Creed crouched low among the thick underbrush, his sharp eyes scanning the treeman hideout like a hungry predator stalking a herd.
A flicker of movement caught his attention. It was Tierra, silent as a whisper, vanishing into thin air once again like a ghost with murderous intent.
He couldn't help but smirk. 'She's terrifying,' he thought, not for the first time.
There was no other way to describe it. Tierra wasn't just stealthy. She was built for this.
The way she moved without sound, struck without warning, and vanished without trace; she wasn't a fighter; she was a living, breathing assassination protocol!
With a single, subtle nod from Creed, she was gone again like a leaf in the wind, and the next minute played out like a deadly symphony.
One by one, the remaining treeman guards stationed on the outskirts of the settlement—five of them, all stage threes—were taken down with surgical precision.
No struggle. No noise. Just quiet, brutal efficiency.
