a fortress.

  The scout returned, dropping into a crouch beside them. "Three tanks, armored jeeps, and APCs doing scout rounds. If we fuck up, we’re dead. And we don’t have heavy weaponry." His eyes flicked to the two idiots still slightly tinted neon green. "You two stay extra careful, or I’m leaving you behind enemy lines."

  The two of them chuckled like it was a joke. "Got it, boss."

  "I'm not joking."

  Silence.

  The fence was cut, the floodlights dodged, the patrols slipped past. They moved like ghosts through the halls of the mansion, scanning files, hacking terminals, and taking every scrap of information they could find.

  As they swept through the mansion, the Crows moved like shadows, rifling through every file and folder they could get their hands on. Base locations, troop movements, classified intel—anything of value was fair game.

  "Hey, check this out," one of the Crows muttered, holding up a document. "This guy's got offshore accounts in half a dozen countries. Think he’d mind if we made a withdrawal?"

  "Shut up and focus," another hissed, stuffing files into a pack.

  Vega, flipping through a folder, furrowed her brows. "Why does he have schematics for missile silos? I thought this guy was just logistics."

  "Probably has his fingers in a lot of pies," a Crow muttered, barely looking up. "Not our problem, though—just grab everything."

  Then, the silence was broken.

  A soft creak. A rustle. The door to their room slowly swung open.

  In less than a second, every Crow had their weapon raised, eyes locked on the entrance. Fingers hovered over triggers, breaths held.

  Then—a cat.

  A sleek black cat strolled into the room, tail flicking. One of the Crows instinctively reached out to pet it.

  "Hey, little guy—"

  The cat hissed and knocked over a flower pot.

  Crash.

  "Shit."

  From downstairs, a voice called up. "Who’s up there?"

  The squad froze.

  "Find a spot, now," someone whispered. Papers were shoved back into drawers, bodies scrambled behind furniture, under desks, into the shadows.

  The heavy thud of boots on the stairs grew louder. A second later, the door swung fully open. A soldier stood there, eyes scanning the room. His gaze locked onto them—

  He inhaled, mouth opening—

  Swish.

  A blade buried itself between his eyes before a single sound could escape his throat.

  The body hit the floor.

  Vega barely breathed, staring at the Crow who had thrown the knife. He walked over, yanked it free with a wet schlck wiped the blade

  Then it happened.

  A sharp crack echoed through the night.

  A sniper shot.

  One of the neon-green idiots went down hard. Vega instinctively lunged forward, but before she could even reach him, the other idiot yanked her back.

  "You have zero field experience, really? Running in front of the same window a sniper just fired from?" He was already bandaging his friend, pressing down hard to stop the bleeding.

  Then, the alarms went off.

  But not normal alarms.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Crow alarms.

  Instantly, the Crows stiffened.

  "Fuck."

  These alarms weren’t for intruders. They were specifically designed to warn the world that the Crows were on-site.

  Outside, every tank, jeep, and patrol unit was closing in, surrounding the mansion.

  They weren’t opening fire. Not yet.

  Because the Crows had something valuable.

  The captain stayed calm. He knew they couldn’t take this many head-on.

  "Retreat. Now."

  The Crows didn’t hesitate. The back wall of the mansion came down in an explosion, and one by one, they escaped into the dunes.

  Only then did the captain make his move, slipping through the opening last—

  BANG.

  The retreat stopped.

  Every single Crow turned. Their grins, their recklessness—all of it vanished.

  "Shit, shit—get him up!"

  Two Crows grabbed him, hauling him away as fast as possible.

  "Stay with us, Captain!"

  The radio exploded with voices.

  "We need extraction! NOW!"

  Vega ran with them, her mind spinning. They weren’t just running. They were running for the first time.

  And not from death.

  From the thought of their captain dying.

  They made it to higher ground—somewhere the enemy vehicles couldn’t climb.

