A/N: The rest will be dealt later, im starting to have amnesia and I didn't want to make it to dementia? Heck even typing is getting sluggish for not tapping at the right letters. I don't know, i think it's starting again and just comment if there are errors or anything, also enjoy reading the chapters.
Xian gritted his teeth, weaving the motorcycle through the maze of the city's narrow streets. His eyes darted between the road ahead and the flashes of arrows streaking through the air behind him. Each turn, each corner he took was a desperate attempt to shake off the relentless pursuit.
Another arrow whizzed past, narrowly missing him and embedding itself in a nearby lamp post. He cursed under his breath. These guys aren't amateurs.
Behind him, the cloaked figures kept pace, their frustration palpable as they exchanged heated complaints.
"How the hell is he still alive?!" one of them snapped, his voice sharp with irritation.
"You tell me!" another shot back. "Maybe you should actually hit something for once!"
Xian caught fragments of their argument over the roar of the motorcycle's engine. His lips curled into a smirk beneath his mask as he shouted over his shoulder, "Why don't you try aiming where I am, not where I was? Might help, you know!"
The taunt earned him another volley of arrows, each shot more erratic than the last. He swerved hard to avoid one aimed directly at his front tire, his heart pounding as he narrowly avoided skidding out of control.
"Shut up and shoot him!" one of the pursuers barked. Another growled in response, muttering something about how the person they were chasing should just shut up and die already.
Xian was about to shout back, but a sharp glint in the corner of his eye made him snap his head to the side. Another arrow, this one aimed squarely for his head, streaked toward him. His body moved on instinct, ducking just in time to let the projectile sail harmlessly overhead.
"That's it," Xian muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling over. If they want a fight, I'll give them one.
Still speeding through the streets, he reached beneath his black jacket, pulling out his trusted silver revolver. But even as his fingers wrapped around the familiar grip, he knew the weapon in its current state wasn't enough. These guys were armored, and their skills weren't ordinary. He needed something stronger—something they wouldn't see coming.
With a surge of desperation, Xian's mind raced, his power flaring as he modified the revolver on the fly. His hands worked quickly, reshaping and enhancing the weapon even as he steered the motorcycle with his knees. Metal shifted, parts clicked into place, and with each adjustment, the revolver transformed. When he was done, it resembled something far beyond its original design—a sleek, advanced weapon reminiscent of a Sankta firearm.
The moment the revolver finished reshaping, Xian grinned under his mask. "Let's see how you like this," he muttered, steadying himself. With his left hand gripping the handlebars, he raised the modified revolver with his right, aiming over his shoulder. The bike wobbled slightly as he adjusted, but he quickly found his balance.
He fired.
The crack of the shot echoed through the streets, startling his pursuers. One of the bullets struck its mark, piercing through the thick armor hidden beneath the cloak of one of the chasers. The man stumbled, a pained grunt escaping his lips as he clutched his side.
"What the—?!" one of the others shouted, his voice tinged with shock. "That's— That's a Sankta gun!"
"Impossible!" another exclaimed. "How does he have something like that?!"
Their confusion was evident, but Xian didn't give them a chance to recover. He fired again, forcing them to scatter as the bullets whizzed dangerously close.
"Aw, what's the matter?" Xian taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as he swerved down another alley. "Not so fun when the other guy fights back, huh?"
The cloaked figures shouted at one another, their frustration mounting as they tried to dodge the bullets while keeping up the chase. But Xian was relentless, alternating between evasion and firing back. His precision was far from perfect—he was still driving, after all—but it was enough to keep them on their toes.
By the time Xian reached the outskirts of the slums, his pursuers had grown visibly more cautious. Their movements were slower, their formation less organized. It was clear they hadn't anticipated this kind of resistance.
Xian let out a shaky breath as he sped through the ramshackle alleys, the crumbling buildings and narrow pathways offering some semblance of cover. He knew the terrain here would give him an edge, but he couldn't let his guard down.
They're still out there, he reminded himself, glancing over his shoulder. His modified revolver glinted in the dim light, a stark reminder of the battle he'd just fought—and the one still to come.
Xian's grip tightened on the handlebars as he navigated through the narrow streets of the slums. The dilapidated buildings around him offered little cover, and the sound of his engine echoed like a beacon, making it impossible to disappear entirely. His mind raced, trying to predict his pursuers' moves.
As he glanced over his shoulder, he noticed their formation had shifted. They weren't just chasing him anymore—they were strategically spreading out, cutting off potential escape routes. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed his fist against the handlebars.
"Damn it, Ch'en! Pick up already!" he muttered, trying the call again but receiving nothing but silence. His jaw clenched. "What the hell is going on?!"
The streets grew quieter, save for the faint sound of his engine and the soft hum of something unnatural. Looking up, Xian's eyes widened as he saw the cloaked figures leaping across rooftops with eerie precision. Some of them raised their hands, and shimmering barriers of light materialized, blocking off paths ahead.
