Emi lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, her body a canvas of blood and bruises. The once elegant black dress she wore was now in tatters, clinging to her torn and battered form. Deep wounds marred her flesh, each one a painful reminder of Naito’s relentless assault. Blood pooled around her, seeping through the cracks in the marble, a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallway.
Her vision blurred. Everything around her spun as she desperately tried to focus. Pain radiated from every part of her body, sharp and searing. She bit down on her lip to stifle a groan, the taste of iron filling her mouth.
With trembling hands, she struggled to gather her remaining strength, focusing her Aura to heal the freshest wounds. But it wasn’t working—not fast enough. The turmoil within her body was overwhelming, the energy coursing through her veins unstable, refusing to mend the gashes that bled profusely.
She could feel the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, each throb a reminder of how close she was to death. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to stay conscious. She felt a cold sweat trickling down her face, mixing with the blood and grime that had accumulated over the course of the fight.
A flicker of panic set in as she watched her Aura falter, flickering like a dying flame. ‘Heal... I need to heal…’ she thought, but her body refused to cooperate. The pain, the exhaustion—it was all too much.
Above her, Naito stood tall, casting a shadow over her battered form. His eyes, glowing faintly, were devoid of mercy. His presence was suffocating, an overwhelming force that pressed down on her, making it hard to even breathe. His ability was beyond anything she had witnessed in a long time. She could sense his intent—the fight was over, and he was about to finish her off.
Her heart raced, fear gripping her as she stared up at him. This was it. Somewhere within the darkness of her heart was the rage to swallow Naito whole. But, alas she was done.
The hallway was eerily silent except for the sound of her ragged breathing. The dim light barely illuminated the surroundings, casting long, dark shadows that danced across the walls. The cold, metallic scent of blood mixed with the eerie odor of the establishment, creating an atmosphere that felt thick with dread.
Just as Naito raised his hand, preparing for the final blow, a voice shattered the stillness.
"Look over there!"
Naito froze, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the source of the voice. One of the guards had appeared at the far end of the hallway, pointing frantically toward them. The man’s shout echoed down the corridor, loud and urgent, and within seconds, the sound of more footsteps followed. Several more guards came rushing in, their eyes widening as they took in the scene—Emi lying in a pool of blood, and Naito standing over her like a predator about to pounce.
She watched him, her vision still hazy, but she could see the tension in his stance, the way his muscles coiled as if ready to strike.
Whatever their reason for coming, whether they had seen the bodies of the guards Naito had taken out earlier or realized that he hadn’t shown up for his scheduled fight, they had unwittingly, probably saved her life. For now.
Naito’s jaw clenched. He looked down at Emi, his eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. But he wasn’t reckless. He knew when it was time to retreat. With a sharp exhale, he spun on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he darted toward the opposite end of the hallway.
The guards rushed in, calling for reinforcements as they moved toward Emi. She could hear their voices, but they felt distant, muffled by the roaring pain in her head. Her body trembled as she attempted to sit up, her bloodied hands slipping on the slick floor. Everything hurt, but the relief of surviving—of not being finished off by Naito—was the only thing keeping her conscious.
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She watched through blurry eyes as Naito’s figure disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, leaving her lying in her own blood and misery. A hollow feeling settled in her chest as the guards reached her, shouting something she couldn’t fully understand.
All she could think about was the look in his eyes. The kind of look that said he’d be back to finish what he started. Well, she’d kill him for sure if he ever returned.
***
The Manager stood in the dimly lit control room, his eyes fixed on the large screen in front of him. The bluish glow of the CCTV footage cast eerie shadows across the room, illuminating the smooth black surface of his mask. On the screen, the entrance of the building flickered with activity. Poachers, clad in their signature black nylon jackets, had breached the facility, moving like a pack of wolves as they made their way through the entrance.
A confident smile tugged at the corners of the Manager's mouth, hidden behind his mask. They had finally arrived. Everything was falling into place, just as he had planned.
Shoda, standing silently behind him, shifted slightly, his presence looming but unintrusive. The tension in the air was palpable, the kind that came before a storm, thick with anticipation and unspoken violence.
The door creaked open behind them, and two figures entered the room.
Tanuki, with her icy aura, stepped forward, her legs bare beneath the half-length dark cloak she wore. The fabric swayed with each movement, barely covering the middle part of her thighs, revealing the smooth lines of her legs. Her brown eyes reflected slight irritation as she ran a hand through her silken emerald hair. Her choker was still there.
"You guys ready?" the Manager asked, his voice calm, cutting through the room like a knife.
"Yes, we are," Tanuki replied. She tugged at the cloak draped over her shoulders. "But do we really have to wear this? It’s not exactly… my style." Her lips curled into a cringe smile as she eyed her attire with disdain.
Beside her, Blackthrone stood tall and broad-shouldered. His chiseled features were shadowed by the hood, but the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable. "I also agree with her," he said, his deep voice charming. "This isn’t really my style. Don’t you think leaders should wear something... different? We should stand out."
For a moment, the Manager didn’t respond. He simply looked at them, his gaze hidden behind the glossy black mask. Silence hung in the room, filled only by the low hum of the monitors and the distant thrum of the arena outside.
Finally, he leaned forward slightly. "You both look good," he said simply, his tone carrying a weight that made it clear there would be no further debate.
Tanuki scoffed softly, rolling her eyes but not pushing the matter any further. Blackthrone crossed his arms, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the tight fabric of his cloak. "If you say so," he muttered, though a hint of a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.
The Manager turned his attention back to the screen, the Poachers now moving deeper into the establishment. "They're here," he said, his voice darker now. "And it’s time for you both to head into the action."
Tanuki's expression shifted from playful to serious, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the screen. The playful charm evaporated, replaced by cold determination. Blackthrone uncrossed his arms, rolling his neck as if preparing for what was to come, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity.
The Manager stood, his cloak swishing around him as he moved with purpose toward the door. "Stay focused," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "This is the moment we've been waiting for. No mistakes."
Tanuki gave one final tug at the edge of her cloak before following, her slender fingers twitching with anticipation. Blackthrone cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the room as he moved behind them. Together, they exited the control room, their footsteps melding into the rising crescendo of chaos outside, ready to confront the Poachers—and anyone else who stood in their way.
Tanuki and Blackthrone exited the room in silence, but it didn’t take long for the tension between them to flare up. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Tanuki shot a side glance at Blackthrone, her lips curling into a smirk.
And the trash-talking session began once more.