  Vega ran, her boots pounding against the sand, the weight of her gear slowing her down. But the others weren’t slowing. They couldn’t.

  Two Crows dragged the captain, his blood leaving a dark trail in the sand. His breaths were shallow, but his voice was still there, gritted, steady.

  "Keep moving. Don’t stop."

  "Shut up," one of them muttered, voice tight. "We’re getting you out."

  Behind them, the enemy advanced. APCs rolling over dunes, tanks positioning their turrets. The Crows had no heavy weapons. Yet.

  At the top of the sand dune, one of the Crows pressed down on the captain’s wound, his hands slick with blood. “Damn it, damn it—hold on, Captain. We’re getting you out of here. Just stay with us, alright? Don’t you dare die on us.”

  Another Crow paced nearby, his fingers clenched around his rifle, his breathing ragged. His rage burned so hot it looked like he could punch through steel. “Where the hell is that extraction? They said five minutes—" He checked his watch. "Two minutes. Feels like twenty." His voice cracked.

  Then the blame started.

  “If you hadn’t gotten shot,” one of them snarled, shoving the neon idiot back, “none of this would’ve happened. The Captain would still be fine! But no, you just had to glow like a damn beacon—” He swung, landing a hard punch to the idiot’s gut.

  The Captain coughed, spitting blood onto the sand. “Calm down,” he muttered, his voice weaker than they’d ever heard it. “It’s just a goddamn bullet wound—”

  The Crow holding him down flinched as his hands shook against the wound. “N-no—don’t say that, don’t—” His voice broke. Another Crow ripped his radio from his vest, screaming into the comms. “Where the fuck is our extraction?! We need it now! Now!”

  And for the first time, Vega saw it.

  Not the unshakable warriors.

  Just a group of soldiers, clinging desperately to the one thing keeping them from falling apart.

  A Crow who had been scouting ahead stumbled back over the dune, his face pale. His rifle hung loose in his grip. His voice was hollow when he spoke.

  “We’re dead.”

  The others turned to him, their blood running cold.

  “We let the Captain down.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Tanks aren’t marching straight to us… they’re circling. Closing in. Locking us in—” His throat bobbed. “They’re going to kill us here.”

  He turned to the Captain, his voice breaking. “W-we let you down, sir… This is on us.” His fingers clenched around his vest. “We messed around. We got careless. We got you shot.”

  His knees nearly buckled.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We’re so sorry.”

  Vega sat in the corner, motionless. Her face was blank, but inside, her mind was drowning in the crushing weight of reality. They were going to die here.

  She should have been afraid of the enemy closing in, of the tanks encircling them like vultures, of the sheer firepower waiting to rip them apart. But she wasn’t.

  No—her fear came from something else entirely.

  She was afraid of them.

  Afraid of seeing fear in the faces of the Crows.

  They had always been untouchable—laughing in the face of death, treating war like a twisted game. Yet now, as their captain bled out in the sand, their hands shook. Their voices cracked. Their eyes darted to the horizon, desperate for the sound of rotors that hadn't yet come.

  For the first time, she saw something she never thought possible.

  The Crows were afraid.

  And that terrified her more than anything.

  Then—

  Rotor blades.

  The chopper cut through the night sky,

  its searchlight locking onto them. The second it hovered low, the Crows didn’t hesitate.

  They didn’t board immediately.

  They threw vega in "your not ready for this part" said one to her

  Then they threw the captain in.

  The medic grabbed him, pressing down on his wound. "We’re stabilizing him. You need to go—"

  But the Crows weren’t leaving.

  They weren’t running anymore.

  Instead, they turned to the chopper’s weapons rack.

  Vega watched as they pulled out launchers, LMGs, and explosives.

  The extraction team’s pilot cursed. "What the fuck are you doing? Get in!"

  One of the Crows loaded a rocket launcher, resting it on his shoulder.

  "We’re going back."

  The pilot stared. "Are you insane?"

