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Anastasia stepped to the side, away from Five and Diego. She walked into the crowd of innocent killers. A blonde woman just slightly taller than Anastasia stood motionless before her. The woman was in distress, but she dared not to show it. Anastasia touched the woman's clenched fist.
"Jolie," she started, her voice catching. Anastasia feared she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to her friend. "I'm so sorry."
Jolie cracked a little, a single tear rolling down her rosy cheek. "Just kill me, Natasha. She already took Annette."
"Oh, God," Anastasia replied, horrified. Annette, who was likely no more than five years old, was either dead or going through the children's program the Handler tried to get Ronan to join. "How's Peter?"
"He's gone too. I don't know where he is. Kill me, but take me with you," Jolie choked out.
"I will, my love."
The Handler exhaled a short breath out of her nose. She raised her red scarf. "Let the games begin, princess."
"Go, run!" Anastasia turned around and shouted at Five and Diego.
The Handler dropped the scarf, giving a sign to the assassins to charge and fire. The assassins roared their battle cry as they ran at Anastasia. She placed her hand on Jolie's chest and took out a long silvery ball of light. The ball absorbed into her palm as Jolie's body dropped to the ground, lifeless and finally laying to rest.
Anastasia strolled calmly into the eye of the storm. She raised her arms, clenching her fists as several silvery twines of light materialized from the assassins' bodies. Anastasia had two choices: save them and use them as puppets later, or eradicate them now and reap the instantaneous concessions. War was upon them, so she stuck with what she knew best—kill them now. With one sweeping motion of her arms, a good clump of the assassins crumpled lifelessly around her. It wasn't much, but it would hold them back until Five and Diego could get as far away as possible.
