Two drunken men stumbled toward her, their sluggish movements attempting to mask their intent.
She grabbed them mid-charge, smashing their heads together with such force that their teeth shattered and blood erupted from their mouths.
With a dismissive flick of her wrists, she hurled them into the sky like discarded toys.
Surrounded now, Rexan leaped straight into the air, landing with a deafening crash at the rear of the ship.
The entire vessel groaned under the impact, its massive frame bouncing enough to throw over fifty men into the dark waters below.
Their screams of terror filled the night, a grim symphony of panic. It was ironic, considering these same men had been gleefully tossing helpless women overboard mere minutes earlier.
Four men, seemingly braver, or perhaps stupider, than the rest, attempted to outmaneuver her.
A burly figure grabbed her around the waist from behind, while two others aimed for her face with clenched fists. The fourth, standing back, readied his gun.
Without hesitation, she snapped her head backward, shattering the burly man's nose with a sickening crunch. He released her with a howl of pain.
Dropping to the ground in a fluid motion, she dodged the punches aimed at her face, her body twisting like a serpent.
Using her hands as support, she planted her boots squarely on the attackers' faces. The force of her movement drove their heads into the metal deck, leaving visible dents.
She straightened, lifting her body with predatory grace, and her boots crushed their faces further into the ground.
The wet, visceral sound of bone and flesh beneath her feet sent a thrill through her.
When another man lunged at her, she responded with brutal efficiency.
Her fist drove into his stomach with such force that she withdrew his entrails, leaving them glistening on the blood-slicked deck.
Clapping her bloodied hands clean as though brushing off dirt, she scanned the remaining men.
Her voice was a feral growl, sharp canines glinting in the dim light.
"Who's next?!" she roared, her grin widening. "I didn't even need an army to take down weaklings like you."
Before anyone could respond, a sudden deafening blast shook the ship.
The heat scorched her, peeling away layers of her flesh and briefly turning her face to ash. She staggered back, her hands frantically touching her face.
Panic gripped her as she realized the severity of the attack. If it happened again, she might not survive.
The ship creaked ominously, flames consuming it as the men screamed, their bodies melting into the collapsing deck.
Then, from the smoke and chaos, he emerged.
The figure was massive, standing at least 6'7 ft tall, his presence commanding and unnerving.
His broad shoulders were encased in a black tactical suit, the fabric thick and impenetrable, designed for combat.
His muscles bulged, each arm as thick as her torso, and his movements were calculated and predatory.
A sleek black helmet covered his face, the reflective visor concealing his expression but exuding an aura of authority and menace.
Red streaks ran along the edges of his armor, glinting faintly in the firelight.
In his hands, he wielded a heavy machine gun with a calmness that suggested he had no doubts about his superiority.
Behind him stood six similarly dressed soldiers, though none matched his sheer size or presence.
His voice, deep and commanding, echoed through the chaos. "Attention. This is not a drill. Drop your weapons, or you will be shot on sight."
Rexan froze, her heightened senses screaming at her to retreat. Behind her, Mark and Marcus paled, their faces ashen as they huddled near Chunk, who had dropped them onto the ship.
"Please tell me they're on our side," Marcus whispered, trembling.
Rexan shook her head, her lips curling in frustration.
Mark swallowed hard. "We are so screwed."
The figure stepped forward, his soldiers fanning out. "My name is Commander Ken Rogers. By order of the President of the United States, you are declared an international threat and a terrorist to the nation's peace."
He raised his weapon. "In the name of the President, I sentence you to death by firing squad."
Ken? Ken
Rexan's body coiled, her instincts urging her to act. She bolted into the air, her speed blurring her movements.
In an instant, she landed on the commander's shoulders, her legs locking around his neck, ready to twist and snap it.
But before she could act, he moved.
With precision, he raised his machine gun, the barrel pressed against her chest, just between her ribs.
"Not fast enough," he said, his voice calm and mocking.
The gun roared.
The force of the shot tore through her chest, leaving a gaping hole as her limp body collapsed onto the blood-soaked deck.