If luck was on his side and Cyril got killed, Owen might even get a chance to snatch back his gun. However, Cyril was not stupid. He fixed Owen with a thoughtful stare. If there were really that many supplies upstairs, why would this guy—who had already swept the whole complex with a gun—suddenly spare them just because of a little trap? He yanked over a few of the lackeys who had been following Owen. "You! Spell it out for me. Who exactly are those people? Explain it clearly, and maybe I'll let you walk. Mess it up ... " He raised the gun in his hand threateningly. The lackeys went pale and, terrified, spilled everything about what had gone down in the complex.Cyril arched a brow. "So, you've got people like that in your building?" Then he turned, scowling, and slammed a fist into Owen's face before chopping down with his blade and lopping off an arm. "Ah!" Owen's scream tore through the air as blood gushed from the stump. He writhed on the ground in agony. Cyril snorted. "Try playing games with me again." Then he waved at the lackeys. "Not bad. You can go. Just remember to hand over food regularly." With that, Cyril let his men release the lackeys. Cyril cast a disdainful glance at Owen, still howling on the floor. "This sly bastard? Let him bleed out. Once he's dead, chop his head off and hang it up outside the complex." The lackeys nearly collapsed with relief, bowed again, and bolted. Cyril, meanwhile, tilted his head up toward the sealed windows on the 14th floor, intrigued. The bloodthirsty psycho Natalie, the trap-making genius Harold, and the medic Olivia ... Not a bad little team. They really could dominate the whole complex. Too bad for them they ran into me today. Cyril's lips curled into a wicked grin. "Boys! Are you scared of a chainsaw killer?" "No!" "Good! Then let's drag her back and see if she's really as fiery as they say!" "Drag her back! Drag her back!" The gang, fresh off taking down a gunman like Owen with nothing but brute force, was riding high and cocky. A chainsaw? What was that against nearly two hundred men? Some traps? Break down the door, and let's see how long she lasts. At his command, the first wave of men charged inside. "Go!!" "Charge!!" The stairwell was cramped, so if everyone went at once, they'd just block each other. This first wave of 50 men would test the waters. Meanwhile, Natalie and Olivia, fully geared up, heard the shouts echoing up from below and exchanged a look."Let's go meet them." Natalie had never planned to fight at her own front door—too many corpses would rot there, a nightmare to clean up. So she and Olivia locked her apartment securely and started down the stairs. They ran into the first wave on the 8th-floor landing. The men had been rushing forward when suddenly they spotted two women coming down, suited up head to toe in bulletproof vests and riot helmets—each holding a submachine gun. The leader of the men blinked, then burst into raucous laughter. "Hahaha! These must be the two chicks from the 14th floor, right? What's this? Ditched the chainsaw and grabbed some toy guns instead?" He laughed wildly, not taking Natalie and Olivia seriously for a second.In his mind, there was no way two women in a Drakorian apartment building had real submachine guns. His first thought was that they were bluffing with replicas. He sneered at their fully armored appearance. "Look at this cosplay! Boys, let's grab them and have some fun!" The men behind him all leered in agreement. Without a flicker of emotion, Natalie pulled the trigger, braced against the recoil, and unleashed a brutal spray of bullets. The ten men at the front, including the leader, dropped instantly, their arrogant grins frozen on their faces. Olivia was not about to be outdone, so she aimed and opened fire as well. Bullet holes riddled the thugs' bodies, one after another collapsing in pools of blood.The few survivors at the back panicked, trembling as they turned tail to run. However, the two women advanced steadily, firing as they went. In no time, all 50 were wiped out. They swapped in fresh magazines and kept heading down. Outside, Cyril froze when the sharp sound of automatic fire echoed from within. That sound ... Was it one of Harold's crazy contraptions? Or some kind of recording meant to scare my men? It never even crossed his mind that it could be real submachine guns and assault rifles. This was not Victoria or Vinandia.