Chapter 306: Massacre in Vienna
If one were observing the private grounds of a particularly wealthy noble family within the borders of the Archduchy of Austria, they would not see the faintest sign of life dwelling within its boundaries. Then again, it was late at night, and all should be asleep by now.
But every so often, one might see a small flash of light appear in the window, but no sound to accompany it. Why was this? Because The Terror of Belgorod was at work, silently eliminating those threats that lay lurking in the shadows. Threats Bruno wanted out of his way before they could properly manifest themselves.
Suppressors were an interesting thing, existing as far back as 1909, if not even early, the technology used within them was about as much the same in the early 21st century as they were in the early 20th century.
A tube made out of flame resistant metals with baffles welded within them. The device was of course threaded directly to the barrel of a firearm that was capable of using it. For example, most revolvers could not be suppressed because they did not have a proper gas seal and would allow excess noise to escape from the cylinder.
This was not the case for the Nagant m1895 Revolver, which had previously been standard issue to the Imperial Russian Army. And now found itself in the hands of a mad dog let off his leash. With a suppressor of Bruno’s own design attached to the barrel of this very revolver, Erich marched through the estate of the infamous Rothschild family and did the lord’s bidding.
After all, in the words of the fictional preacher Joshua Graham, "We can’t expect God to do all the work…"
The hammer was raised by Erich’s thumb as he aimed the weapon down in the darkness and squeezed the trigger while the suppressor was pressed firmly against the skull of the master of the House, who was on his knees pleading for mercy.
Mercy? Erich knew no such word, and as his face was hidden behind a balaclava, all that could be witnessed beneath the smirking skull imprinted upon its fabric was the vague outline of a matching expression from the unknown demon whose visage lie beneath.
Not a single word was spoken as the firing pin attached to the hammer of the revolver struck the primer on the back of the round, igniting the powder within the cartridge and propelling the 7.62mm cartridge into the skull of the victim, whose blood and grey matter was blasted all over the floor of his bedroom, while his wife, who was still kneeling by his side shrieked in dismay.
Having heard the loud and obnoxious wailing of the recently made widow, Erich frowned as he struck the woman across the head with the grip of his pistol. He was never the type to let a perfectly good excuse for violence to go to waste.