The night wrapped the city in a dark and oppressive shroud. The streetlights cast a flickering glow, insufficient to reassure Miria, who was walking briskly. Her long brown hair danced with her hurried movements, and her violet eyes, filled with worry, nervously scanned her surroundings. She was late getting home.
"No choice," she murmured, stepping into a dark tunnel. "It's the fastest way."
Each step echoed in the deserted passage. She clenched her fists to calm the frantic beating of her heart. But halfway through, her instincts screamed at her to turn back. Too late. Three figures emerged from the shadows, blocking her path.
—"So, it's her."
One of the men, tall and muscular, stepped forward. Miria stopped dead in her tracks.
—"What do you want from me?"
she asked, her voice trembling.
The leader of the group, a man with glowing red eyes and a predatory smile, replied in an icy tone:
—"The grimoire. Where is it?"
Miria furrowed her brows, confused.
—"I...I don't know what you're talking about."
The man broke into a sinister grin.
—"You think you can lie to us?
Bad idea."
One of the men behind him chuckled.
—"She's playing innocent. But we know how to handle stubborn girls."
Before she could react, the leader leapt at her. His firm hand gripped her throat with frightening ease and slammed her violently against the wall.
—"I'll ask you one last time. Where is the grimoire?"
Miria gasped, struggling to breathe.
—"I...I don't know!"
she panted desperately.
Irritated, the man tightened his grip. Miria's feet left the ground, and her frantic kicks had no effect. Her vision blurred as she noticed the unnatural fangs of her assailant and the strange glow in his red eyes.
A mechanical roar suddenly tore through the air. A motorcycle surged forward at full speed, knocking down two of the men. The leader, surprised, released his hold, and Miria collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
A man dismounted from the motorcycle and removed his helmet. His long black hair framed a strikingly handsome face, and his dark eyes reflected cold determination.
—"Who are you?!" the leader growled.
The stranger smiled casually.
—"Just a guardian angel."
The leader gritted his teeth in anger and ordered his men to attack. But the stranger, with superhuman agility, dodged them all. His motorcycle rammed one of the attackers, and he took on the others with deadly precision. Within minutes, they were all on the ground, groaning in pain or unable to move.
The man approached Miria, who was struggling to stay conscious. He gently lifted her in his arms.
—"You shouldn't be wandering around here." His voice was deep but oddly comforting.
Before she could say a word, he leapt onto a nearby rooftop, holding Miria firmly. She could only close her eyes, her mind slowly sinking into unconsciousness.
A Few Hours Later
Miria woke up in her room. Morning light flooded the space, but she felt drained. She touched her neck, a dull ache reminding her of what had happened.
Walking past the mirror, she noticed the red marks. Finger-shaped bruises clearly proved that what she had experienced wasn't a dream.
She let herself fall back onto her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, a single through her mind:
—"A grimoire...What were they talking about ?"