The big man’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, low and rough, filled with the certainty of a predator that had cornered its prey.

“Found you.”

I felt the blood drain from my face, but I forced my body to stay still, my breath barely moving my chest. My muscles tightened, the instincts of fight or flight battling for dominance in my mind. This was it. The careful game of shadows I’d been playing was over. Now it was down to who would come out of this alley on their feet—and who wouldn’t.

The big man stepped closer, his boots making deliberate, heavy sounds on the cracked pavement. The dim light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off his knife, a wicked curve of metal that seemed almost hungry for the confrontation. His eyes were dark, almost gleaming with anticipation. He was close enough now that I could see the intricate, almost tribal tattoo that coiled around his neck like a serpent, its dark lines shifting with the tension in his muscles.

“Didn’t expect a rat to have the guts to come looking for scraps,” he said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. He shifted his stance, weight balanced perfectly, the knife held in a way that told me he knew exactly how to use it.

I swallowed hard, but I didn’t let my fear show. I forced my voice to stay steady, hard. “Funny. I didn’t expect the Red Hands to be so careless that a ‘rat’ could ruin their night.”

His eyes narrowed, and I saw the brief flicker of recognition, of calculation. He was smart, I’d give him that. The smile slipped from his face, replaced by a cold, assessing look.

“You’re the one who hit The Vault,” he said, not a question but a statement, as if he knew things beyond what he should. “The boss will want your head on a plate. But first—” He lunged.

The movement was fast, too fast for someone of his size. I barely twisted in time to dodge the slash aimed at my midsection, the knife passing so close I felt the whisper of displaced air. I stumbled back, heart hammering as adrenaline surged through me. He wasn’t just big; he was trained, skilled.

The big man’s attack had been more than a warning—it was a declaration. This fight was going to be brutal, and he knew it. He came at me again, his movements swift and precise, the knife slicing through the dim light with lethal intent. I dodged to the side, my feet sliding over uneven cobblestones as I tried to keep distance between us. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t. I needed to face him, to learn more about what the Red Hands were really after—and what this ‘creeper’ he mentioned truly was.

He lunged again, this time a feint that shifted mid-strike. I reacted too late, feeling the sting as the knife grazed my shoulder, slicing through fabric and skin. I bit back a cry, gritting my teeth as pain flared up my arm. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to remind me that I was outmatched.

“You’re fast,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he circled me, eyes sharp, assessing. “But you’re not faster than me.”

He moved again, a blur of motion that forced me to pivot and parry with nothing but instinct and desperation. My fist connected with his forearm, deflecting the knife just enough to avoid a deeper cut. His eyes flickered with surprise, a glimmer of amusement breaking through the cold calculation. I took the opportunity to create some distance, my mind racing.

What the hell was he? His movements were impossibly fluid, almost as if he knew exactly what I was going to do before I did it. And those eyes, always calculating, scanning, searching.

“Not bad for a rat,” he said, flexing his fingers around the knife handle. He tilted his head, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “But you’re going to have to do better.”

He lunged again, this time with a speed that left no room for error. I shifted, narrowly avoiding the blade as it slashed past my ribs. I swung my elbow up, aiming for his jaw, but he twisted away as if he’d known it was coming, his other hand shooting out to grab my wrist. His grip was iron, the pressure cutting off circulation as he yanked me forward, throwing me off balance.

“Got you now,” he muttered.

I had no choice. I pulled on the tether, willing the pain from my shoulder to transfer to him. His eyes widened for a moment, his jaw clenching as the wound appeared on his arm. He snarled, releasing me, but his reaction was quicker than I’d expected. He didn’t stagger, didn’t even seem fazed. He just looked down at the fresh injury and then back at me, his eyes narrowing with understanding.

“Interesting,” he said, a glint of recognition in his gaze. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”

Before I could react, he stepped forward, shifting his stance, and swung the knife again. This time, I saw it coming—not just with my eyes, but with something deeper, as if I could feel the intent radiating off him. My body moved on its own, ducking under the swing and twisting away from him. The realisation hit me like a jolt: I could sense him. It was subtle, like a whisper at the edge of my thoughts, but it was there.

