Chuck versus The Last Wish

Chapter 14 – Die Hard

A/N – Fair warning of violence + substance.

The four of them stood motionless.

Sarah positioned herself half a step in front of Chuck, her body a rigid human shield. She didn’t look back. Behind her hip, her left hand flashed an almost imperceptible flick of two fingers: Stay.

Chuck was still reeling from the violent surge of an Intersect flash, his head throbbing as he pressed his back against the living room wall. Beside him, Morgan white-knuckled the cast-iron skillet with both hands, his knuckles drained of blood.

“Please…” Morgan whimpered, his voice cracking. “…tell me everyone’s going home now.”

The male assassin let out a faint, cold curl of a smile as the female operative dropped her center of gravity.

The next instant, the room exploded into violence.

The woman charged Sarah with terrifying speed, but at the last microsecond, the male operative veered sharply off course. He wasn’t targeting the threat—he was going straight for Chuck’s throat.

Sarah caught the shift in his hips from his very first step. “No!”

She launched herself forward, driving her shoulder with bone-crunching force into the man’s ribcage. The blade whistled past inches from Chuck’s shirt as she knocked the attacker off his line, following through with a swift, brutal elbow aimed at his temple.

The man brought a heavy forearm up to block, but the woman was already closing in. Her high kick whistled through the air toward Sarah’s head; Sarah ducked, the heel smashing squarely into a framed print behind her and showering the hardwood with heavy glass shards.

Sarah swept low to take the woman’s legs out, but the assassin leaped the leg with fluid precision. Landing, the woman whipped a tight, kinetic elbow backward. Sarah caught it with a crossed forearm, the raw momentum skidding her back half a meter across the slick floorboards.

The male assassin charged Chuck a second time, knife low.

Morgan threw himself straight into the gap. “Hey!”

He brought the skillet down with frantic, full-bodied force, the heavy iron slamming into the man’s forearm.

“Yes!” Morgan screamed.

He swung a wildly clumsy second strike, but the man was already beneath it. He clamped a grip onto the skillet handle, drove a heavy kick into Morgan’s knee joint, and swept his feet out. Morgan slipped on the scattered glass, losing his grip as the pan clattered away.

“No, no, no—” Morgan scrambled backward on his hands and knees as the man grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him violently against the kitchen counter, driving every drop of air from his lungs.

Across the living room, Sarah and the female operative moved through the wreckage like apex predators. Sarah never let the woman gain an inch toward Chuck.

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The woman recognized the pattern. She threw a quick jab, a second, then used a third jab as a feint, stepping back and rounding the shattered coffee table with her eyes locked exclusively on Chuck.

Sarah’s expression hardened into pure, uncompromising steel. With an explosive stride, she closed the distance, wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist just as she reached for Chuck.

They hit the back of the couch, tumbled over the frame again, and slammed onto the hardwood floor. Sarah immediately mounted her—driving a flurry of brutal fists, elbows, and knees downward.

With a violent, contorting twist of her hips, the assassin managed to roll out from under her, a secondary blade flashing in her right grip. Sarah had no space to dodge; the razor-sharp tip sliced a thin, clean line across her exposed left forearm.

Sarah barely registered the sting, winding up a crushing right hook—but for one brief, terrifying second, her left arm suddenly felt heavy. Her eyes narrowed as her muscle control flickered.

Something was deeply wrong.

The woman caught the fraction-of-a-second delay. Her mouth twisted into a cold smile.

“Works already.”

Sarah ignored her completely, her gaze flicking back to verify Chuck’s position. The woman attacked again, faster now, abandoning defense to simply push past her.

Sarah stepped straight into the blade’s path, deflecting the strike with a heavy forearm block before smashing an elbow into the woman's cheekbone. In one violent, continuous motion, Sarah drove her momentum forward, slamming the assassin against the drywall hard enough to crack the plaster. She didn't give her room to breathe, following up with a heavy right hook and two sharp knees to her floating ribs.