  No response.

  They were already moving.

  The enemy patrols barely had time to react.

  By the time the first APC exploded, Vega could hear them panicking.

  "They were retreating—what the hell happened—" The APC commander’s voice trembled, the words barely escaping his lips.

  He knew the Crows’ reputation. He knew their capabilities. Every soldier in this war had heard the stories. But now, he was living one.

  And he just realized—shooting their captain hadn’t secured them a victory.

  It had sealed their fate.

  This wasn’t just a death sentence. No, this was something far worse. Something beyond imagination. Beyond words.

  The kind of punishment no one had ever lived long enough to describe.

  The commander whispered to himself, voice trembling, "No... no, this isn't supposed to be happening. We were winning. We could have lived..." His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he fumbled for his radio, desperate. "HQ, requesting reinforcement! We—"

  The reply cut through the static, cold and final. "Negative, commander. We can't waste troops fighting those demons. May God be with you. May your death be painless. You've served your country well."

  Silence.

  His hands went limp. His chest tightened. And for the first time, he understood—HQ had already buried him.

  A Crow sniper took his man's head off mid-sentence.

  No mercy. No hesitation.

  This wasn’t a fight.

  This was punishment.

  Tanks burned under a second. Patrols were cut down before they could even radio for backup. Their body immideatly burned in revenge. Nothing was stopping them.... Nothing could.

  The commander sat frozen inside his tank, his breath shallow as the sounds of LMGs and rocket launchers echoed all around him. Explosions lit up the battlefield, and through the radio, he heard only screams—his men being torn apart like they were nothing.

  Nothing could stop the Crows. Not his forces. Not his tanks. Not even God himself.

  His fate was sealed.

  Vega watched everything through their body cams. She saw the absolute precision.

  No laughter. No cocky remarks. Just death.

  By the time they reached the mansion again, they weren’t shooting anymore.

  They didn’t kill them. Not right away.

  One by one, they shot out legs and arms—crippling them, but keeping them alive. Screams echoed through the halls, but the Crows moved with chilling efficiency. Room after room, the mansion fell without a fight. Nothing here could challenge them. Nothing here deserved mercy.

  Then came the real punishment.

  They dragged every surviving soldier into the grand hall. Eyes were punctured. Tongues cut out. One man—perhaps an officer, perhaps just unlucky—was hoisted by the neck at the mansion’s entrance, his lifeless body swaying under the carved words on his chest:

  "Shot our captain."

  And the rest?

  They were left inside the mansion.

  They sealed the gates.

  Then—

  Fire.

  The mansion, the soldiers, the blueprints they had come for—all of it burned.

  That night became a story whispered in fear. A legend passed through enemy ranks. They called it “The Echos of Death.”

  Why? Because those trapped inside weren’t just burned. They were covered in a special accelerant—one that made the fire slow to touch, slow to consume. At first, it only scorched, heating their flesh like a furnace before the flames truly took hold. The mansion became an inferno of agony, their screams carrying through the night, long before the fire turned them to ash.

  No bodies. No remains.

  Just a ruined mansion and the ghostly echoes of their final cries.

  And even then, as the flames consumed everything behind them, some of the Crows were still crying.

  Not because of what they had done.

  Because their captain had been shot.

  For the first time, Vega understood.

  The Crows weren’t just brutal killers.

  They were something worse.

  They were a pack.

  And when you wound the alpha—

  The whole pack bites back.

  This time, Vega didn't feel respect for the Crows—she felt fear. Not the fear of death, but the fear of what they could become.

  She had seen them reckless, brutal, and efficient, but this was something else. What happens when their captain is wounded? What if one of them is killed? What if they had the right weapons to match their rage? The thought alone sent a chill down her spine.

  Then there was that alarm—not a warning, but a declaration. A sound designed solely to tell the world: The Crows are here. She had watched enemy soldiers stiffen at its wail, fear gripping them before the first shot was even fired.