The big man’s attack came fast and relentless, but this time, I was prepared. It wasn’t just the surge of adrenaline fueling me now—it was a strange new awareness that hummed beneath my skin. His next move echoed in my mind moments before he made it, a shadow of intent that let me pivot just in time to avoid his knife.

The shock of realisation that I had somehow gained a new ability was almost distracting.My breath came fast and shallow as I dodged and weaved, barely staying a step ahead of him. Every time, fractions before he lunged, I felt the tug of his intent like an invisible string guiding my movements.

His eyes narrowed as he registered my newfound agility, the calculated ease with which I evaded his strikes. “You’re full of surprises,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

I didn’t waste words. Talking would only sap my focus, and I needed every ounce of it to keep up with him.

He attacked again, this time more calculated, his movements shifting unpredictably. I sensed his hesitation an instant before he feinted left and struck from the right. My body reacted on autopilot, sidestepping the blow and delivering a sharp kick to his knee. It connected, and he faltered, a growl of pain escaping his lips.

But it wasn’t enough to slow him down. He surged forward, aiming low with a quick swipe of his knife that sliced through the air where my leg had been a heartbeat earlier. I leaped back, breathing hard, feeling the strain in my muscles. The flicker of intent I sensed in him was becoming clearer, more insistent—a strange blend of danger and opportunity.

A part of me knew I couldn’t keep this up forever. The heightened senses from the sudden new power were helping, but I was still just a girl with no formal combat training, going up against a trained man with a deadly weapon.

The big man shifted his stance, eyeing me with a mixture of intrigue and frustration. His brows knitted together as he assessed me, weighing his next move. I sensed that flicker of intent again—his decision to feint before going in for a grapple. My muscles coiled, ready to move before he could take me down.

He lunged, his knife a blur as he slashed downward, aiming for my thigh. I sidestepped and twisted my body, the blade grazing my leg but not finding purchase. I winced, feeling the sting of the shallow cut, but I used the momentum to spin around and strike at his wrist with an open palm. The knife fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground, but he didn’t hesitate. He came at me with his bare hands, his speed still unnaturally fast.

He came at me again, this time with a quick series of slashes aimed to corner me against the wall. I felt the tingle of his intentions a moment before each strike, giving me just enough time to shift and dodge. I spun to the left, planting my feet and driving my elbow into his side. He grunted, the briefest flash of pain in his eyes, but he moved with a speed that defied his size, pivoting to face me with a grim smile.

“Getting better, aren’t you?” His voice was tight, the strain from the transferred pain evident even if he wouldn’t show weakness.

I didn’t respond. My heart hammered in my chest, and I pushed back the exhaustion beginning to creep into my limbs. I needed to turn the tide of this fight, and fast. His gaze flickered toward the alley’s entrance, a signal I almost missed. Before I could react, a shadow shifted in the dim light, and the scarred woman re-emerged, eyes locking onto me with a fierce intensity.

“Found her!” she called out, her voice sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade. She held the metal pipe in her hand, and her posture radiated cold determination.

The big man grinned, confidence flooding back into his eyes. “Looks like you’re out of luck.”

I backed up a step, my mind racing. Two against one wasn’t a fight I could win, not with my body already beginning to feel the toll of the battle. The new strange power had bought me time, but I was far from invincible. The woman moved in with calculated strides, her eyes darting between me and the big man, reading the room as if calculating the best angle for an attack.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off me. It was a slip—a small one—but it told me he was still unsure of the abilities I wielded. If he wasn’t confident enough to let her join in, maybe I could use that to my advantage.

The woman hesitated, her expression darkening with annoyance but compliance. That moment of hesitation was enough. I lunged, aiming low, feigning a desperate attempt to escape. The big man shifted to intercept, his knife hand coming up to block me, but I anticipated the move, feeling the ripple of intent before it happened. My momentum changed mid-motion, and I twisted, purposefully aiming my right hand to his knife.

It pierced my hand fully with a searing hot pain, but I bit through it and pulled on the tether linking us again. The shoulder wound came back right away to me, but now his knife-wielding hand was out of commission, a large hole right in the middle of it, bleeding.

