Stitch stood at a cautious distance from the assassin, her gaze fixed on the enormous cleavers in his hands. The glint of the razor-sharp steel sent a chill through her spine. One mistake, she thought, and those blades wouldn't just wound her—they'd carve her apart without mercy. It wasn't a fear; it was a certainty she couldn't ignore.
"Are you the reason for this dead silence tonight? What happened to Pippin and Nia? What have you done to them?" Her voice was firm despite the turmoil inside, her sharp blue eye sparking with determination while the other remained hidden beneath her black eye patch.
The figure before her didn't respond. His faceless metal skull tilted slightly, observing her in eerie silence. Then, with unnerving precision, he spun the cleavers in his hands, the chains rattling like the sound of an impending storm. Without warning, he lunged at her, moving like a predator chasing its prey.
"Damn it!" Stitch cursed, her body reacting on instinct. She raised her arms, needles glinting between her fingers, and leapt backward to gain distance. In a swift motion, she hurled the needles toward the advancing assassin. They whistled through the air, cutting clean paths toward their target.
But the hunter was relentless. With one fluid motion, he swung his cleavers, slicing through each needle with terrifying precision, the shards scattering in all directions as he closed the gap between them.
He was too fast. Stitch's heart pounded as she felt the crushing presence of his blades drawing closer. Thinking quickly, she thrust her arms outward, summoning a protective barrier that materialized just in time. The cleavers struck with a thunderous crash, the force reverberating through her as the barrier absorbed the blow and knocked the assassin backward.
She didn't waste a second. As he staggered, she dashed further away, her hands reaching into her arsenal to retrieve another set of needles. Her mind raced as she prepared for the next clash, her focus unwavering despite the terror clawing at the edges of her resolve.
As Stitch moved swiftly through the foggy streets, she suddenly found herself caught off guard. The hunter surged forward, his body shrouded in a crackling current of purple, electrified energy. Sparks flew as his massive cleavers skidded across the ground, carving deep gouges into the stone. With a ferocious roar, he whipped one blade upward in a brutal arc, aiming to slice Stitch clean in half like a fragile doll.
Reacting in the nick of time, Stitch flung out her threads, which unraveled like living serpents from her wrists. The shimmering strands coiled tightly around the hunter's arm, halting his deadly swing mere inches from her torso. Her threads tightened with incredible force, straining against the assassin's unyielding strength and throwing his arm off balance. The cleaver, its momentum interrupted, crashed heavily into the ground, embedding itself into the stone with a deafening clang.
The hunter snarled beneath his metallic skull, his body twisting as he struggled to free himself from the unrelenting grip of her threads. His movements were fierce but frantic, unable to find a way to disarm himself or counterattack. Stitch gritted her teeth, focusing on maintaining the tension, her mind racing as she sought the next move.
Seizing the moment, she swung her leg high and delivered a sharp kick directly to the side of the hunter's skull. The impact sent his head jerking slightly to the side, disrupting his balance for a brief second. But the momentary success came at a cost. Pain shot up her leg as the sensation of striking an impenetrable wall radiated through her foot. The metallic skull was unyielding, and her reckless attempt had left her reeling.
Suppressing a gasp of pain, Stitch pushed through the discomfort and executed a quick cartwheel, flipping backward to put distance between herself and the assassin. She landed gracefully a few meters away, breathing heavily as she steadied herself. Her threads retracted as the hunter straightened, freed once more and now glaring at her with an ominous, mechanical intent.
The sharp pain shooting through Stitch's foot caused her to falter, stumbling backward toward the cold, unforgiving ground. The hunter, swift and merciless, wasted no time. He moved like a shadow in the wind, his cleavers stretching outward in both hands, poised for the kill. With a deadly lunge, he closed the gap in a blur of motion, the sheer force of his speed leaving a violent gust of air in his wake. He was like a predatory bird descending upon helpless prey, his metallic form silhouetted against the faint, flickering light of the street.
As he closed in, the hunter shifted his cleavers behind him, preparing for a single, decisive strike. The gleaming edges of the twin blades reflected the faint light as they swung in a deadly horizontal arc aimed directly at the vulnerable line of Stitch's neck. In that frozen heartbeat, time seemed to slow, her life teetering on the edge of annihilation.
Her thoughts were a maelstrom of panic and despair. "I don't have enough time!" The words echoed in her mind, a desperate realization of how close she was to meeting her end. Her body, caught in the gravity of her fall, offered no room for escape. The blades screamed through the air, singing their lethal song, the distance between them and her shrinking to nothing. This was it—the moment she thought would be her last.
Then, as if fate itself intervened, salvation arrived in the form of an unexpected miracle.
The cleavers struck—but instead of tearing flesh and bone, they collided with something solid, something unyielding and far stronger than the blades themselves. The impact unleashed a deafening metallic clang, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap through the narrow streets. The sheer force of the clash erupted in a shockwave, a tempest of raw energy that shattered the stillness of the night. Dust and debris were hurled into the air, and a powerful gust roared outward like the breath of a hurricane, shaking nearby lanterns and rattling windows.
The hunter's cleavers trembled under the strain of the collision, their edges vibrating violently as sparks scattered in brilliant arcs. Stitch, wide-eyed and frozen in shock, stared in disbelief as the unexpected shield between her and certain death held firm.
Stitch landed hard on her rear, her palms pressing into the ground to steady herself as she stared up in disbelief. Standing before her, shielding her from certain death, was a figure of striking elegance and strength. A woman—feminine, poised, and undeniably commanding—stood tall with one leg raised in a defensive stance. Her elevated foot, encased in gleaming metal that reinforced her shoes, had intercepted the deadly cleaver, its surface bearing a faint crack from the sheer force of the strike.
Stitch's breath caught in her throat as her savior slowly lowered her leg, the faint aura of confidence and power radiating from her presence. It didn't take long for Stitch to recognize her protector, the one who had arrived just in time to ensure her survival.
"Chiaki..." Stitch whispered, a mixture of relief and awe in her voice.
To be continued...