A few days ago:
Barol City dozed under a midnight sky, the gulf's restless waves lapping at the shore. The port stretched quiet, its usual clamor hushed; ships rocked gently at their moorings, the market's din long faded.
Most of the city slept, save for the scattered glow of 24-hour taverns and warehouses, their lights flickering like stubborn candles against the dark.
At the far edge, where the docks crumbled into neglect, an abandoned pier jutted out, swallowed by shadows. Silence reigned; until it didn't.
A handful of boats slipped in, weak lanterns swaying at their bows, casting frail beams across the black water.
They nudged against the rotting wood, and cloaked figures on the pier stirred, stepping forward to meet them.
"Quick!" one hissed, voice low and urgent, gesturing to the men and women spilling from the boats. "Unload it fast. Patrol's due this way soon."
The group moved like ghosts, shadows blending with the night; boots scuffing softly, hands hauling crates and sacks from the holds.
They worked in tight, practiced rhythm, lanterns dimmed to slivers, eyes darting for any sign of trouble. Then, a flutter broke the stillness, sharp and close, like wings beating the air.
One of the cloaked men froze, grabbing his lantern and swinging it toward the sound.
Light splashed across a gnarled tree clinging to the pier's edge, and there it sat a black bird, feathers glinting, violet eyes locked on them, head cocked.
"Is that-?" he started, voice catching, some half-formed dread clicking into place.
Too late. The raven burst apart, dark energy ripping outward, and a shadow tore free; a blur of motion too fast to track.
The men nearest the tree dropped, slumping to the planks like their strings were cut. Shouts erupted, the rest scrambling, weapons flashing; swords, staffs, a glint of steel in the gloom.
They circled up, backs pressed, mages fanning out, mana crackling at their fingertips. "Where is it?" one barked, staff raised, a spell glowing at the tip.
Then; snap. Every lantern snuffed out, struck by pitch-black arrows that hissed through the dark with surgical precision. Light died, and chaos swallowed them.
Figures fell, one by one; thuds on wood, no screams, no chance to fight back. A woman, last on her feet, stumbled backward, crate slipping from her hands.
Darkness pressed in, thicker than it should've been. Barol's ever-present glow was gone, magic was useless against the void. She waved a hand, blind, panic clawing her throat. "What-?"
Two violet orbs flared in the black, rippling with cold energy. Her spine locked, fear spiking raw and primal. "Raven!" she gasped, voice breaking; then collapsed, out cold.
The darkness lifted like a curtain, sudden and clean, revealing the aftermath. Bodies littered the pier, unconscious but breathing, tied together with rough rope on a nearby concrete slab.
A cloaked silhouette stood at the wooden edge, form shrouded in a rippling veil of shadow; details blurred, presence heavy.
A sigh slipped out, sharp and tired, before they vanished; gone in a gust that whipped across the dock, scattering dust and salt.
The boats bobbed, unloaded goods stacked beside them. The figure reappeared, violet eyes glinting as they scanned the haul; crates, sacks, whatever contraband these fools had dragged in.
He raised a hand, and a dense orb of red flame flared to life, streaking toward the nearest boat. Wood caught fast, fire licking up the hull, spreading to the next, then the next.
Flames roared, a beacon in the night, painting the pier in orange and gold. Shouts rang out; city guards sprinting from their posts, bells clanging, panic ripping through the sleeping streets.
A corner of Barol's port blazed smoke curling into the sky.
The Guild Hall jolted awake, adventurers stumbling from bunks, clerks barking orders, every able body mobilized to douse the fire.
Tucker's office lit up, the man himself yanked from his late-night scheming, glasses fogged with sweat as reports flooded in.
"What in the hells-?" he snarled, storming to the window. The gulf glowed, flames dancing on the water, and his gut twisted.
Back at the pier, the tied-up smugglers lay in a heap, a note pinned to one's forehead; scrawled, messy: [There you go, did your job for you. P.S. All the smuggled stuff's ash now.]
