The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the rustling leaves like a chaotic symphony. Thunder cracked in the distance, momentarily illuminating the battlefield of corpses sprawled across the drenched ground. Blood mixed with rainwater, forming dark crimson pools beneath lifeless bodies. Hollow stood in the middle of it all, a phantom in the storm, his black coat soaked and clinging to his lean, muscular frame.
His left hand gripped a sleek **9mm pistol**, smoke still curling from its barrel. In his right hand, he wielded a **katana**, its blade gleaming with fresh blood, reflecting the flickering glow of a distant streetlamp. His face remained impassive—no rage, no sorrow, no hesitation. He was **a machine built for death, a legend whispered in the underworld**—one that neither feared nor felt.
Tonight's mission had gone terribly wrong.
Where there was supposed to be only one target—**Maria's son**—he had instead walked into a den of **assassins**. A setup. A betrayal. But it didn't matter. One after another, they had fallen to his blade and bullets, their screams lost beneath the relentless roar of the rain.
Hollow stood among the fallen, his breath steady, but then—a sound. Faint. A soft, almost imperceptible whistle through the air.
**Instinct took over.**
He twisted his body just in time—something **sharp and thin** grazed past his cheek. A needle. Laced with poison, most likely. He turned his head, his cold, dark eyes locking onto the figure emerging from the shadows.
A **masked woman**, dressed in a sleek black combat suit, stepped forward, moving with the grace of a predator. Her eyes—sharp and calculating—held amusement. She was **not just any assassin.** She was **one of the best.**
Hollow's grip tightened around his katana. He had heard rumors of **a second disciple of his former master**, a shadow that had risen in the underworld, executing contracts with surgical precision. Now, he was facing her.
For the first time in years, he asked, **"Why?"** His voice was as emotionless as ever, but there was a curiosity hidden beneath.
She tilted her head, lips curving beneath the mask. **"Because legends must die."**
Then, she lunged.
### **A Duel in the Storm**
Their blades **clashed**, sending **a sharp metallic ring** cutting through the sound of the rain. Hollow barely had time to deflect as her attacks came in rapid succession—**fluid, precise, deadly.** Every move she made was calculated, every strike aimed at his vital points.
He **dodged left**, her blade slicing through the air just inches from his ribs. He retaliated with a swift, downward strike, but she twisted, her movements **like a phantom dancing in the dark**. She was **fast**—faster than most he had faced.
Hollow fired his **9mm**, the gunshot echoing in the rain, but she spun mid-air, **the bullet missing by mere inches**. Before he could fire again, her sword was **already descending**.
He raised his katana just in time, the **impact vibrating through his arm**. She was strong, too.
Their fight was a deadly waltz, blades flashing under the storm's fury.
Hollow struck **low**, attempting to unbalance her, but she flipped backward, landing in a crouch before launching herself forward **like a bullet**. Her knee struck his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
She followed up with **a slash aimed at his throat**.
**He barely managed to duck.**
Lightning split the sky above them as they clashed again. Each move they made was countered perfectly by the other—two masters fighting on equal ground.
But **Hollow felt it first.** His body, already fatigued from the massacre before, was **slowing down**.
She saw it too. And she smiled.
With a sudden, deceptive feint, she made him react—and in that fraction of a second, her blade **pierced through his chest**.
Hollow staggered, his breath hitching. He looked down, watching **the blood bloom** across his coat.
She leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. **"The myth ends here."**
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the victorious glint in her eyes.
But **Hollow was never one to die alone.**
Before the pain could fully register, his right wrist flicked.
A **needle**—small, almost invisible—**shot forward**.
Straight into **her heart.**
Her eyes widened in shock. She staggered back, her blade still buried in his chest. She tried to speak, but her breath caught. **The poison worked fast.**
Within seconds, she collapsed. Lifeless.
Hollow exhaled, his vision blurring. The rain felt heavier now. The world seemed distant. His fingers loosened, and the katana slipped from his grip, falling into the blood-soaked earth.
His knees buckled. Darkness crept at the edges of his consciousness.
Was this the end?
Maybe.
Or maybe—this was only the beginning.
As his eyes slowly closed, the storm raged on.