I Breathe Euro

The next day, Jack's peaceful sleep was broken by the sound of his phone vibrating. Groggily, he picked it up, still lying beside Katrina, who stirred slightly but didn't wake.

"Hello," Jack mumbled, stepping onto the balcony as he answered the call. The cold morning air nipped at his skin, but the voice on the other end instantly sobered him.

"Jack, you need to come today," Dev Swami said. His voice sounded strained and weak, a tone Jack had never heard from his mentor before. "I don't feel good these days."

Jack's brow furrowed as he gripped the metal railing of the balcony. Dev Swami was the closest thing to a father figure he'd ever had, and he never called unless it was important.

"Alright, Dev. I'll be there," Jack replied firmly, though worry churned in his gut. "Just hang on."

"Thank you. Don't delay," Dev said, his words punctuated by a harsh cough before the line went dead.

Jack exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the sprawling New York skyline. Dev's call wasn't just a request—it was a summons, and Jack knew it meant trouble. Trouble had been his constant companion, and he could sense it lingering in the air now.

As he turned back into the room, Katrina was sitting up, her crimson eyes filled with concern. "Who was that?" she asked softly.

"Dev. He's in India, and he's not well," Jack said, pulling on his shirt and heading toward the wardrobe to grab a jacket.

Katrina's brows furrowed. "How long will you be gone?"

"Not long," Jack assured her, though he couldn't mask the urgency in his voice. "Just enough to see what's going on and help him out."

She stood and wrapped her arms around him briefly. "Just come back safe, okay?"

Jack nodded, giving her a faint smile. "I always do."

The next morning, Jack arrived at New York Airport, ready to board his flight to India. The terminal buzzed with activity—loud announcements, rolling luggage, and hurried travelers moving in every direction. Keeping a low profile, Jack carried his Glock 42 discreetly under his jacket, while his Super Sniper lay securely packed in his luggage.

As he moved through the bustling crowd, his sharp instincts tingled. Years of experience had trained him to notice when something wasn't right, and now, those instincts screamed a warning. A group of men in black armor was scattered among the travelers, their movements too deliberate to be random.

"Not here," Jack muttered under his breath, adjusting his pace. He veered toward a quieter section of the terminal near Gate 14. But as soon as he did, the men broke formation, subtly closing in on him.

"Damn it," Jack hissed, his hand moving instinctively toward his Glock. Before he could act, one of the armored men lunged at him, a sharp blade glinting in the artificial light.

Jack sidestepped, drawing his Glock in one swift motion. The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the corridor, and the attacker dropped instantly. Chaos erupted as passengers screamed and scattered, ducking behind chairs and counters for cover.

"Target sighted," one of the guards barked into a comm, their voice distorted by their helmet.

Jack darted behind a row of seats, firing off precise shots at the advancing guards. Their armor absorbed some of the bullets, but Jack's aim was deadly accurate. He targeted weak points—the neck joints, visors, and gaps in their plating. One by one, the guards fell, but their numbers seemed endless.

Suddenly, a guard charged at him with a riot shield. Jack smirked, knowing brute force wouldn't work. Dropping to one knee, he quickly assembled the Super Sniper from its compact case. With a deafening crack, he fired a single shot that pierced the shield and the guard behind it, sending the man sprawling.

More guards kept coming. Jack's breathing stayed steady as he moved between cover, each shot calculated and efficient. Still, he could feel the strain. This wasn't just an ambush—it was a coordinated attack.

Another guard sprinted toward him, this one wielding dual batons crackling with electricity. Jack dodged the first swing, his movements sharp and fluid. The second baton nearly grazed him, but Jack countered with a swift kick to the guard's knee, forcing him to stumble. Before the man could recover, Jack fired a shot straight into his visor, the glass shattering as the guard fell lifelessly to the ground.

"You guys never learn," Jack muttered as three more guards rushed him at once. He rolled behind a luggage cart, using it as temporary cover. Grabbing a smoke grenade from his pocket, he pulled the pin and tossed it toward the group. The grenade hissed, releasing a thick cloud of smoke that obscured their vision.

Jack took advantage of the chaos, slipping through the smoke like a shadow. Emerging behind the guards, he eliminated two of them with swift, silent strikes before they even realized he was there. The last guard spun around, swinging wildly, but Jack ducked under the attack and delivered a precise elbow to the man's temple, knocking him out cold.

"Enough of this," Jack muttered, feeling a familiar pull at his side. Azazel's Sword materialized in his hand, its dark energy pulsating with life. The cursed blade was invisible to others but radiated a sinister aura that Jack could feel deep in his bones.