Guards arrived, boots pounding, shouting over the crackle of fire.
One, sharp-eyed, caught a glimpse; a massive crow, blacker than the night, wings cutting the sky as it soared from the city. "Raven," he muttered, gripping his spear tighter.
The shadowy figure was long gone, leaving chaos in their wake; boats burning, smugglers busted, and Barol's underbelly exposed. Tucker's night had just gotten a hell of a lot worse.
Dawn crept over Barol City, the gulf's horizon smoldering from the night's fire, a faint haze of smoke still curling off the wrecked pier.
In the Guild Hall, Tucker's office was a pressure cooker; papers strewn across his desk, a glowing blue orb humming with mana at its center.
The magical communicator crackled, spitting out a voice sharp enough to cut glass. "We sent the materials as you asked, Tucker.
What went down in your city, is of no concern to us. Payment's due tomorrow, as agreed; don't test us."
Tucker's jaw clenched, fury bubbling under his skin, but his face stayed blank; years of playing the game kept it locked down.
"I know that," he snapped, voice flat, and jabbed the orb, killing the connection. "Tsk, those pointy-eared pricks," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.
"Think I'm gonna bolt with their gold?" He sucked in a long breath, forcing the anger down, but it simmered, hot and sour.
The door creaked, and Tars lumbered in; bison horns glinting, fur patchy over his hulking frame. Tucker didn't turn, just barked, "The mercenaries we commissioned?"
Tars blinked, caught off-guard. "Uh-"
"The three bums I paid to watch for that Raven bastard," Tucker cut in, louder now, spinning to face him. "What the fuck happened to them?"
Tars shifted, uneasy. "They weren't at the docks. Soldiers found 'em; stripped naked, dumped outside the city walls."
"Tsk!" Tucker's tongue clicked, sharp and pissed. He slammed a fist on the desk, the orb wobbling. Who the hell even was this Raven?
Ever since that shadowy shit-stirrer showed up, his side hustles; his real business, the under-the-table deals with foreign players, had ground to a halt.
Legal trade? Fine, the city chugged along. But his personal gigs? Every shipment ambushed, every crate torched, every plan fucked by that damn crow.
Worst part? He couldn't admit a lick of it publicly; not without outing himself. Only a handful knew his game, so he had to grin and clap like some hero had saved the day, all while swallowing a personal "fuck you" with a slap as a cherry on top.
"Did you find out anything about this Raven?" he growled, glaring at Tars.
The demi-human shook his head, and Tucker snapped. "What did I tell you? Find every bastard with a grudge; dig up every grave we filled, track anyone who might want a piece of us!" His voice cracked, rage spilling over.
"I- I did," Tars stammered, stepping back. "Only two come to mind; that mage and her assistant. But they're both-"
"Under the dirt, yeah, I know!" Tucker roared, punching the wall; once, twice. Skin tearing off his knuckles, blood smearing the stone.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking fuck!" He whirled on Tars, eyes wild. "Get out; now! Before I rip those horns off and shove 'em up your ass!"
Tars bolted, door slamming behind him, leaving Tucker panting, blood dripping from his hand.
He pressed it against the window, glass cool under his palm, staring out at Barol's sprawl; the port still smoking, ships bobbing like nothing had happened.
His knuckles throbbed, but he ignored it, mind churning.
At present:
He stood in the same spot; window overlooking the city. He was calmer but not by much.
He could see the blackened area of the dock that was lit up in flames that day. But his mind was storming with other thoughts.
Satoru Gojo and Malenia crashing back into the picture, two variables he'd counted on being dead. The two anomalies he couldn't control.
A few days later:
The late afternoon sun, bathed Barol City in a golden haze, the gulf shimmering beyond the bustling port.
Inside a weathered tavern near the market's edge, a woman sat alone, silver hair tied back in a long ponytail, bluish-green eyes scanning the room over a glass of juice.