The woman suddenly twisted downward, her blade flashing in a low, wicked arc. Sarah leaped backward, but her reaction time was a fraction of a second off. The edge hissed inches from her side.

I’m slowing down.

A deafening metallic crash echoed from the kitchen.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” Morgan’s voice bellowed, cut short as the male assassin threw him violently against the front of the stainless-steel refrigerator. Morgan groaned in agony, but as the man drove forward with a lethal plunge of his knife, Morgan whipped the skillet up from the floor at the absolute last second. The blade scraped across the heavy iron with a harsh, ear-splitting screech of metal on metal.

“You’re not gonna… cut through…”

The assassin's combat boot landed squarely in Morgan’s stomach. Morgan went flying backward, crashing into the heavy wooden kitchen table and flipping it completely over. Plates, ceramic mugs, and cutlery exploded across the floor in a chaotic shower of metal and clay.

Sarah’s head snapped toward the destruction for a split second—and the woman’s heavy elbow caught her flush on the point of her chin.

Sarah staggered backward, her vision flickering white. The assassin didn't bother to finish her; she instantly pivoted toward Chuck.

“Chuck!” Morgan screamed from the floorboards.

Chuck looked up, his brain swimming as double vision blurred his sight. “Hey…” His voice was hoarse as he took two unsteadily planted steps forward. “If… you’re gonna kill me… could you at least… wait until this migraine goes away…”

The woman stopped, her lethal instincts recalibrating. Chuck stood completely defenseless, swaying on his feet.

Sarah’s eyes widened in sheer terror. No.

Everything else vanished—the spreading numbness in her veins, the dull ache in her chin, the dizziness. Only Chuck remained.

With a raw, guttural roar, Sarah launched herself forward just as the assassin’s knife began its downward plunge. She slammed into the woman from the flank, the sheer kinetic force carrying both of them crashing through the archway into the kitchen. They hit the granite island hard, knocking over a heavy wooden block and sending kitchen knives clattering wildly across the floorboards.

Sarah reacted on pure muscle memory. Her right hand swept across the counter, her fingers locking around a fork. As the woman lunged with her free hand, Sarah deflected the strike with her deadening left arm, drove her right hand forward, and rammed the fork straight through the back of the woman’s hand, pinning it to the counter.

The assassin hissed in agony, her fingers opening as her knife clattered uselessly to the tile. Sarah didn't pause. She ripped the fork free and rammed it deep into the woman’s shoulder—shattering her momentum and throwing her backward with a heavy thud against the lower cabinets. The handle broke off.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sarah stood over her, chest heaving violently.

Across the room, the male assassin kicked the skillet cleanly out of Morgan’s reach. The heavy cast-iron pan slid loudly across the slick floorboards.

Morgan scrambled back on his rear, holding his hands up defensively. “Okay… I am officially out of culinary utensils.”

The man didn’t answer, bringing the knife in a lethal thrust toward his chest. Morgan twisted violently aside—the edge slicing clean through his sleeve and scraping his bicep.

“Hey! That shirt was new!”

Another stab followed. Morgan grabbed a heavy wooden dining chair, throwing it up as the blade buried itself deep into the solid backrest.

“Take that!”

He shoved it forward with everything he had, but the assassin effortlessly swept it aside, shattering the wooden frame against the granite counter. Morgan swallowed hard, backing away into the corner. “Casey… I really miss you right now…”

Sarah leaned her lower back against the wall for a fraction of a second, fighting the creeping toxin with pure, unadulterated hatred.

Chuck tried desperately to clear his head, but his disoriented brain split the room into spinning duplicates. “This… mathematically… keeps getting worse…” he slurred.

He tried to step forward to help, but his foot landed wide. Stumbling hard, he grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady himself, his elbow knocking into the heavy metal coffee maker. The machine wobbled and plunged off the edge, smashing onto the tile floor right beside the male assassin with a deafening, metallic bang.

Instinctively, the assassin glanced down at the sudden noise at his feet.

Morgan’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, buddy!”

