Thomas and the dark haired girl sprinted through the halls of the Stager building, the ground beneath them trembling with each step of the monstrous lion-like creature hot on their heels. Its massive form bulldozed through desks and shattered walls as if they were made of paper, its eyes locked on its fleeing prey.
Thomas: How is this thing so fast?!
Dark Haired Girl: Could you shut up for one second and let me think!
The creature let out a deafening roar and pounced, its massive jaws opening wide to snatch her from the ground. But just before the beast's teeth could close in, the fashionable teen's eyes flashed green.
In an instant, her body flickered and she reappeared behind the beast, her Reversion ability activating just in time. The creature slammed into the floor where she had been, its jaws snapping shut with a loud crack.
Thomas, noticing the girl's sudden change in position, didn't hesitate. He ran toward the beast as it shook off the impact, leaping into the air and driving his sword toward its mouth. The blade pierced through the roof of its mouth, but the force of the stab lodged the weapon firmly in the creature's maw.
The beast reared back, shaking its massive head violently and roaring in pain. Thomas gritted his teeth and tried to wrench the sword free, but it was stuck fast. With a final furious shake, the creature flung Thomas to the ground like a doll.
He crashed hard, his body hitting the floor with a thud. His sword remained lodged in the beast's mouth.
Thomas gasped, winded and dazed from the fall. He struggled to push himself up, his body protesting with every movement.
The beast's attention locked onto him, its powerful legs tensing, preparing to pounce again. But before it could launch forward, the girl appeared from behind with a wide swing of her staff, catching the creature by surprise.
The wooden staff cracked against the beast's side, a shockwave of force rippling through its body. The blow was much stronger than expected, causing the creature to stumble.
Thomas coughed, getting back on his feet as he took a moment to catch his breath.
She's buying me some time… need a plan
His mind raced as he watched his former opponent skillfully evade the beast's relentless strikes, using her Reversion to appear behind it at every opportunity. But he could tell she was tiring, her movements slowing with each dodge.
His mind went back to the blueprints he had seen momentarily while with Claire. He just needed something, anything, to stop this thing.
And then he had it.
Thomas: Oi, over here!
The beast growled, its attention snapping back to Thomas, as if it understood his challenge. It lunged toward him, its eyes burning with rage, but Thomas stood his ground, his fists clenched.
With a determined shout, Thomas ran directly at the beast. As it reared back to bite, he jumped forward and punched it square in the nose with all his might. The attack didn't do much damage, but the beast recoiled, confused by the sudden strike.
It was enough for Thomas to reach up and grab the hilt of his sword, still stuck in its mouth. With a quick yank, he ripped the blade free, but the weapon snapped in half, leaving him with only a shard of the original blade.
Thomas didn't waste any time. He bolted down the hallway, Grace falling in step beside him.
Dark Haired Girl: You got a plan?
Thomas: Hardly.
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the shattered blade in Thomas's hand.
Dark Haired Girl: Hardly isn't very reassuring.
Thomas: Well if you've got anything.
She rolled her eyes but finally nodded.
The two raced down the final corridor, the beast crashing through the walls behind them. It was relentless, tearing through anything in its path, its fury unyielding.
As they reached the glass-walled end of the hallway, Thomas and the dark haired girl flattened themselves against the wall, their backs pressed to the cool glass. The beast rounded the corner and barreled toward them, its jaws open wide, teeth gleaming, ready to rip them apart.
In the blink of an eye, the dark haired teen activated Reversion, her body flickering out of sight just as the beast lunged. At the same moment, Thomas kicked off of the glass, twisting his body as he aimed for the beast's head. With a powerful thrust, he drove the broken sword straight through the creature's skull.
The beast let out a deafening roar as its momentum carried it forward. It crashed into the glass wall with a thunderous impact, shattering the glass into a million shards. The beast, along with the rest of Thomas's sword, tumbled out of the building and onto the grassy landscape outside.
For a moment, everything was still. Then Thomas staggered back, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked out the shattered window at the lifeless form of the creature below.
The dark haired girl, reappeared beside him, leaning on her staff. Her eyes widened with disbelief.
Dark Haired Girl: You're insane.
Thomas chuckled weakly, wiping sweat from his brow.
Thomas: Yeah.
He heard a faint chuckle behind him, light and unexpected. The girl stood at the edge of the shattered glass, a small smile playing on her lips. She raised her hand to her mouth, as though to stifle her amusement, covering it with a fake cough.
