A fierce yell echoed through the ruined room as a woman sprinted toward a figure cloaked in black, his face obscured by shadows. With a burst of agility, she ran up the wall, her hand darting to her thigh to draw a sleek pistol. Performing a graceful flip in mid-air, she fired a series of bullets at the figure below.
The bullets whizzed through the air, but the man moved just enough to dodge each one with unnerving precision. Landing elegantly on her feet, the woman drew a glowing blue whip, its light illuminating her determined expression.
"You won't escape this time!" she shouted, her voice filled with frustration and resolve.
As she swung the whip, the man leapt into the air, effortlessly avoiding the strike. Her eyes widened in frustration as he dodged with ease.
"There's no doubt now," she growled, "you are the Forgotten Hero!"
The man finally spoke, his voice crackling with a hunger for combat. "You think you can take me down? Bring it on! None of you assassins are worthy opponents."
In a blur, he vanished, reappearing by her side. "Life and death? They're just another battleground," he whispered, his breath cold against her ear. The woman felt as if her body was glued to the ground, immobilized by his presence.
With a swift motion, the man swung his fist. As it made contact with her cheek, she felt the intense force through her mandible and zygomatic bones, the sharp cracking sound like an X-ray image in her mind, showing bones shattering and teeth scattering. She was sent skidding across the floor, pain coursing through her body.
Raising her head, she saw him approach, his black cloak billowing and a ninja's mask concealing his face. He looked like death itself, walking in human form.
He knelt down, whispering something ominous in her ear. Outside, knights yelled to one another, demanding the man surrender. As they closed in, a massive explosion erupted, a purple hue glowing in the distance.
From a nearby window, a female figure watched the chaos unfold. She smirked, "Let the chase begin."
In the midst of the chaos, as purple flames swirled around him, the black-clad figure flew upward with incredible speed, reaching high above. He let himself fall back down, his coat billowing even more dramatically. Pulling down his mask, he spoke with a voice that sent chills through the air.
"Hunters, hunted, nobles, bandits, assassins... it doesn't matter who you are. Face me, and you face death itself," he declared, a wild, eager gleam in his eyes.
As he plummeted back towards the ground, he stopped mid-air, suspended against the backdrop of the night sky. His gaze fixed on the full moon that bathed the ruins in a ghostly light. His voice, cold and chilling, echoed through the silent night, "The moon, ever watchful, sees all. It stands as a silent witness to the endless dance of life and death, hunter and prey."
The knights below watched, their eyes wide with confusion and fear. Just as suddenly as he had stopped, the man began to dissolve into the air, his form turning into nothingness.
"To those who hunt," he continued, his voice lingering even as his body disappeared, "know that you are hunted as well. The moon bears witness to our ceaseless chase."
The knights stood there, bewildered by what had just transpired, their calls for surrender lost in the aftermath of the eerie disappearance.
In the dimly lit bar, an ordinary man with unremarkable features—dark hair, average build, and plain clothes—moved deftly between tables, serving drinks to the rowdy patrons. He approached a group of men animatedly discussing a certain noblewoman.
"Did you hear about Lady Seraphina?" one of the men exclaimed. "They say she once single-handedly fought off a dragon while balancing on a tightrope strung between two cliffs. And all without spilling a drop of her wine!"
The men erupted into laughter at the absurd tale. The server, a young man named Arin, placed their drinks on the table with a polite nod before turning to take another order.
Suddenly, the door banged open with a loud crash, silencing the bar. A massive man, accompanied by a group of intimidating, strange-looking men, stomped in. Arin let out a weary sigh as the giant of a man bellowed, "I need twelve mugs of your strongest ale, now!"
A girl standing next to Arin whispered urgently, "It's your turn. Be careful."
Arin nodded, gathering the drinks. Struggling under the weight, he made his way to the large group's table. As he tried to serve them, some ale splashed over the edge of the mugs.
"I'm sorry," Arin said quickly.
One of the men growled, "You dare disrespect our leader by spilling his drink?"
"It was an accident," Arin replied, trying to explain. "You see, when you carry so many mugs, sometimes the liquid moves and—"
"Accident? Disrespect! You spilled it on purpose!" the man snapped, his face contorted with anger. "You think you can just go around spilling drinks and not face the consequences?"
"No, really," Arin insisted, sounding almost ridiculous in his earnestness. "It's like, the mugs are heavy, and the ale is sloshy, and sometimes it just... spills. It's not disrespect, it's just physics."
"Physics? What are you talking about? You think you're smart or something?" the man retorted, clearly not understanding or caring about Arin's explanation. "An accident, my foot. You're just making excuses!"
In his frustration, the man punched Arin squarely in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood trickled from Arin's lip as he bent his head, muttering, "I'm sorry."