Her adventurer's gear; leather and steel padding, longsword sheathed at her hip; hugged her curves, boots scuffed but sturdy.
Voices buzzed around her, the city's latest obsession spilling from every table. Raven, the vigilante torching smugglers, nabbing crooks, doing the guards' and adventurers' jobs better than they ever could.
"Raven, huh," she muttered, voice low and smooth, almost musical. She drained her glass, dropped a few coins on the counter, and rose, silver hair catching the light like a blade.
As she wove through the crowded room, a meaty hand shot out from a nearby tables. A hulking vet adventurer, muscles bulging under scarred leather, grinning with his cronies.
His palm cracked against her ass, the slap echoing like a thunderclap. "Oops, sorry, lady; hand slipped," he guffawed, his crew roaring with him, tankards sloshing.
She froze mid-step, head tilting slightly. The vet's buddy across the table went wide-eyed, finger trembling as he pointed.
"Y- your-" Before he could finish, the vet's laughter died, replaced by a choked gasp. His arm was gone, severed clean at the shoulder and it dangled on her grip, blood dripping onto the floorboards.
Her sword gleamed in her other hand, spotless, as if it'd never tasted flesh. "Oh! Sorry," she said, tone mocking, amused. "Must've slipped too."
She tossed the arm onto their table, a wet thud silencing the room. The vet registered it then; screamed, clutching the stump, blood gushing; until it stopped, sealed by some unseen trick she'd used.
The tavern stared; jaws slack. When had she drawn? When had she struck? No one saw. Not the drunks, not the barmaid clutching a rag.
She sheathed her sword with a flick, smirking faintly. "Clerks can reattach it, if you hurry that is. Wouldn't dawdle, if I were you."
She turned, silver hair swaying like feathers in the breeze, and strolled out, leaving chaos in her wake. Screams, curses, and the vet's pals scrambling to haul him off
Her boots clicked on the cobblestones, a slight smile tugging her lips, eyes glinting with a bluish-green spark as she headed for the Guild Hall.
The hall perched atop its bluff, a stone beast overlooking Barol's sprawl; ships, markets, and the black scar of Raven's handiwork.
Inside, it thrummed; adventurers bartering jobs, clerks shouting over the din, boots scuffing the worn floor.
She pushed through the double doors, the bustle barely pausing as she strode to the job board. A bold notice dominated it; "Wanted!!!"
A shadowy silhouette, "Raven" scrawled in thick ink at the top, reward in fat numbers below. She didn't hesitate and ripped it down, the tear slicing through the noise.
Silence crashed over the hall, dozens of eyes locking on her. She didn't notice at first, strolling to the receptionist's counter, paper in hand.
Only when she set it down did she feel the weight; stares boring into her, some curious, some venomous. "Am I glowing or something?" she muttered, brow arching in confusion.
The receptionist; a wiry woman with black wavy hair and a permanent scowl, snapped her head up, glaring at the frozen crowd.
"What are you lot gawking at? I'm not paying your damn rents. Get moving!" Her bark jolted the hall back to life, voices and footsteps resuming, though eyes lingered.
She turned to the silver-haired woman, expression sour. "Your card."
The woman slid over a golden card, gleaming under the lantern light. The receptionist's scowl softened just a hair as she read it; Ime Silva, A-Rank.
She checked its authenticity, sighed, and handed it back. "New to Barol, huh? They won't touch that job; nobody here wants Raven gone."
Silva tilted her head, tapping the wanted poster. "Even with the Guild branding him a criminal?"
The receptionist snorted, leaning on her elbows. "Stay a while, you'll smell the rot. Corruption, unreasonable taxes, lives grinding down.
These fools slog through it, give their all, but they're sick of the muck. Raven's doing what they dream of. Why'd they stop him?"
Silva nodded at the poster. "Guild doesn't seem to agree."
"City knights were the one who pushed it," the woman said, voice dropping.