Thomas, still trying to steady his breath from the wild fight, couldn't help but smile back at her.
But the moment was short-lived.
The girl's smile evaporated in an instant, her eyes darting toward Thomas. He barely registered the shift in her expression before she bolted at him with alarming speed. He had no time to process it. Before he knew it, she had slammed into him, knocking the wind out of him as they both hit the ground.
Thomas: What the hell—
Thomas started, ready to push her off, assuming she was attacking him. But then he heard it—a sharp, metallic rattle followed by a barrage of bullets whizzing through the air. The gunfire echoed off the office walls as bullets tore through the space where he had been standing only moments earlier.
His body instinctively tensed as he heard the glass shatter even further, the spray of bullets ricocheting off the broken window frame.
The dark haired girl lay firmly on his chest, her weight pressing him down, preventing him from making any sudden moves. He felt her breath quicken against him, but she remained calm.
For what felt like an eternity, the room was filled with the staccato of gunfire, bullets embedding themselves into the walls, furniture, and ceiling.
Finally, the shooting ceased. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the distant sounds of reloading guns and the faint shuffling of feet outside. Thomas's heart pounded in his chest, his mind still reeling from the sudden attack.
The girl, still on top of him, slowly lifted her head, listening carefully to the voices now coming from outside the building. Her body was tense, her eyes sharp and focused.
Dark Haired Girl: They're still out there.
She whispered, her breath warm against his face.
Thomas nodded, trying to suppress the urge to move too quickly. The weight of her body against his, combined with the adrenaline still surging through him, made it difficult to think straight.
She shifted her weight and carefully slid off him, grabbing his arm as she did so. She pulled him up with her, the two of them crawling low to the ground to avoid being seen. Shards of broken glass crunched beneath their hands and knees as they maneuvered away from the opening.
They kept their bodies low, sliding behind what was left of the office's shattered desks and turning a corner to escape the line of sight of the shooters outside.
Thomas, still trying to regain his composure, felt the ache in his muscles from the battle, his body screaming in protest.
Once they were a safe distance away from the broken window, the dark haired girl finally stood, pulling Thomas up with her. They moved quickly through the corridors, ducking into whatever cover they could find as they navigated the maze of hallways.
She turned to him, her brow furrowed with frustration.
Dark Haired Girl: What the hell is going on?!
Thomas wiped the sweat from his forehead, his mind still reeling from the gunfire and the attack.
Thomas: It's them… it's the same ones who came after me and Claire at the manor. Of course, it had to be them. Why wouldn't it be?
Dark Haired Girl: Them? Who the hell are they, and why are they after you?
Thomas didn't answer immediately. He didn't have a solid explanation, only the pieces he had been able to gather. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, they rounded a corner—and ran straight into Claire and the old asian man.
Both Claire and the older warrior were running as well, their expressions grim. The old man's sword was still drawn, bloodstained from whatever battle he had just fought. Claire looked exhausted but focused, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the young girl and Thomas.
For a moment, there was an uneasy silence as the four of them stood in the middle of the hallway, their chests heaving, the tension in the air thick as they tried to assess what was happening. The muffled voices of the attackers outside seemed to fade in the background, leaving the sudden collision between the former enemies the only thing that mattered.
Claire broke the silence.
Claire: Where are you two coming from?
Thomas glanced at the dark haired girl, then back at Claire, still trying to catch his breath.
Thomas: We were fighting this… this giant lion-like beast, and it had these massive spikes all over its back—it was already a nightmare! And then—then out of nowhere, they started shooting at us! From outside! Bullets flying everywhere! What were we even supposed to do?!
He spoke frantically, his words stumbling over each other as he tried to explain the chaos they'd just escaped. The old man, observing Thomas's ragged state, raised a hand.
Old Man: Relax, boy. Take a breath.
Thomas took a step back, his breathing still uneven. He eyed the man with caution, clearly still not trusting him. His chest tightened as he processed the man's calm demeanor despite the carnage around them.
Claire folded her arms, her sharp gaze shifting between them.
Claire: The organization that took Mason... they're the ones behind this. Sent the beasts, and now they've got the building surrounded.
Thomas's brow furrowed, frustration clear on his face.
Thomas: Why would they show up here, in broad daylight no less?
The old man, always calm and measured, responded.
Old Man: Keh… they've got intel, no doubt. Wouldn't stick their necks out unless they knew something big was here.
He took a moment, then decided it was time to properly introduce himself. He sheathed his katana before speaking.