With a powerful swing, Jack cleaved through the nearest guard. The blade passed effortlessly through their armor, leaving the man frozen before collapsing. Azazel's Sword shimmered faintly, feeding on the guard's soul. The remaining attackers hesitated, their formation faltering as fear crept into their movements.

Jack didn't let up. He moved like a phantom, each slash precise and deadly. The sword's sinister energy seemed to guide his hand, growing stronger with every soul it consumed. The guards' advanced technology was useless against the otherworldly weapon.

One guard managed to graze Jack's arm with a blade, drawing blood. Jack winced but retaliated with a brutal upward slash, the cursed sword humming in satisfaction as it claimed another victim.

As the last guard fell, the terminal fell eerily silent. Jack stood amidst the wreckage, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Azazel's Sword vanished, its appetite momentarily sated.

Glancing around, Jack ensured there were no more threats. The surviving passengers cowered behind overturned furniture, their wide eyes fixed on him in terror. Holstering his Glock, Jack adjusted his jacket and walked away as though nothing had happened.
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Outside, the sound of sirens grew louder, but Jack had no intention of waiting for the authorities. He made his way to a private hangar, boarding a jet bound for India. Whatever this attack had been, it was only the beginning. And Jack knew he'd find the answers waiting for him on the other side of the world.

As Jack stepped out of the airport, the humid Mumbai air washed over him, mingled with the scent of petrol and spices. The bustling chaos of the arrivals terminal surrounded him, but his sharp gaze instantly landed on a familiar figure waiting by the sleek black car parked at the curb.

Dev Swami stood there, his posture straight despite the years etched into his frame. His kind eyes lit up when he saw Jack, and a warm smile broke through his otherwise tired face. The man's neatly trimmed gray beard and traditional white kurta exuded an air of wisdom and quiet dignity. He raised a hand in greeting as Jack approached.

"Jack," Dev called out, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "It's good to see you."

Jack returned the smile, shaking Dev's hand firmly. "Likewise, Dev. You didn't have to come all the way here."

"Nonsense," Dev said, waving off the comment. "I wouldn't miss welcoming you. Come, let's go. You must be tired."

Jack nodded and climbed into the car, which smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Dev turned to him, his expression soft yet concerned.

"You've had a rough start to this trip, haven't you?" Dev asked, referring to the airport ambush in New York.

Jack's lips tightened. "It's not over yet. Whoever they were, they won't stop. We'll talk more once we're settled."

"Understood," Dev replied.

The ride through the vibrant streets of Mumbai was swift, thanks to the polished driving skills of the chauffeur. The city seemed alive, glowing with golden streetlights and the occasional flicker of neon signs. Jack remained quiet, observing everything as they neared their destination.

Soon, they arrived at The Oberoi, one of Mumbai's most luxurious hotels. Its grand facade glistened in the soft night lights, exuding an air of exclusivity and sophistication.

As they stepped out of the car, uniformed staff rushed to assist, opening doors and handling their luggage with precision. Dev led the way to the reception desk, his calm demeanor commanding respect without a word.

"I'd like to book the entire hotel," Dev announced casually, his voice firm but polite. The young receptionist blinked, momentarily stunned, before quickly recovering her composure.

"The entire hotel, sir?" she repeated, her voice wavering slightly.

"Yes," Dev confirmed with a kind smile. "Every room. Full privacy is non-negotiable."

The receptionist nodded, her hands flying across the keyboard as she processed the request. Meanwhile, Jack observed silently, marveling at how effortlessly Dev handled the situation.

Minutes later, everything was arranged. A manager personally escorted them to the Presidential Suite, where Jack and Dev settled into the spacious, opulent room. The panoramic view of the city stretched before them, and the interior exuded grandeur, with marble floors, plush furnishings, and subtle gold accents.

Once the staff left, Dev poured two glasses of water from the crystal decanter on the table and handed one to Jack.

"Comfortable?" Dev asked, settling into a chair.

Jack nodded, sipping the water. "More than I expected."

Dev chuckled softly. "Good. Rest for now. Tomorrow, we'll talk about the Veilborn and what they're after."

Jack leaned back in his seat, the weight of the sword's curse still heavy in his mind. But for the first time since leaving New York, he allowed himself to relax—if only slightly.

As they sat in the grand expanse of the Presidential Suite, the city of Mumbai glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tapestry of lights and movement against the velvet night sky. Jack took a deep breath, letting the tension of his journey ease just slightly. The soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant muffled sounds of the city below created a strange yet calming ambiance.

Dev reclined in the armchair opposite Jack, his eyes studying him with the gentle scrutiny of a mentor. The lines on his face spoke of wisdom earned over decades, but there was a flicker of weariness, a weight that hadn't been there before.