His knife clattered to the ground. The big man’s eyes widened, rage mingled with disbelief as he clutched his hand, blood dripping from the gaping wound. The advantage was mine, but it was fleeting—I needed to act quickly. The scarred woman’s face hardened, and she surged forward, metal pipe arcing toward me in a blur of motion. I barely had time to register the shift, the flash of intent warning me of imminent danger.

I ducked, the pipe whistling past my head, the force of it brushing against the strands of my hair. The momentum of her swing carried her a step forward, and I used the opportunity to strike. I lashed out with a kick, catching her in the ribs. She stumbled back, gasping, but didn’t fall. Her eyes locked onto mine, filled with fury and a hint of admiration.

“Persistent little thing, aren’t you?” she spat, recovering quickly and circling to my right.

The big man was regaining his composure, his wound clearly slowing him but not enough to neutralise him. He gritted his teeth, blood still seeping between his fingers as he fixed me with a murderous glare. “You’ll regret that.”

I was already breathing hard, the exhaustion of the fight starting to gnaw at my muscles. The strange, heightened awareness was still here, but felt less and less precise, or maybe it came slower with time?

The scarred woman moved in sync with the big man, both closing the space between us with a practiced ease that spoke of countless battles fought together. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, drowning out the night sounds around us as I tried to keep my focus sharp. Two against one. I had to think fast, move faster.

The big man was holding back less now, his injury slowing him but not stopping him. His eyes, dark with rage and something else—something calculating—fixed on me like a hawk. The scarred woman spun the pipe in her hands, testing its weight, a smirk playing at her lips as she advanced.

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I felt the tingle of intent from both of them, warning me of the blows to come. The woman lunged first, the pipe a blur aimed at my side. I sidestepped, the metal grazing my ribs as I moved just in time. The big man closed in from the left, his uninjured arm swinging out in a powerful arc that aimed to grab me by the throat.

I ducked and twisted, my body responding instinctively to the warning flickers. His fingers missed by mere centimetres, the air stirred by the force of his movement. The momentary gap between them was all I needed. I surged forward, throwing a quick punch to the woman’s jaw, the impact jarring my knuckles. She staggered, eyes wide with surprise but quickly narrowing into a glare.

Before I could press the advantage, the big man came at me again, this time leading with a vicious kick aimed at my legs. I felt the intent ripple just before it connected, allowing me to shift enough to avoid the worst of it, but pain still flared up my calf as his boot clipped me. I stumbled, my vision blurring as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of my senses. I couldn’t keep this up.

The scarred woman regained her footing, spitting out a curse as she swung the pipe at my head. I barely managed to throw up my arm in defence, the pipe colliding with my forearm and sending a shockwave of pain through my arm. My vision sparked, but I forced myself to stay upright, using the momentum to spin away from her and the big man.

“Stay down!” she barked, eyes alight with anger.

I didn’t respond. There was no room for words, only action. The big man, his movements slightly less fluid now due to his injuries, lunged again. I felt the pull of his intent, the heavy certainty behind it, and sidestepped. This time, instead of retreating, I stepped into his space, driving my elbow into his wounded hand. He howled, the sound low and animalistic as he staggered back, rage and pain contorting his features.

The scarred woman was already moving, her pipe arcing toward me. I sensed it a moment too late, the awareness dulled by the toll of the fight. The metal connected with my side, and I felt the sharp, jarring pain as my ribs screamed in protest. I gasped, stumbling, the world tilting for a brief second as I fought to stay on my feet.

A sharp intake of breath shuddered through me, but I willed my focus to stay razor-thin, holding onto that awareness by the thinnest of threads. My vision tunnelled slightly, the edge of my senses dulling from exhaustion and pain. The scarred woman’s face swam into view, her lips twisted into a victorious snarl as she moved to press the attack. I could see the confidence flickering in her eyes, the certainty that this was the moment I would go down.

Not yet.

With a burst of sheer willpower, I straightened, forcing my battered body to comply. I reached for the woman, barely touching her. And I yanked hard on the barely formed tether, giving her my wounds, as I took her physical state. Strangely enough, the scar on her face didn’t disappear.