Old Man: I suppose now's as good a time as any for introductions. I am Kazuki Matsushita, and this is my apprentice, Grace.
The young girl, Grace immediately bristled at the mention of her name.
Grace: Sir, are you seriously just gonna—
Kazuki interrupted her with a raised hand, his expression firm but not unkind.
Kazuki: Keh, we'll have to trust each other if we wanna get outta this mess. Who we are don't mean a damn thing next to the threat we're staring down.
Grace grumbled but didn't argue further, knowing he was right. Kazuki shifted his gaze back to Thomas and Claire.
Claire crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as she stepped forward.
Claire: Claire. Just Claire.
She glanced at Thomas, clearly signaling him to follow suit.
Thomas scratched the back of his head, offering a lopsided grin despite the tension hanging in the air.
Thomas: Thomas Martin. Nice to meet you two, I guess. Though, uh, the circumstances could be better.
Kazuki gave them a sharp nod, his eyes narrowing as he quickly assessed them both.
Kazuki: The group responsible for this attack's Obsidian I'd bet. Nah, I'm certain of it. I'd wager they're the ones behind those Astral Beasts too.
Thomas frowned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between Grace and Kazuki. He tilted his head slightly.
Thomas: Obsidian, huh? So they're the ones behind this whole mess? Makes sense, I guess. They've got the evil-sounding name and everything. And those two astral… whatever-they-were… they sent those, too?
Kazuki nodded solemnly, his gaze sharp.
Thomas put a hand to his chin, his brow furrowing in thought. His voice came out slower, like he was working through a particularly frustrating puzzle.
Thomas: Right… okay. So, I hate to sound like the clueless idiot in the room—although, I guess I am the clueless idiot in the room—but what exactly is Obsidian? And… um… what's an Astral, anyway? Sorry, I probably should've asked this earlier. Forgive my ignorance.
He gave them a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head like he'd just tripped over his own feet in front of a crowd. Kazuki opened his mouth to respond, but Grace stepped forward, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of irritation and disbelief.
Her tone was sharp, like she couldn't believe she had to explain something so obvious.
Grace: An astral is a creature that can possess a body, granting said body the abilities of said astral. It's hard to explain to a normal boy but think of it like this—Astrals are powerful, but they can't interact with the physical world unless they have a host. Got it?
She folded her arms.
Grace: Kazuki and I are Astral users too. Kazuki has an Astral dealing with soul, and I possess an Astral dealing with regression. That's the basics of it anyway.
She narrowed her eyes, clearly expecting Thomas to doubt her, to scoff, or at least second-guess her explanation. But Thomas simply nodded, his expression earnest.
Thomas: Oh, okay. Got it. That actually makes a lot of sense. So, they're like... spiritual roommates? You're stuck sharing a body with them because they need a place to crash. Yeah, I can follow that.
Grace blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. What kind of person could take that information at face value, let alone with such casual acceptance. For a brief second, her composure cracked, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to formulate a response.
Kazuki stepped in, taking over the explanation with a calm authority.
Kazuki: Years back, I was more of an adventurer, you could say. Me and the little miss here—we went everywhere, following trails, seeing the world for what it was. But when you're an Astral user, there's only one place all roads lead to in the end—Obsidian. No matter what path you take, it always circles back to them
Kazuki's eyes hardened, and his gaze drifted, as if recalling a scene far from the present.
Kazuki: Obsidian ain't just some organization. Their resources? Endless. Their power? Unmatched. They know more about Astrals than we could even dream of understanding. We didn't stand a chance. No glory, no last stand—just a straight-up, crushing defeat.
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound empty and hollow.
Kazuki: Kakaka! And that's how we ended up here, guarding Harrison Stager.
His lips curled into a bitter smile, but there was no humor in it.
Kazuki: What I don't get is… why Stager? Why the hell would Obsidian care enough about him to stick Astral users like us on protection duty? It never added up. And now...
His gaze darkened, his voice dropping lower.
Kazuki: Now it makes even less sense. Why would Obsidian hit the building of the guy they hired us to protect? They cutting their losses? Nah it's gotta be something else.
Kazuki's eyes sharpened, a flicker of anger and unease crossing his face.
Claire, who had been listening intently, interjected, her tone clipped and focused.
Claire: Obsidian's moves make it clear. Their target isn't just the building... they're most likely after Margarett and Stager as well, based on whatever info they might have on their organization.
Thomas's face tightened with regret. He looked down, his fists clenching.
