The flames danced wildly, casting flickering shadows across the night. Dressed in a crimson kimono, the Two Rituals stood unwavering, her piercing gaze illuminated by the firelight. The long blade in her grip angled slightly, ready to strike. Instinctively, she searched for Violet, only to realize the girl had already vanished into the dim shadows.
Eight vehicles. At least forty enemies. Heavy artillery.
There was no choice but to fight.
With no cover on this barren road, getting surrounded meant certain death—even with her enhanced physique, she couldn't escape a barrage of relentless gunfire.
Without hesitation, she sprinted forward, her blade slicing effortlessly through the fabric of reality itself.
The ground beneath her fractured instantly, concrete shattering into fragmented pieces like brittle glass. The oncoming vehicles, forced to slow down, struggled over the sudden terrain disruption.
At that moment, a small figure shot through the shattered windshield of the first car. In a blur, the enemy's throat was slit by a dagger, and before the blood could splatter, a submachine gun was snatched from the falling corpse.
Boom!
The driverless car veered off course, flipping violently before crashing onto the torn-up road—blocking the convoy behind it.
Two Rituals' sharp gaze locked onto the situation behind her.
They were vulnerable. They could be killed.
She pivoted sharply, launching herself sideways like a coiled spring to evade potential gunfire. The distance between her and the enemy—ten meters—meant nothing. She closed it in a single breath.
A soldier barely had time to exit the vehicle before his throat was kissed by her blade.
Dead.
In an instant, his life was extinguished—his body frozen in place before crumpling to the ground.
"So simple."
A flicker of something stirred within her. A distant memory—a young man's face—surfaced in her mind, only to shatter like fragile glass.
Shackles, broken.
The first time she took a life, her existence teetered on the edge of destruction. Fear and exhilaration blurred together, the tremor of a thrill coursing through her veins. Only in this bloodstained dance did she finally feel that this fragile life was truly her own.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire erupted as Two Rituals twisted and weaved through the chaos, her blade carving an unrelenting path. Meanwhile, Violet—a living shadow—executed her own massacre.
Her body moved like liquid. Machine guns, daggers, even her fingers and knees became weapons. The firelight barely illuminated her, an unseen specter moving too fast for the human eye to track.
The battlefield, however, remained eerily silent.
No screams.
No cries for mercy.
Just the relentless echo of gunfire and breaking bodies.
These men were already dead. Not in the literal sense, but in the way they fought—with no hesitation, no fear. Like soulless machines.
Something was wrong.
A creeping unease slithered into Two Rituals' thoughts just as lavender smoke coiled through the air.
Her head spun instantly.
An ambush. The enemy knew their strength, predicted their slaughter, and had planned for it.
The real attack had just begun.
Her grip tightened as she sliced a thin line across her forehead. The pain jolted her mind back to clarity.
She had to kill.
"Violet!"
She called out, but there was no answer.
Even the enemy seemed momentarily stunned by the smoke, confirming they were merely bait—expendable pawns abandoned from the start.
She needed to find Violet.
Activating her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, the world warped before her—revealing flaws in everything. The air. The concept of the gas itself.
Her blade cut through reality. The smoke around her dissipated.
Then—pain.
A crushing force slammed into her left shoulder, sending her spiraling backward like a fallen butterfly.
The impact rattled through her bones as she crashed onto the roof of a car.
Numbness. Immobility. A pulse of burning agony.
Her wounded shoulder had been struck again.
A new enemy.
Expressionless, she rose, her left arm hanging uselessly at her side.
Stepping through the fading smoke was a masked man with a metal arm.
In his grasp—Violet's unconscious form.
A trap.
"You were watching us all along, weren't you?" Two Rituals murmured, her right hand tightening around her blade. "This feeling of being underestimated… it's really starting to piss me off."
Her sword swung.
Lightning-fast.
The masked man dropped Violet and dodged. His movements were beyond human—inhuman reflexes honed to perfection. The way he avoided death confirmed one thing:
He knew about her abilities.
"Clumsy."
Her stance shifted, blade flashing in a ceaseless storm of light.
Vacuum-like force whirled in her wake, dispersing dust and smoke. Each strike obliterated the space it passed through.
The masked man had no room to counterattack. Even his metal arm hesitated to block the blows.
"Need… backup."
His empty gaze betrayed no fear, only calculations. Based on probability, his chance of winning was slim.
Then—headlights.
More vehicles.
More reinforcements.
Surrounding roads filled with approaching enemies, forming an inescapable trap.
Two Rituals inhaled deeply, steadying her stance.
One final swing.
Her sword accelerated.
Slash!
The man's metal arm—meant to block the attack—shattered.
Dismembered.
"Tch."
She clicked her tongue in irritation.
No time to fight.
Biting down on the hilt of her blade, she lifted Violet with her one good arm and sprinted toward the nearby ocean.
---
Meanwhile…
In a distant, peaceful setting, Shen He sat with Dr. Helen Cho.
She was beautiful. Intelligent. Refined. A woman who exuded grace and strength.
Under different circumstances, perhaps—before all this madness—he would have pursued her.
But now… a thin veil of detachment separated him from reality.
Something felt off.
Restless. Uneasy. A whisper of dread gnawed at his thoughts.
Finally, he stood up.
"Sorry," he muttered, fishing out his phone.
"I need to make a call."