Morgan charged him with every ounce of weight he possessed—driving his entire body shoulder-first into the man's chest. The collision carried both of them skidding backward into the double-paned glass balcony door, the glass rattling violently on impact.

The female assassin pushed herself up against the cabinets, her eyes glinting with cold certainty. “The toxin will paralyze your diaphragm within minutes.”

Sarah forced her spine straight, her breathing heavy as she dragged her deadening left arm up, raising a shaky fist.

“Then… hurry.”

The woman snarled and lunged.

Sarah didn't retreat an inch. Her right hand swept back across the counter, her fingers clamping onto a heavy maple cutting board. The assassin’s knife buried itself deep into the thick wood with a solid thunk. Before the woman could yank the blade free, Sarah drove the heavy block forward with everything she had, smashing it straight into the assassin's face.

The woman staggered back, blood spurting from her broken nose, but Sarah was already on top of her. She refused to give her room to breathe, every brutal strike delivering the same wordless promise: You don't touch him.

Even bleeding, the assassin remained lethally fast. Her secondary blade flashed in tight, vicious arcs, whittling down Sarah's guard as the paralysis crept higher up her neck.

“Sarah!” Chuck’s voice reached her—muffled, slurred, and distant.

She didn't look. A single fraction of a second lost meant death.

“You won’t last another minute,” the assassin hissed through crimson-stained teeth.

Instead of fighting the next knife thrust, Sarah abruptly released the woman's wrist and pivoted sideways. Caught off guard, the assassin's own momentum dragged her off balance. Sarah’s right elbow smashed upward into her exposed ribs, followed instantly by an explosive palm strike to her sternum.

The kinetic force threw the assassin backward into the glass balcony door—right beside where Morgan was frantically wrestling the male operative. The heavy double pane buckled and shattered into a tight web of cracks with an ear-splitting pop.

Morgan was holding on by a thread, pinning the male assassin against the fractured glass.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck finally reached the kitchen counter, using both hands to keep the room from spinning. Beside him lay a dish towel, a half-sliced lemon, and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. His disoriented brain worked in agonizing slow motion until a sudden spark lit up.

He grabbed the olive oil.

“Hey!” Chuck yelled, but no one listened as the woman prepared to spring at Sarah again.

Chuck slammed the heavy glass bottle onto the floor with all his might. “Sorry!”

The bottle shattered, sending a thick, yellow wave of oil spreading rapidly across the tile floor. The woman’s lead foot skidded instantly, her balance wavering.

Sarah didn't miss a beat. Years of elite agent training turned environmental hazards into raw tactical advantage. She pivoted on her heel, caught the woman’s wrist, and redirected her off-balance momentum straight toward the balcony threshold.

At the exact same moment, Morgan threw his entire body weight into the male assassin with the last burst of energy he had left. “Chuck!”

The man stumbled backward, his boot landing squarely in the oil slick. He slipped violently, his legs sweeping out from under him as he went over the threshold. Desperate, his hand shot out and clamped onto the iron balcony railing.

The ancient metal groaned violently under the sudden strain.

Sarah’s head snapped toward the noise. The man tried to haul his torso back up, but the rusted mountings gave way with a deafening, metallic crack. The railing tore completely free from the concrete.

For one suspended, terrifying second, the assassin hung in midair. Then he vanished into the dark, followed moments later by a heavy, sickening impact from the street below.

Inside the apartment, everything froze. The female assassin’s eyes instinctively flicked toward the shattered ledge.

Sarah had been waiting for that exact fraction of a second.

XXXXXXXXXXX

She moved. No hesitation—pure, lethal execution.

While the female assassin’s attention was still split, Sarah closed the distance in a single explosive stride. Her right hand clamped like a vise around the woman’s wrist. Her left arm hung dead at her side, so she threw her entire center of gravity into her hips, pivoting to drive a savage elbow directly into the assassin's jaw.

