The Deadly Assassin Robin novel Chapter 1249

Maverick left the mountain villa of the Westeria Residence office behind.

He slammed the accelerator, the engine of Zayn's Lamborghini roaring as he sped toward the eastern outskirts.

Snivy was close. Maverick wouldn't stop until he caught him. Harmonfield's mountain villa was just over 60 miles from the coast.

Maverick pushed the Lamborghini to its limits, racing for 40 kilometers, until he finally caught sight of Snivy and his ten followers.

Snivy turned, noticing Maverick closing the distance fast. He knew he couldn't outrun him.

Snivy made his move. He left five of his followers behind.

Their mission was simple: hold Maverick off. These were no ordinary men. They were fanatics. Dark Syndicate's faithful.

From the moment they joined, they were bound by an unbreakable curse. A curse from the Dark Lord himself.

Their loyalty? Absolute.

Their lives? Sacrifices for the Syndicate.

Their allegiance wasn't to themselves. It was to the cause. To the Dark Syndicate.

They embraced death as their constant companion. Ready to die for the Syndicate's orders.

If the Dark Lord commanded it, they marched to their deaths without a second thought.

For centuries, the Dark Syndicate had terrorized the world, leaving no room for resistance.

Each Dark Lord manipulated their followers, convincing them their destiny was predestined. Divinely chosen.

They were taught that only absolute obedience would ensure salvation in the afterlife. Follow the Dark Lord's will, and riches, power, and eternal life awaited them.

The teachings of the Syndicate were more than doctrine—they were laws to live by. The Syndicate was the lone savior of the people. The Dark Lord was their messiah.

Every follower, no matter their rank, was bound to the teachings written by the guardians.

Once brainwashed, these followers lost themselves.

Their will was erased. Only the Syndicate's will remained.

They no longer acted on their own desires. Only the Dark Lord's voice mattered.

Their devotion? It bordered on madness.

They believed in the Dark Lord's teachings like a religion—the only truth.

They didn't live for this life. They suffered for the next one.

In the next life, they would gain wealth and bliss.

Every follower must swear their fealty and readiness to sacrifice for the cause.

And so, five of these zealots stood in Maverick's way. Blocking the highway, they raised their weapons. Then, they fired.

A storm of bullets. Explosive and unrelenting.

Maverick's grip tightened on the wheel. He'd brought grenades.

He pulled one out, hurled it, and it detonated with a deafening boom.

The five Dark Syndicate followers' car flew into the air, flipping end over end in a fiery explosion.

The debris scattered, but Maverick didn't pause.

He slammed his foot down, pushing the car harder, the engine roaring as he kept chasing Snivy.

The violence didn't go unnoticed. Police on the highway reacted immediately.

Maverick had just taken out five men, but he wasn't stopping. Snivy was still ahead, slipping further away.

Within moments, the cops formed up, surrounding him. Ten minutes later, Maverick found himself trapped, the highway now a maze of flashing lights.

Snivy was getting away. Maverick's frustration burned. There was one problem. He had no ID. No proof of his mission. He couldn't let himself be stopped.

He didn't hesitate. Maverick smashed through the police blockade, the sound of metal crumpling echoing in the air.

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