  She had heard of the Crows before she joined them, but she never truly understood why they were feared. Not until she saw it herself. Not until the night whispered its truth to her. Not until she witnessed revenge itself take form in their eyes.

  Her spine shivered as a chilling realization settled in—the Crows weren’t just a squad, they were a force. A worldwide militia with hundreds, maybe thousands, of squads just as brutal, just as efficient. If a single team could reduce an entire battlefield to ruin in their captain’s name, what could an army of them do? They weren’t just mercenaries. They were something far worse.

  She whispered under her breath, barely audible over the distant echoes of fire and death.

  "Demons… they’re demons in human skin."

  She didn’t see them as humans anymore—only walking nightmares draped in human skin, thriving in war, protecting only one thing: their captain.

  Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from disgust. Disgust at them. Disgust at herself. Just minutes ago, she had been one of them.

  She no longer admired the Crows. Now, all she felt was horror. If a single squad could unleash such devastation, what could their entire militia do? They had the power to bring nations to their knees, yet they hadn’t. Why? Why weren’t they ruling the world?

  Her voice wavered in a hushed whisper.

  “They weren’t human… They never were… They weren’t even pretending to be…

  Demons. They were always demons. And they always will be.”

  ---

  Scene – The UN Meeting

  The UN chambers are suffocatingly tense. World leaders, military officials, and diplomats sit in silence as the broadcast goes live. The screen flickers on, revealing a Crow high commander seated at a long, dimly lit table. Two Crow guards stand behind him, unmoving.

  The UN representative clears his throat before speaking.

  UN Representative: "The events at the █████ mansion were a blatant violation of international law. The Crows have committed war crimes—acts of inhuman brutality that cannot go unpunished. We demand immediate action against this squad."

  The high commander doesn’t react immediately. Instead, he lets the silence stretch. Then, with deliberate calm, he leans forward, lacing his fingers together.

  Crow High Commander: "A war crime? Let’s not pretend this is about ‘justice.’ If another nation had done this, you’d call it strategic warfare. But because it was us, suddenly, the rules apply?"

  A murmur ripples through the chamber. The UN official exhales sharply, but before he can retort, the commander continues.

  Crow High Commander: "Let me make one thing clear. The Crows do not answer to nations. We do not bend to treaties. You can threaten us, sanction us, or brand us as monsters. It changes nothing. We don’t fight wars. We end them. And if you come for us…"

  His voice lowers, almost a whisper, yet it carries more weight than a thousand threats.

  Crow High Commander: "We will remind you why nations fear the dark."

  The silence that follows is suffocating. Not a single leader dares to respond.

  The commander exhales, glancing at the cameras broadcasting the meeting worldwide. Then, as if remembering something, he gives a small, humorless chuckle.

  Crow High Commander: "To the people watching this—yes, we may seem ruthless. We may seem cold. But believe it or not…"

  He pauses, his expression unreadable. Then, with an almost mocking smirk, he delivers his final words.

  Crow High Commander: "We still have one last shred of morality."

  The air in the chamber shifts. Confusion. Suspicion. What did he mean?

  The world doesn’t know. But the Crows do.

  With that, he stands, adjusting his uniform. His gaze sweeps across the silent room before he scoffs.

  Crow High Commander: "That’s what I thought. Everyone has zero balls."

  He turns on his heel, exiting with his two Crow guards in tow.

  Outside, a military-grade chopper waits. As the camera lingers, the world catches a glimpse inside—a flying arsenal. Every single illegal, war-crime-level weapon imaginable is strapped inside. Cluster munitions, napalm, biochemical warheads—enough firepower to erase entire cities.

  The commander steps inside, takes a seat, and nods to the pilot.

  As the chopper ascends into the stormy skies, one question lingers in the minds of every world leader, every soldier, every citizen watching:

  If that was their "last shred of morality"… then what happens when they lose it?

  ---