"Our Guild Rep, signed the warrant off, called it justified. Raven's a thorn to the powerful, knights clearly stand against his... methods, even if the rabble love him.
Mr. Tucker must've got his reasons, but…" She trailed off, uncertainty clouding her words.
"What about the Rep?" Silva pressed, intrigued, her fingers drumming the counter.
The receptionist hesitated, picking her words. "He's quiet, mostly. We've always figured he's got our backs- best interests at heart, or so we hope.
Lately, though…" She shrugged, doubt creeping in, then shook it off. "Doesn't matter."
Silva tapped the quest paper, voice firm. "I'll take it."
The woman stared, sizing her up, then sighed again. "Fine. I'll mark it pending but you'll need the debrief. Mr. Tucker's at a guild meeting, won't be back 'til evening.
Drop by then; he'll tell you why he wants Raven in chains. His personal request, this one."
Silva nodded, pocketing the poster, and turned to leave. Eyes tracked her; some wary, some outright hostile, a low murmur rippling through the hall.
"Keep your temper in check," the receptionist called after her, snarling at the gawkers. "I'm not cleaning up more trouble!"
They ignored her, gazes lingering as Silva pushed out into the salty air, silver hair catching the wind like a banner.
Her lips curved, a flicker of amusement in those bluish-green eyes. A vigilante hunted by the powerful, a city teetering on resentment, and a Guild Rep with secrets; she could feel the threads tangling already.
The evening sun dipped low over Barol City, casting long shadows through the Guild Hall's meeting room.
A round table dominated the space, its surface flickering with fading holograms; silhouettes of guild officials glitching out as they signed off.
The Guild Master's image had just vanished, leaving only two figures behind.
Millicent. Her golden aura simmering even through her projection, and Shou Tucker, slouched in his chair, bespectacled eyes fixed on the table.
The meeting had wrapped, but the air still crackled with unspoken barbs.
Tucker's face stayed composed, but his fingers twitched against the armrest. He'd swung hard first; dredging up Loran's fissure disaster, the dark magic spill.
All to paint Millicent as a fuck-up. She'd parried every jab, voice calm as steel, detailing how her crew had crushed the chaos with ruthless efficiency.
Then she'd turned it back on him; Barol's rising corruption, unchecked crime, and that damn vigilante, Raven, doing the Guild's job while Tucker twiddled his thumbs.
The room had gone quiet after that, no one had questioned her, and now she sat there, victorious without even trying.
Millicent's holographic eyes glinted, catching his stare. She raised a hand; a curt, formal wave, before her image dissolved into static, leaving him alone with the echo of her win.
Tucker swallowed hard, anger burning in his throat like cheap whiskey. He shoved up from the table, chair scraping, and stormed out, slamming the door open.
The hallway stretched dim and quiet, save for Reya, the receptionist with the black wavy hair and perpetual scowl, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"Reya?" Tucker snapped, pausing mid-stride. "What's going on?"
She straightened; voice flat. "An A-Rank adventurer took the Raven mission."
He froze, glasses slipping a fraction down his nose. "What?" The words hit like a gut punch, suspicion flaring over the irritation. "Did you brief them?"
She nodded, sharp and simple. "Told 'em the gist; Raven's situation and people's opinion. She still signed up."
Tucker's jaw tightened. The guild adventurers in the city were his to lead, sure, but not to control. Astartes ran on that sacred rule; freedom under law, not dictatorship.
The Guild Master drilled it into every rep; serve the people, not your ego. Tucker knew it, lived it, but this? An A-Rank waltzing in to chase Raven, knowing the score?
It didn't sit right. Relief should've kicked in; finally, someone to squash that shadowy bastard; but instead, his gut churned with doubt.
Who'd take that job in a city cheering for the vigilante? Someone with an angle, that's who.
"Send her to me when she's back," he said, voice low and clipped. "I'll handle the debriefing myself."
Reya gave a curt nod, turning to leave, her boots clicking down the hall.