The scarred woman’s eyes widened in confusion as her own weapon slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground. She gasped, clutching her side where moments before I’d felt a sharp, throbbing pain. The confidence drained from her face, replaced by shock as she staggered back, her movements suddenly sluggish.

I drew in a deep, steadying breath. My ribs no longer screamed, my vision cleared, and my limbs felt reinvigorated. The transfer had worked, but I could see the toll it had taken on her—she was on the verge of collapse, the pain I had shared weighing down her body like a stone.

Before she could regain her footing, I turned back to the big man. His injured hand trembled, blood dripping steadily from the wound in his palm. Yet, he glared at me with eyes dark with rage and something deeper—recognition, as though he finally understood what I was capable of.

“You little…” he muttered, the words seething out between gritted teeth. He flexed his good hand, stepping forward. Despite his injuries, his movements were still precise, a deadly calm in his approach that warned me this wasn’t over yet.

The alley seemed to close in, the faint glow of the streetlamp above casting long, jagged shadows that painted him in sharp relief. His eyes tracked me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He lunged, faster than I anticipated. My heightened awareness gave me just enough time to sidestep, but not enough to avoid his other hand as it swung up in a backhanded strike.

The impact sent me sprawling into the damp brick wall, pain radiating through my shoulder and spine. Stars danced in my vision, but I couldn’t afford to lose focus. The big man was already advancing, his breath ragged but eyes lit with a predatory gleam.

“You’re quick,” he growled, “but that trick of yours won’t save you twice.”

He was close, too close. I scrambled to my feet, using the wall as leverage, my mind racing.

The scarred woman, now barely standing, called out weakly, “Watcher… back… now…” Her voice was hoarse, her breath laboured, but it was enough to catch his attention.

The big man—Watcher—glanced at her, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. I seized the moment, rushing forward with every ounce of speed I could muster. My hand reached out, fingertips brushing his arm just as he turned back to face me.

A wave of pain shot through my chest for a split second as I re-exchanged the wounds around. From the girl to me, to Watcher, back to the girl. Watcher’s eyes widened in that split second of contact, the realisation dawning too late.

He roared, staggering back as the sudden influx of pain buckled his knees. His eyes, wide with fury and disbelief, locked onto mine as he struggled to stay upright. I saw the defiance in his gaze, the refusal to be brought down so easily.

But then, from the corner of my vision, the wiry man appeared, sprinting down the alley, drawn by the sounds of the fight. He skidded to a halt, eyes darting between Watcher and me, taking in the scene with quick, calculating precision. His expression twisted into one of shock and rage as he reached for a knife strapped to his thigh.

“Watcher!” he shouted, launching himself toward me without hesitation.

I barely managed to duck as the wiry man’s blade sliced through the air where my head had been. He was fast, a blur of motion that sent my heart racing. His attacks were a flurry of quick, precise movements, designed to overwhelm and disorient. I blocked one strike, then another, my arms stinging from the effort. He was relentless, his eyes burning with fury.

But the precognition was somehow back to full-strength now. Not as delayed as it was moments ago. Did the tether also steal a part of metahuman’s power? Was that initially Watcher’s ability I was using?

The wiry man pressed forward, his knife flashing in the dim light as he tried to find an opening. The confidence in his movements was evident, each strike a testament to his skill and experience. I parried desperately, my body moving as if guided by an unseen hand, the newly heightened awareness pushing me to react faster than I ever could have on my own. His strikes were quick, aimed to kill, but I could feel the intent behind them, small bursts of warning that allowed me to shift and twist just in time.

Watcher still knelt on the ground behind him, clutching his side and gasping for breath. His eyes tracked the fight, fury and frustration twisting his features. I knew I didn’t have much time before he rejoined the battle, despite the pain I’d inflicted on him. The scarred woman was down, barely conscious, but still a potential threat if she gathered enough strength and ignored the now bleeding hand.