"You've got to be kidding me," Xian hissed. He turned sharply, heading toward another route, only to find it sealed by another barrier. His escape options were dwindling rapidly.
One of the cloaked figures landed on a nearby rooftop, laughing mockingly. "Run all you want," the voice called out, dripping with condescension. "There's nowhere left to go."
Xian glared up at him, his chest heaving with frustration. "Who the hell are you people?! What do you want from me?!"
The figure didn't answer immediately, simply laughing again as more of his comrades appeared, surrounding Xian from above. Another voice chimed in, "Why ask questions to someone who's about to die?"
Xian scowled, pulling his bike to a halt. His eyes darted between the barriers and the assailants, searching for any weakness. Think, Xian. There's got to be a way out of this.
One of the figures jumped down, landing with a heavy thud. As he approached, the faint glimmer of armor peeked out from beneath his cloak. He chuckled darkly, stepping closer. "You don't recognize this, do you?" he taunted, gesturing to the armored plating on his body.
Xian's brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. The others joined in, pulling back their hoods and lowering their cloaks to reveal similar armor. The leader smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Take a good look, Xian. This is your handiwork."
The words hit Xian like a freight train. His eyes widened in disbelief, scanning the intricate designs of their armor. Recognition flooded in, and his stomach sank. He did know it—every line, every plate, every curve. It was unmistakably based on a set of blueprints he had drawn during his quiet nights in Chernobog.
"No way..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind reeled, struggling to comprehend how these strangers had gotten their hands on his work.
Another of the attackers laughed, stepping forward. "Looks familiar, doesn't it? Though I must admit, we've made a few... adjustments. Your design wasn't perfect, but it was good enough."
Xian's shock quickly morphed into anger. "You... you stole this from me!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the alley. His fists clenched around the handlebars, and his eyes burned with fury.
The leader shrugged nonchalantly. "Stole? We prefer the term 'repurposed.' Besides, you should be flattered. Your little doodles have come to life."
But Xian wasn't flattered. His mind raced with concern, not just for what they had done but for what they could do. He knew the potential of those designs better than anyone—the destructive power they could unleash if perfected. Thankfully, these were lesser versions, downgrades of what he had envisioned. Still, even a flawed version could wreak havoc in the wrong hands.
His thoughts were interrupted as one of the assailants lunged at him. Xian barely had time to react, jerking the bike to the side to avoid the incoming attack. The armored figure's speed was staggering, a clear testament to the enhancements of the stolen designs.
"Stay focused," Xian muttered to himself, steadying the bike. Another attacker darted toward him, their movements almost too fast to track. Xian twisted the throttle, propelling himself forward, narrowly dodging a swipe aimed at his back.
As the realization of their speed and agility sank in, Xian's anger intensified. He couldn't let these knockoffs get the better of him. "You think a cheap copy will beat the original?!" he shouted, firing a shot from his modified revolver. The bullet missed its mark, but the shockwave forced one of the attackers to stumble back.
The leader sneered, clearly unimpressed. "Cheap copy? We'll see about that."
Xian gritted his teeth. He had to come up with a plan—and fast.
The relentless sound of metal clashing against pavement and the sharp cracks of Xian's gunfire echoed through the narrow alleyways. Xian was a blur of motion, evading attacks with a mix of honed reflexes and sheer desperation. His modified revolver barked repeatedly, each shot forcing his attackers to stay cautious. Yet, they adapted quickly, their armored suits granting them speed and agility that matched, if not exceeded, his own.
Xian gritted his teeth as he darted around his foes, employing the swordsmanship techniques he had refined over time. Every swing and shot of his weapon was calculated, blending fluidity with precision. He used the blade's edge to parry an incoming blow and followed up with a quick shot aimed at another assailant's knee. Despite the unorthodox combination of gun and blade, it worked for a while, forcing the attackers to keep their distance.
But his advantage was short-lived.
A sudden, powerful impact rocked his motorcycle, throwing him off balance. Xian gasped as the bike wobbled violently before a heavy projectile smashed into its side, sending him skidding across the ground. Sparks flew as the motorcycle collapsed in a heap, leaving him exposed.
"Damn it!" he cursed, rolling to his feet just in time to dodge another attack. The cloaked figures laughed, their mockery cutting through the tension like a knife.
"Look at you now," one of them sneered. "The great creator, brought to his knees."
Xian's frustration bubbled over, but he didn't let their words shake him. "You think this is over?" he shot back, his voice laced with defiance. "You're all just idiots in fancy suits."
The taunt hit its mark. One of the attackers snarled, their composure cracking. "Dead or alive, it doesn't matter," they growled. "We'll get what we need either way."
The group began to move in unison, their suits humming ominously as they activated additional capabilities. Blades of pure energy extended from their arms, and a barrage of projectiles shot out, forcing Xian into a defensive retreat. He dodged, countered, and dodged again, but the relentless attacks left him little room to breathe.