She hesitated a heartbeat; lips parting like she might ask why he cared so damn much about this one quest but shut her mouth and kept walking.
An hour after the Guild meeting, evening had completely rolled over Barol City, the gulf's dark waves glinting under a scatter of stars, and the edge of the horizon still a bit orange and blue.
Inside Tucker's office, lamps flickered, casting jagged shadows across his cluttered desk; papers, a half-empty mug.
He sat hunched, glasses fogged with strain, when a knock rattled the door. No mana signature, no presence; just a void where someone should've been. "Come in," he grunted, voice rough.
The door swung open, and in strode a woman. Her silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight, bluish-green eyes catching the lamplight with a glint.
Her adventurer gear; leather and steel, longsword sheathed at her hip, clung to her frame, boots scuffing the floor with lazy confidence.
Tucker squinted, thrown off. 'No mana?' She had to be cloaking it; only the most skilled could pull that off. She rested a hand on her sword hilt, voice cool as ice. "I've got an appointment with Mr. Tucker."
He leaned back, unfazed on the surface. "You're Ime Silva, then. The one who took the Raven job?"
"In the flesh," she said, stepping closer. "Tell me what I-" She cut off, eyes locking with his, then sighed, sharp and annoyed.
Before Tucker could blink, she was gone. A blur, a whisper of steel, and she stood behind a kneeling figure. An assassin, clad in black, dagger split clean in two, trembling hands still clutching the halves.
Tucker hadn't seen her move; not a twitch, not a sound. She sheathed her sword with a flick, folding her arms, frown creasing her face. "Was this a test? Cause if it was just a shitty prank, I'm out; you won't see me again."
The assassin gaped, wide-eyed, too stunned to speak. Tucker waved him off, voice tight. "Get out." The man nodded, scrambling up and vanishing.
He exhaled, forcing calm. "Forgive me for that stunt. I can't trust just anyone with Raven, not without vetting them."
Silva's eyes narrowed, cold and steady. "No action goes unreacted. I'll let it slide, if the pay reflects it."
"Of course," he said, nodding without any second thoughts. "One question, though. Why'd you take this job?"
She smirked, leaning a hip against his desk. "Money, obviously."
Tucker stared, not buying it for a second. Her vibe screamed bullshit; too sharp, too controlled. "Sigh," she said, chuckling low
"You live up to your rep, don't you? Fine… I've got personal reasons. Questions I want Raven to answer."
He didn't push. Personal stakes were leverage; enough to ease his suspicion, though not his wariness. An A-Rank chasing Raven for her own game?
Above B-Rank, power spiked exponentially. S-Ranks were calamities for a reason, and this woman radiated it. That assassin stunt proved it.
Speed, precision, no mana trail. Raven was a beast too, though, vicious and elusive. Tucker shelved the thought, diving into the debrief.
"Raven is a problem," he started, voice slipping into a practiced calm. "Sure, he's doing good. Stopping smugglers, crimes and everything, but his methods?
They're brutal, lawless. Against everything the knights stand for. And people are eating it up, cheering the results, and that's directing them in the wrong way.
They're starting to think chaos is fine if it works." He leaned forward, glasses glinting, playing the righteous card.
"I get it; hell, part of me wishes we could cut corners like him. But it's wrong. We need him in the custody if we can, show him the right path, turn him into an asset for order."
Silva tuned out after the first few lines; eyes half-lidded. Dead or alive, decent pay; that's all she needed. The rest? Tucker's sanctimonious drivel, dripping with fake nobility.
She bit back a laugh, keeping her face neutral; well, mostly. A faint smirk tugged her lips, the kind that said 'I smell your crap' without a word.
'He'd have swayed a softer mark,' she thought. Guy had a politician's tongue, but she wasn't here for sermons.
Later, outside the Guild Hall, Silva leaned against a wall, silver hair catching the breeze, replaying the day. She hadn't shared squat with Tucker.
