The biting wind lashed against the stone walls of the mansion, howling as if to warn of the violence that lurked beyond. Daniel stood at the window, the cold seeping into his bones despite the layered defenses. His androgynously beautiful face was illuminated by the glare of the headlights piercing through the snow. The silhouettes of the hostile newcomers moved with the practiced efficiency of those who had nothing to lose. This was no ordinary raid—it was a hunt.
Outside, the first group huddled together, their eyes darting between the advancing force and the mansion that promised safety, a fortress looming like a relic of power against the endless white. Fear etched lines across their faces, visible even under the frostbitten scarves wrapped tightly around them. They knew what was coming, and so did Daniel.
"Claire," he said, voice firm but quiet, hoping it would be enough to halt the storm that was about to break loose. "Hold off. Let's assess before we act."
But Claire didn't hear, or maybe she did and simply ignored him. The look in her eyes—sharp, intense, unyielding—told him all he needed to know. She had made her decision. Without a word, she launched herself forward, a blur against the canvas of ice and darkness. The ground cracked beneath her feet as she charged, snow exploding around her like shattered glass.
"Damn it," Daniel muttered, heart thudding against his ribs as he watched her move. Claire was more than fierce; she was untamed, lethal, a storm wrapped in human skin. A shiver of awe mingled with a thread of dread coursed down his spine.
The first attacker barely had time to react before Claire collided with him. The force of the impact resonated through the earth, sending shockwaves that rippled up to the mansion. The man's body crumpled, limbs twisting at impossible angles as he fell, lifeless, into the snow. The sound of bone cracking reverberated through the icy air, and for a moment, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Holy..." One of the members from the initial group muttered, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and horror. His voice, muffled beneath his scarf, quivered as he watched Claire punch through the advancing line like a wrecking ball. The snow stained crimson as she moved, fists striking with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic in its brutality.
Daniel tore his gaze away from the window, muscles tensed as he considered his next move. He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the audio system.
"Hold position," he said, voice broadcasted through the mansion's perimeter speakers. He knew it was more for his own peace of mind than anyone else's; Claire wasn't going to stop. The sight of her, relentless and deadly, stirred something deep within him—a realization that this wasn't just power; it was survival stripped of all pretense.
The attackers faltered, their initial bravado giving way to panic as Claire broke through their ranks with fluid, punishing blows. One stumbled back, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, eyes wide with disbelief. His trembling hands fumbled for a radio, fingers numb from the cold and fear.
"Send reinforcements," he rasped, voice shaking as he pressed the button. The static crackled ominously, a harbinger of what was to come.
Daniel's pulse spiked, his sharp eyes narrowing as the radio's echo reached him. Reinforcements. This was only the beginning. His foreknowledge had told him to prepare for desperate people, for those who would claw at his walls for warmth and food. But this—a coordinated strike—was something he hadn't anticipated so soon.
"Claire, fall back," Daniel said, this time his voice hardening, but she was already moving through the chaos like a dancer in a deadly performance. She didn't respond, didn't even glance at the mansion. Her focus was singular, eyes gleaming with a feral light as she grabbed another attacker by the collar and threw him against a tree. The crunch of bone and the muffled scream that followed sent shivers through the crowd huddled by the gates.
"Daniel, they're regrouping," one of the strangers whispered, eyes locked on the advancing lights. The fear in their voice was palpable, a sound Daniel had heard too many times in the past—before his regression, before betrayal had torn through him like a jagged blade.
He clenched his jaw, pushing back the memories that threatened to suffocate him. Now wasn't the time. He needed to act.
"Claire," he said again, louder this time, the word edged with urgency. He saw her pause, if only for a fraction of a second, as if weighing his voice against the adrenaline thrumming in her veins. But she didn't stop, didn't hesitate as she swung at another enemy, sending him skidding across the frozen ground.
The attackers left standing began to pull back, retreating with wild eyes. One of them, younger than the rest, looked at Claire as if she were a monster pulled from the pages of a nightmare. He fumbled, tripping over his own feet, the white flag they had raised moments ago now lost in the blood-streaked snow.
"Get inside," Daniel snapped at the group seeking refuge. His fingers itched against the cold metal of the controls, the tension coiling tighter in his chest. The strangers obeyed, eyes wide as they stumbled through the gate, casting wary glances at Claire's lethal form.
The radio crackled again, and a voice, smoother and more composed, spoke through it. "Hold your ground. Reinforcements en route."
Daniel's eyes met Claire's across the snowy expanse, the battle-smeared white between them like a line drawn in the sand. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the air thick with anticipation.
"They're coming," he whispered, the words meant only for himself, a reminder and a warning.
Claire nodded, a fierce gleam in her eyes, lips curling into a smile that was equal parts defiance and bloodlust. The message was clear: Let them come.