Sarah didn't stop. She slammed her momentum forward, driving the assassin backward until her spine smashed into the edge of the granite kitchen island. The heavy countertop shuddered under the force.

Roaring in rage, the woman broke her grip free and swung a wild hook. Sarah whipped her functional right forearm up to catch the blow with a dull smack—but her counterstrike was visibly slower, her nervous system fighting a losing battle against the creeping toxin.

Sarah’s face was deathly pale, a sheen of cold sweat slicking her forehead as her breathing turned shallow and ragged.

The assassin seized the opening instantly, stepping in low with a sharp jab to Sarah’s exposed ribs. Pain flared through her side, staggering her backward until her right palm caught the counter edge to keep her upright.

“It’s over,” the woman sneered, stepping in for the kill.

Sarah forced her spine straight. Her body was failing her, but her eyes remained as cold and sharp as chipped flint.

The assassin’s gaze flicked toward Chuck again—and that single glance was all Sarah needed.

Sarah exploded forward, interposing herself between them once more. Always Chuck.

They collided in a brutal clash of bone and muscle—shoulder against shoulder, forearm against forearm. The assassin tried to violently shove her aside, but Sarah held her ground like a concrete pillar. Behind her, Chuck gasped her name, his voice slurred and desperate.

“Sarah…”

Realizing she couldn't force her way through, the woman suddenly dropped low, sweeping her boot against Sarah’s compromised base. With her reaction time dulled, Sarah lost her footing and crashed hard onto one knee.

The assassin loomed over her, sliding a thin, lethal blade from a hidden ankle sheath. She raised it high, her eyes bypassing Sarah entirely to lock onto Chuck.

Sarah forced her right arm upward—her left refusing to obey—offering her own body as the final barrier as the blade plummeted downward.

Then something hit the assassin from the flank with the force of a runaway car.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Morgan.

“My friends…” Morgan choked out, wrapping his arms around her waist.

The woman staggered under the sudden weight, and both of them went crashing to the floor. Morgan had bought them just enough time.

“…are sup…posed…”

The assassin drove a sharp, brutal elbow straight into his nose. Bone cracked, and Morgan went flying backward, crashing onto his back as blood gushed over his lip.

“…to be… left…”

The woman pushed herself back to her feet, her eyes burning with feral rage as she stepped toward him to finish it.

Chuck’s vision finally snapped into clear focus, the spinning room locking hard into place. On the floor, barely a meter away, lay the poisoned knife the woman had dropped earlier. He didn't dare touch the bare steel; instead, he snatched up a thick, damp dish towel from the counter, draped it over the hilt, and picked it up securely through the heavy cloth.

Slowly, unsteadily, he forced himself to his feet.

Sarah was down on one knee, her left arm hanging completely useless. Morgan was bleeding on the floorboards. And the assassin was advancing.

Chuck took a deep breath, stepping between them. “Hey!”

The woman turned, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Chuck held up the towel-wrapped knife with an uncertain, breathless smile. “You know… the whole day has gone horribly… but I think… for the first time… we have the same number of knives.”

The woman’s lip curled into a cold, contemptuous smile. “You?”

She accelerated toward him in a deadly flash. Chuck instinctively raised the wrapped blade, but he knew the math—he wasn’t going to be fast enough.

Then a blonde blur exploded past him.

“Sarah—”

No scream. No warning. Summoning the absolute last reserves of her failing nervous system, Sarah launched herself into the air with all her remaining momentum. Her right knee slammed into the woman’s jaw like a battering ram with a dull, sickening crack.

The assassin’s feet left the floor as her head snapped violently back. Her body crashed lifelessly onto the kitchen tile, completely still.

A suffocating silence descended on the wrecked apartment.

Chuck just blinked, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. “Whoa…”

Sarah landed unsteadily, taking one frail, trembling step toward him. Her face was ghost-white. “Are you…”

She couldn't finish the sentence. Her eyes went completely unfocused, her knees buckled, and she pitched forward.

Chuck dropped the towel-wrapped knife and caught her in his arms before she hit the floor.