Why bother? If he'd skipped the "law and order" song-and-dance, she might've tossed him a bone. His loss.
She'd spent the afternoon wandering Barol's sprawl; big as a small nation, pulsing with grit and gossip. Raven was the talk.
Some swore they knew him, spinning tales of personal ties; others cursed him, shady types mostly, plus a few who'd lost kin in his reckless wake.
No one had ever pinned him hurting innocents outright, but he didn't give a damn about fallout either. Properties burned and destroyed, goons tied up, chaos left behind; if his target went down, the rest was collateral.
She grinned, bluish-green eyes glinting. Raven wasn't some anti-hero cape. Too messy, too driven. Personal vendetta screamed louder than justice.
Against whom? Tucker, maybe. But why hit every smuggler tied to Barol's underbelly? Stopping crime to spite the Guild Rep?
Nah, it ran more deep that that. Someone with two brain cells could connect that dot. "Tucker, Tucker," she muttered, voice low and amused. "Washed clean by your good deeds, huh?"
The guy oozed slime; righteous mask slipping the harder you looked. Raven's war was personal, and Tucker's panic reeked of urgency and paranoia.
"And Raven," she added, glancing at the starry sky. "How high are you gonna soar before you crash? Or maybe you'll rewrite the game entirely." She pushed off the wall, sword swaying at her hip.
Night draped Barol City in its usual restless hum; taverns glowing, markets winding down, the gulf's waves a distant murmur.
Beneath the surface, trouble brewed, quiet and sharp, in an alley off one of the busier streets; a perfect blind spot amid the bustle.
Two men lingered outside a stone building's side door, cloaks pulled tight, breaths fogging in the cool air.
After a tense wait, the door creaked open, revealing a cheetah-human hybrid; spotted fur, lean muscle, eyes glinting yellow. He jerked his head, ushering them inside.
The hall beyond buzzed with life; drunken cheers, bards strumming, tankards clashing in a smoky tavern haze.
The hybrid led them through the throng, weaving past swaying patrons to a second door tucked in the back.
A few sets of stairs dropped them into a bigger room above, thick with tension. Men and women in combat gear; leather, steel, weapons sheathed but primed; lounged or paced, eyes flicking to the newcomers.
At the far end, three figures huddled around a table, voices low. The "boss", older, purple hair streaked with gray, a scar slashing his face, stood between two lieutenants, mid some discussion.
"Boss!" the cheetah-hybrid called, tail twitching. The scarred man glanced up, brows lifting as he clocked the two cloaked figures trailing behind. "You bring the coins?" he asked, nodding upward.
One of the cloaks stepped forward, pulling a hefty pouch from his side; metal clinked, heavy and promising.
The boss smirked, signaling a merc lounging nearby. The guy; broad, grizzled, nodded, hauling a metal sealed bah from under his seat.
He swapped it for the coin pouch, handing it over. "This the new stuff?" the cloaked man asked, voice low.
"Brand new," the boss said, grin widening. "Small dose will juice your crew for two days straight. Fair warning, though; push it too hard, and their heads might pop.
Hope you're not sampling it yourself. Stay clear if you don't like brain splatter." He cackled, a rough, barking laugh.
A few of his crew chuckled awkwardly, then shut up when no one else joined.
The cloaked pair stayed stone-faced. The one with the pouch edged closer, frowning. "Feels light, boss. You're selling this shit for that?"
The boss's grin vanished. He clicked his tongue, spitting on the floor. "Jerry, for the last damn time; I'm the boss, not you. And these aren't cheap seros." He snatched the pouch, peering inside.
"Coins from the lost Pirate Treasuries, worth more than your mother's-" He froze, head snapping up. The room tensed; mercs gripping weapons, staffs glowing faintly.
The cloaked duo flinched, hands hovering near their belts. "We swear no one tailed us!" they blurted in unison. "We wouldn't try to double-cross-!"
