The roar of automatic gunfire finally stopped.
"Hold fire! Hold fire!" the mercenary leader barked.
One of the younger guys swallowed hard, hands trembling. "Did... did we get it, boss? Ain't nothing surviving that. We chewed that porch to sawdust."
"Keep your weapons up," the leader growled, his hallucination-warped mind keeping him on edge. "Monsters don't go down easy."
For a moment, only the wind pushing the smoke aside.
"Well, if it wasn't for the demons and angels bullshit, I would have thought I walked onto an action movie set," a calm, slightly annoyed voice called from the dust.
Every mercenary flinched. Thirty gun barrels whipped back toward the center of the smoke. As it cleared, Henry stood in the exact same spot.
The concrete steps around him were jagged craters, the church doors behind him shredded into splinters. But Henry didn't have a scratch on him. He reached up and plucked a flattened, smoking bullet out of his collar, flicking it onto the ground.
The younger mercenary stepped back. "What the hell... he's not bleeding. He's not even flinching!"
"Look at him!" the leader screamed, pointing a shaking finger. In his infected mind, he didn't see a human in a ruined jacket — he saw a towering, black-eyed nightmare. "He is a demon!"
Henry sighed, brushing pulverized drywall off his shoulder. "Okay, let's set the record straight. I am not a demon. I'm probably human, and my two buddies inside are very insistent that I not kill you." He took a slow step down the stairs, hands raised.
"So... what I'm trying to say is—"
"Fire! FIRE!" the leader shrieked, losing his mind.
Henry didn't get to finish. The squad unleashed hell all over again. Muzzle flashes lit the street like a strobe. A fresh wave of lead slammed into him, shredding his jacket, tearing through his shirt, flattening harmlessly against his indestructible vessel.
Inside the church, Dean, Sam, Jo, and Ellen crouched behind a row of overturned pews as bullets tore through the walls above their heads.
"Is he seriously still trying to talk to them?!" Dean yelled, covering his ears.
"He's giving them a chance to surrender!" Sam shouted back, shielding his face from falling plaster.
"They brought a freaking army, Sam! They aren't going to surrender!" Dean glared at his duffel bag. "One shot with the grenade launcher! Just one! I'll aim for a parked car, scare the crap out of 'em!"
"No grenade launchers, Dean!" Ellen yelled, racking her shotgun. "Those are innocent people out there!"
"Yeah, innocent people who are currently trying to turn our Henry into Swiss cheese!"
Outside, the second volley clicked dry as mercenaries ran out of ammo. Henry opened his eyes, looking down at his ruined clothes. It had been a nice jacket.
"Right," he muttered, eyes starting to glow with celestial white light. "Negotiations have officially concluded."
Before the mercenary leader could scream another order, Henry vanished. No sound — just a sudden gust of wind that kicked up the brass casings scattered across the asphalt.
"Where did he go?!" the leader yelled, spinning around, empty rifle raised. "Where the hell did he—"
A sharp tap on his shoulder cut him off. He whipped around. Henry stood right behind him.
Before the man could blink, Henry threw a casual right hook. It connected with a sickening crack, the leader's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the pavement like a puppet with its strings cut.
Before his knees even hit the ground, Henry was gone again.
To the hallucinating mercenaries, it was nightmare fuel. Henry moved at a speed the human eye couldn't track, leaving flickering after-images between the jeeps.
Smack. A guy by the second jeep caught a backhand to the temple and folded in half.
Crack. Henry appeared beside a woman trying to reload her shotgun, grabbed the barrel, yanked it out of her grip, and drove the butt of the gun into her forehead. She dropped instantly.
"He's behind you!" one of the men screamed, firing blindly into the air.
Henry appeared in front of him, swatting the hot barrel aside like a toy. He swept his leg out, tripping the man hard, then grabbed him by the tactical vest and slammed him onto the hood of a jeep, out cold.
Panic swept through the remaining squad. They were shooting at shadows, hitting nothing but empty air and their own vehicles. Every time they blinked, another three men were down.
One of the younger mercenaries dropped his empty pistol, looking at his fallen squadmates, then at the flickering force tearing through them. In his warped mind, he wasn't looking at a guy in a suit — he was looking at the Devil himself.
"Fuck this!" he screamed, voice cracking. "This guy is the Devil! I'm out! I am out!" He sprinted down a narrow alley as fast as his legs could carry him.
Seeing him break rank, the last conscious mercenaries realized this was a losing battle.
"Run! Fall back!" one shrieked. They threw their weapons onto the street, abandoned the jeeps, and scattered into the alleyways, scrambling over fences to get away from the monster in front of the church.
Within fifteen seconds, the street was quiet again.
Henry stood in the center of the road, surrounded by two dozen groaning or unconscious mercenaries. He looked down at the shredded, bullet-riddled remains of his suit jacket, pulled it off, tossed it onto the hood of a jeep, and rolled up his sleeves.
The splintered doors of the church creaked open. Dean peeked his head out, shotgun raised, looking up and down the street at the scattered bodies, the abandoned weapons, the locals sprinting off into the distance.
He lowered his gun and stepped onto the porch, Sam, Jo, and Ellen filing out behind him. They all stared in silence at the one-man massacre.
"Well," Dean said, whistling low. "I gotta admit, Genie... you work fast. Though I still think a grenade would've saved you a perfectly good jacket."
"Do you want me to strip you too, Dean?" Henry asked.
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to 24 Advanced chapters.