Thomas: Margarett's… she's already dead. She was eaten by that... thing. The beast got her before I could do anything.
The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of Thomas's words settling over them like a shroud.
Without saying a word, Thomas turned to Claire, and Claire looked back at him, staring into his dark eyes.
When your idealism breaks—and it will break—I'll do what needs to be done. Understand?
That understanding passed over both of them at that instant. Now it was time to do things Claire's way.
Claire: Then our informant is gone. But Stager might still be alive.
She turned sharply to Grace and Thomas.
Claire: You two—go find Stager. Get him out of here, take the emergency stairwell, and sneak him out before Obsidian finds him.
As Claire opened her mouth, ready to relay critical instructions to Kazuki, a sudden, thunderous explosion ripped through the wall beside them, sending chunks of concrete and twisted metal spiraling into the room. Dust and debris filled the air, and the shockwave threw Claire and Thomas off balance, forcing them to shield their faces from the jagged fragments raining down.
Through the haze, a massive figure emerged. He was clad in dark, heavily reinforced armor. At his side, a long, black katana hummed with an eerie energy, casting a shadow across the room as he stepped forward. The man's mere presence seemed to drain the air, filling the space with an oppressive weight.
???: Found ya, Kazuki!
Kazuki's head snapped up, his eyes widening for a split second—a flash of recognition and dread. Before anyone could react, the armored man lunged forward, his katana slicing through the air with unnatural speed.
Instinct kicked in. Kazuki unsheathed his own katana, intercepting the blow just in time.
The clash was explosive. Sparks burst from the collision, lighting up the room as metal ground against metal. The impact sent a shockwave through the space, scattering furniture and glass everywhere.
Kazuki's feet slid across the floor as he struggled to hold his ground, his arms trembling under the relentless pressure.
With a final, crushing push, the armored man drove Kazuki back, sending both of them crashing through the outer wall. They vanished into the open sky, surrounded by shattered concrete and twisted metal.
For a heartbeat, silence hung over the room, the dust settling in their wake.
Suddenly, Grace let out a loud gasp, her eyes wide with panic as she watched her mentor disappear through the gaping hole in the wall.
Grace: Kazuki!
Without a second thought, Grace ignored Claire's protests and leaped through the hole in the wall, chasing after him.
Claire, her face a mask of frustration, finally gave up on stopping her.
Claire: Forget her Thomas. Focus on Stager.
Thomas looked at her, still reeling from the chaos that had just unfolded.
Thomas: Alone? What about you? Where the hell are you going?
Claire turned back, a small, almost reckless smile on her face.
Claire: Me? I'm going straight through the front door.
And with that, Claire turned on her heel, moving swiftly through the corridor as gunfire erupted once more, echoing through the office as if to herald the next storm to come.
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Thomas was tired. He was tired of running, he was tired of fighting, and most of all he was tired of getting his ass handed to him.
The further he went, the more his muscles ached from the relentless pace, but he didn't dare slow down. They didn't have time.
As he rounded a corner, Thomas skidded to a halt and pressed himself flat against the wall. His heart raced as he peeked around the edge. Several men in black suits roamed the floor, their faces obscured by sleek black masks, each carrying a pistol. They moved methodically, scanning every room, checking every corner.
Thomas slowed his breathing, forcing himself to think. His hand instinctively reached for the sword that wasn't there, reminding him of his lack of weapons. He cursed under his breath, knowing he'd have to improvise. His eyes narrowed as one of the masked men drew closer, his footsteps slow and cautious.
Now or never.
Thomas waited until the man was just close enough before he acted. In a swift motion, praying he wouldn't mess it up, Thomas grabbed the man from behind, covering his mouth with one hand while kicking out his leg.
The man grunted as his leg snapped under the force, collapsing into Thomas's grip. Without hesitation, Thomas took the man's pistol and, gritting his teeth, fired one shot into the man's abdomen. The muffled shot echoed through the hallway, and Thomas shoved the man's limp body to the ground.
I hope that didn't kill him... but I don't have time to think about it now.
Thomas glanced at the pistol in his hand. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, and awkward. He was no marksman—he'd always been a terrible shot, even during training. Still, it was the only weapon he had.
Hearing more footsteps approaching, Thomas raised the gun, aiming for the other masked men further down the hallway. His first shot missed, whizzing past one of the men and embedding itself into the wall. He cursed under his breath, squeezing the trigger again, but his aim was erratic. The men noticed the shots, immediately reacting with a barrage of gunfire in his direction.