"Shut it!" the boss snarled, cutting them off. "I'm not a dumbass. This shit ain't on you." His scarred face tightened, senses sharpening.
Outside, the tavern's din had died; empty, silent. The guards at the door? Down. And that presence; dark, heavy, creeping closer.
"Raven!" he roared.
"He's here! Formation; now!"
The room snapped into gear; pairs and trios forming, backs pressed, weapons drawn. Mana crackled as mages primed spells, the boss and his two lieutenants circling up, the cheetah-hybrid and cloaks huddling in the corner.
Darkness swallowed the room; lights snuffed out, a void rolling in. Thuds echoed, bodies hitting the floor, one by one, until a voice cut through, smooth and mocking.
"My, my, what a crude way to handle crime." A woman's.
Their vision cleared, sharp and sudden. The boss and his lieutenants blinked, still standing, surrounded by their crew; all unconscious, sprawled like ragdolls.
The cheetah-hybrid and cloaks slumped in the corner, out cold. A figure loomed before them, cloaked in rippling shadow. Raven.
Across the room, leaning on the window frame, stood a woman; silver hair glinting, sword sheathed at her waist, gazing out at Barol's nightlife with a casual tilt of her head.
She raised a brow, smirking faintly. "Thought you'd vanish or something, Raven."
A glitched, gravelly voice rasped from the shadow. "Stop looking for me. It's in your best interest."
"Oh, I'm afraid I can't," she said, pushing off the window. "Adventurer rules. Payment's a payment. Plus, I've got questions for you. And I'm guessing you won't come quietly?"
Before the trio could react, she was there. A blur too fast to track, standing toe-to-toe with Raven, sword still sheathed but radiating threat.
The building trembled; peaceful outside one second, shattered the next. The upper floor exploded outward, wood and stone blasting into the street, shockwaves ripping through the night.
Screams erupted below, panic seizing the crowd as people bolted, scattering like ants. Two streaks shot from the rubble; one black as pitch, the other a silver-white gleam; clashing midair, sparks flying.
They landed hard on a nearby rooftop, blades flashing: Raven's long, dark sword meeting Silva's steel in a storm of speed and power.
Raven swung, shadows coiling around his blade, trying to drown her in darkness; smother her sight, her senses. Nothing stuck. She darted through it, untouched, every move crisp, every sense razor-sharp.
He gritted his teeth; her six senses were honed to perfection, no cracks to exploit. Running was an option, but fuck if he did that.
They tore across Barol, a whirlwind of destruction; rooftops caving, streets cracking, their clashes a blur of black and silver.
Guards swarmed below, cordoning the zone, shoving civilians to safety, betting the two wouldn't spill past the chaos radius.
Blow for blow, they matched; Raven's raw force against Silva's fluid precision. He pressed her, blade slashing wide, forcing her back a step.
Then, greed crept in; he lunged, overreaching. She saw it and flipped the script. Her speed spiked in a silver streak.
Her sword flashed, tearing a gash across his chest, a bit deep and sharp. The shadowy veil flickered, peeling from his head; fair skin, dark hair spilling free.
Pain roared through him, teeth grinding as he staggered, blood seeping dark against the black. 'Is this it?' he thought, legs trembling. 'Over, just like this?'
Silva stepped back, sword lowered, watching him sway. Barol's lights glittered below, the city holding its breath.
... To be continued!!!
A/N: A quick remainder... I think I forgot to mention this before, but the characters we're familiar with from other fictions, won't always be at the same level of power here in this AU world. I won't obviously nerf anyone that I introduce, but they won't be weak either. Like this Version of Malenia. Here, she's supposed to be stronger, way stronger than her OG counterpart... Don't get too confused if you see them doing something ridiculous... And since this is an AU world, I've given them their own stories.
Well, that was it, thanks for all the support until now... Just drop some comments and tell me what you think... Maybe reviews and power stones, but that's up to you... See you tomorrow... Bye!!!