"Fine," Xian muttered under his breath. "If you want to play dirty, then so will I."
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out another firearm—a sleek pistol he had acquired during a tournament. Without hesitation, he began modifying it mid-fight, his hands a blur as he forced it to evolve into a weapon far beyond its original design. The moment he fired, the result was undeniable—a shockwave erupted from the barrel, forcing two attackers to stumble back.
The leader's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that?" he muttered, clearly taken aback.
One of the other attackers answered, awe evident in their voice. "It's not an Arts weapon… but it feels just as powerful."
Xian scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Arts? Please. You wouldn't understand even if I explained it."
While the assailants hesitated, Xian formulated a strategy. He analyzed the environment, searching for anything he could use to gain an advantage. The fight was growing increasingly desperate, and the odds weren't in his favor. His mind raced, calculating possibilities and risks.
But his thoughts faltered for a split second—just long enough for one of his enemies to exploit the opening. A heavy kick slammed into his left shoulder, sending him flying backward. Xian grunted in pain as his body collided with a wall, the impact leaving cracks in the stone.
The alley was alive with chaos. The mocking laughter of Xian's enemies filled the air as they circled him like predators toying with their prey. Yet, amidst their taunts, Xian did the unexpected—he began to laugh.
It wasn't a chuckle or even a sarcastic sneer; it was a howling, broken laugh, tinged with an eerie edge that sent a chill through his attackers. His head tilted slightly, shadows from the dim streetlights casting sharp angles across his face.
"What's so funny?" one of the cloaked figures growled, unease creeping into his voice.
Xian's laughter tapered off, leaving a haunting grin. "I see it now," he said, his tone low and ominous. His gaze sharpened, his eyes practically glowing with determination.
The enemies exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of his sudden shift. "He's bluffing," one muttered. "Take him down!"
At the back of the group, one of them unleashed a barrage of shimmering black arrows, each one humming with ominous energy as they streaked toward Xian.
But this time, Xian was ready. With fluid precision, he fired his revolver, each bullet intercepting an arrow mid-flight. The air crackled as the projectiles collided, dissipating in bursts of light.
"What the—" one of the enemies started, but Xian didn't give them a chance to finish.
He moved like a shadow, dashing through the chaos with unparalleled speed. His appraisal skill had evolved in the heat of the moment, and now he could see their weaknesses as though they were highlighted in red. Tendons, joints, exposed gaps in their armor—every vulnerability stood out like a beacon.
One attacker lunged with a vertical slash, the blade cutting through the air toward Xian's head. He sidestepped effortlessly, his movements smooth and calculated. Before the attacker could recover, Xian's gun was already aimed. The shot struck the precise joint where their armor plates connected, forcing the assailant to stumble back in pain.
Another enemy charged from the left, swinging a dagger in a deadly arc. Xian flipped to the side, evading the strike, then countered with a rapid series of shots aimed at their legs, forcing them to the ground.
The archer in the back loosed another wave of arrows, each one shimmering brighter than the last. This time, Xian leapt into the air, twisting mid-flight as he fired downward at the advancing enemies. Two of them raised their blades to block, but the sheer precision of his shots left them scrambling to keep up.
One enemy swung a sword at him mid-air, aiming to intercept his landing. Xian crossed both his guns in front of him, catching the blade between them. Sparks flew as the weapons locked, and Xian used the momentum to spin, breaking free and landing with a graceful roll.
The battle spilled into the surrounding environment. Xian used every element of the terrain to his advantage—diving behind walls, leaping over crates, and using the dim lighting to create ambush points.
At one moment, he darted into a decrepit building, forcing the attackers to follow. Inside, Xian used the narrow corridors to limit their movement, setting traps by kicking debris into their paths and firing precise shots to shatter unstable beams, causing parts of the ceiling to collapse and separate them.
One of the enemies snarled as they charged through the dust-filled air, their sword gleaming in the dim light. Xian waited until they were close before he sidestepped, kicked off the wall for added momentum, and slammed the butt of his revolver into the back of their head, sending them sprawling.
Another came at him with a pair of daggers, slashing rapidly. Xian ducked and weaved through the flurry of attacks, then used a toppled table as a springboard to flip over his opponent. Mid-flip, he fired downwards, striking their shoulder and forcing them to drop one of their weapons.
The battle was relentless, the air thick with tension and the sound of clashing metal. Xian's movements were a mix of precision and creativity, his unorthodox fighting style keeping the enemies off-balance. His laughter echoed again, this time filled with the thrill of the fight.
"You're persistent," he called out, his voice taunting. "But persistence won't save you from your own stupidity."
The leader growled, clearly furious. "Stop playing games and take him down!"
Xian grinned as he darted to the upper levels of the building, his mind racing with strategies. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever, but as long as he had the environment to exploit and his wits about him, he wasn't going down without a fight.