This isn't working.
Panicked, Thomas bolted down another hallway, weaving between rooms as bullets whizzed past his head. He ducked into a side room, closing the door softly behind him. He scanned the area quickly, noting a strategic hiding spot behind a row of filing cabinets where he could ambush anyone who came through the door.
Seconds later, one of the masked men entered, his gun raised. Thomas didn't hesitate. He aimed carefully this time, waiting until the man was directly in front of him before pulling the trigger. The shot landed clean, taking the man down. Thomas exhaled sharply, moving to reposition himself as more footsteps approached.
The second man burst through the door, gun blazing. Thomas ducked behind a desk, feeling the bullets tear through the wood just inches above his head. He fired back blindly, trying to keep them at bay. The men were becoming cautious now, their movements more careful as they attempted to flank him.
Thomas grabbed the body of the first man he'd shot, using it as a makeshift shield as he bolted through the room. More gunfire erupted, bullets thudding into the corpse as he sprinted down another hallway, still clutching the stolen pistol.
These guys are even worse than the ones we fought at Mason's manor.
Thomas's footsteps echoed in the narrow hallways, his breaths shallow and rapid as he darted from one shadow to the next, narrowly avoiding another group of men scouring the building.
His mind reeled, fractured images of what had just happened searing into his thoughts—the look of shock on the guard's face, the way he stumbled, the final, terrible stillness. He was aware, painfully aware, that a man had just died because of him.
More than that—he had killed someone.
Flimsy idealism. That's what Claire had called it. If Thomas' code could be broken so easily, what did that say about him. What did that say about his purpose, the reason he came here. What did that say about…
A wave of nausea clawed up his throat, there was no time to process it. Not with another innocent at risk, not with lives hanging by the thinnest thread. He couldn't afford the luxury of regret or reflection.
But the realization hit him harder with every step: his ideals, the very values he'd clung to so fiercely, were crumbling like sand slipping through his fingers.
He clenched his jaw, the acidic sting of shame burning in his chest.
This wasn't what he wanted. But that man's death, Margarett's death—they weren't just failures. They were consequences, born of his own rigid beliefs. He felt his fingers tremble as he pressed against the wall, steadying himself.
With a final, steadying breath, he forced himself forward. There would be time for regret later—if he made it out alive. For now, all he could do was press on, his old self left behind, shattered and forgotten.
He ducked into yet another room, his eyes scanning quickly for anything useful. Then he spotted it—a pair of shoes sticking out from behind a desk, poorly hidden in a hasty attempt at concealment.
Thomas's eyes narrowed, and he approached the desk cautiously. He crouched low and, in one swift motion, kicked the figure hiding underneath. A man yelped, his head snapping up as he raised his hands in surrender.
Harrison Stager.
Thomas raised his gun, more out of reflex than intent.
Stager: Wait, wait, don't shoot!
Stager's voice wavered, his hands trembling as he peeked up over the desk.
Thomas couldn't help but laugh, lowering the gun slightly.
Thomas: Call this hiding do you?
Stager huffed indignantly, his face twisted into a mix of fear and annoyance.
Stager: What the hell are you doing, barging in like that?! You could have killed me!
Thomas: Yeah, well, if you keep sitting here, someone else definitely will.
He grabbed Stager by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
Thomas: We don't have time for this. You're gonna follow me, got it?
Stager grumbled, clearly not thrilled by the situation.
Stager: I don't need some child dragging me around! Unhand me now, do you have any idea who I am?
Thomas ignored the attitude, pulling Stager toward the door.
Thomas: Less talking, more running.
The two sprinted through the office, weaving through cubicles and stepping over fallen bodies. Thomas peeked around corners, avoiding another group of masked men patrolling the floor. They finally slipped into the stairwell, Thomas pushing the door closed as quietly as possible behind them.
Stager: What on earth is going on? Who's shooting at us?!
Thomas once again ignored Stager's barrage of questions, focusing on his next move. They hurried down the stairwell, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the concrete walls. But just as they rounded the next flight of stairs, Thomas froze. The sound of footsteps echoed from below—multiple voices, getting louder by the second.
More of them. Shit.
Thomas grabbed Stager's arm, pulling him back up the stairs instead.
Thomas: Change of plans. We're heading up.
Stager groaned in frustration, his face red with exertion.
Stager: The roof? Are you insane?!
Thomas shot him a glare, not in the mood for more complaints.
Thomas: Move you bastard.
The two scrambled up the stairs, the climb taking its toll on both of them. Stager wheezed and stumbled, but Thomas dragged him forward, refusing to slow down. Finally, they reached the top, the heavy roof access door looming in front of them. With a grunt, Thomas used his shoulder to shove the door open, the rusted hinges creaking under the pressure.
The cool air of the rooftop hit Thomas's face as he stumbled through the door, falling to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Stager staggered out behind him, still complaining.
But Thomas's breath caught in his throat as he looked up.
Standing in front of them, guns drawn, was another group of men. Their leader, a sharply dressed man with a gleaming watch, his pistol pointed directly at Stager's head. At the sight of Stager bent over standing in fear, completely out of breath, the man quickly peeled back his mask revealing well groomed slicked-back hair and a cold smile stretching across his face.
Stager's face went pale as recognition dawned on him.
Stager: Cromley… ha, this must be a mistake. A misunderstanding. What's going on here?
Cromley's smile didn't waver, his finger steady on the trigger.
Cromley: It's nothing personal Stager my friend. Just bad business.
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Claire hummed a light, almost cheerful tune as she waited inside the cramped elevator. Her sword rested casually against her shoulder, and her eyes flickered down to the unconscious bodies scattered across the elevator floor. She didn't bother looking at their faces—there was no need.
Ding!
The elevator doors slid open with a metallic whir, revealing a scene that would have made any ordinary person's blood run cold. An army of armored soldiers, their guns aimed directly at her, stood waiting on the other side, their faces hidden behind visors. The lobby was beyond packed with more soldiers, a sea of cold, black armor and gleaming weapons.
Claire's smile didn't falter. Without hesitation, she moved.
In a blur of motion, Claire darted forward, slicing through the first wave of soldiers before they even had a chance to react. Blood sprayed as her blade slashed through armor, severing limbs, piercing torsos. The soldiers fell like dominoes, unable to keep up with her speed.
Bullets whizzed past her, but none found their mark. She was too fast, a blur of motion that none of them could touch.
These guys are different than the masked ones upstairs, she noted briefly, but it didn't matter. It never mattered. She'd cut through them all the same.
More soldiers charged at her, their weapons raised, but Claire was already on the move. She leapt over a group of them, landing gracefully on the other side and cutting them down before they could turn. Her smile grew wider as she moved, her body fueled by adrenaline and the thrill of the fight.
But then, a metallic clink caught her attention. Her eyes flicked down to see a grenade rolling to a stop by her feet.
Shit.
Claire sprinted, attempting to dodge the blast, but the explosion went off with a deafening roar. The force of it knocked her sideways, sending her crashing into a nearby pillar. Her body slammed hard against the concrete, and for the first time, she felt pain shoot through her muscles.
No big deal. I've dealt with worse.
She pushed herself up, shaking off the daze from the blast. There were fewer soldiers now inside the lobby, but outside, she could see more of them approaching—an endless tide of reinforcements.
Gotta keep moving.
Claire darted forward again, slicing through more soldiers as they fired at her, avoiding their bullets with ease. This time, she had to dodge not only gunfire but also arrows, grenades, and other projectiles aimed at her. The lobby was turning into a war zone, and she was right in the middle of it.
She stabbed her sword through one soldier, then spun to slice through another. Blood splattered across the floor, staining the once-pristine lobby in a crimson sheen. The sharp sound of her blade cutting through armor echoed in her ears, but she paid no attention to it.
There was no room for mercy, no room for hesitation.
As Claire finished off another wave of soldiers, a faint whizzing sound caught her ear. She glanced up, her expression hardening as she saw it—a rocket, flying straight toward her.
Damn it.
She bolted, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her, leaping into the air in a desperate attempt to avoid the blast. The explosion came just a second later, the force of it slamming into her back and sending her crashing to the ground.
She gritted her teeth, applying energy to protect her vital organs, but the pain still ripped through her body. Her limbs trembled as she pushed herself back to her feet, her chest heaving.
When she looked up, her gaze locked onto a new figure standing at the far end of the lobby.
The soldier was dressed in far heavier armor than the others, his form towering and imposing. In each hand, he held a sword, the blades gleaming ominously. Strapped to his back was a rocket launcher, the one that had nearly taken her out.
He moved toward her slowly, his footsteps echoing through the now almost empty lobby. Claire's eyes narrowed as she steadied herself, gripping her sword tighter.
As the man approached, he chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
Soldier: At last... I finally get to stand face to face with the legendary Lena once again.