The wiry man lunged again, this time with a feint that turned into a low sweep aimed at my legs. I sensed the intent a heartbeat before the move and jumped back, the blade narrowly missing my calf. He spun quickly, coming up with an uppercut aimed at my torso, but I twisted to the side and caught his wrist, the impact reverberating up my arm. The connection sparked a tether between us, and I knew I could use it—but what for, I was in too good of a condition for that, thanks to giving the wounds to the other two.

And I knew the previous trick of switching again the heavy injuries would only make Watcher able to press on. And as the bigger threat, I couldn’t do that…

I locked eyes with the wiry man, whose surprise at my strength lasted only a moment. He twisted his wrist expertly, breaking my grip and slicing up toward my shoulder in one fluid motion. I leaned back just in time, feeling the whisper of the blade as it passed inches from my skin. He was fast, precise, every move driven by a lethal efficiency. I couldn't afford to be reactive—I needed to shift the balance.

The tether hummed between us, an invisible thread charged with potential. I didn't have time to dwell on why or how I could sense the wiry man's intent, only that I could. It was enough. The knowledge throbbed in my mind, guiding me to exploit the rhythm of his movements. As he stepped forward for another attack, I anticipated the shift in his weight and drove my knee into his stomach.

A sharp grunt escaped him, and he faltered for a split second. I took the opportunity to deliver a blow to his jaw, sending him stumbling back. The tether between us pulsed, and I felt a surge of confidence. He was tough, but the pain I'd transferred to Watcher had weakened their advantage. The scarred woman was still gasping for air on the ground, and Watcher, though seething, was slower, his movements strained and cautious.

The wiry man recovered quickly, wiping a smear of blood from his split lip. His eyes blazed as he circled me, assessing, recalibrating. The alley felt suffocatingly tight, each second a countdown to when Watcher would inevitably rejoin the fray.

"You're good," the wiry man spat, his voice a rasp as he feinted left. I didn't fall for it, pivoting smoothly to avoid his real attack—a quick slash aimed at my side. I saw the movement a fraction of a second before it happened. It was enough.

I seized the moment and caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting it sharply. His knife clattered to the ground, and before he could react, I brought my elbow down on the back of his neck. He crumpled, his body hitting the cobblestones with a heavy thud.

A growl from behind reminded me that Watcher was still a threat. He was on his feet now, blood staining his clothes from his injured hand that was now pristine. His eyes burned with a fury that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You're going to wish you hadn't done that," he hissed, voice trembling with barely contained rage.

The alleyway seemed to shrink as Watcher stepped forward, his body radiating lethal intent. Blood dripped from his now-pristine hand, each drop splattering against the cobblestones in a stark reminder of the pain he'd endured—and what he was prepared to inflict. My breath came in ragged gasps, my muscles straining to keep up with the relentless fight. The newfound awareness pulsed beneath my skin, urging me to move, to act before it was too late.

But exhaustion weighed heavily on me, each heartbeat echoing in my head like a drum. The wiry man lay unconscious at my feet, and the scarred woman groaned, still clutching at the pain I had transferred to her. Watcher's eyes flickered between them, a cold calculation passing over his face. His lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing teeth clenched so tight they might shatter.

"You're going to wish you hadn't done that," he repeated, his voice low and vibrating with fury. He flexed his uninjured hand, the muscles in his forearm shifting like coiled snakes. This was it—the final stand between us. One of us would walk away, and the other wouldn't.

I stood my ground, my chest heaving as I tried to suppress the exhaustion gnawing at my muscles. Watcher's massive frame blocked the narrow alley's only clear exit, casting a long shadow over the scattered bodies of his teammates. His bloodstained shirt and the dark gleam of sweat on his skin only added to the raw, feral energy he radiated.

His good hand twitched, fingers flexing as if longing for the knife I had kicked out of reach earlier. He didn’t need a weapon to be dangerous, though. Everything about his posture screamed lethal efficiency, and the look in his eyes told me he was done playing games.

"You're tougher than I thought," he admitted, voice rumbling like distant thunder. "But you're still just a kid pretending to be something you’re not."

I swallowed, the taunt striking deeper than I'd care to admit. He was right—I was no seasoned fighter, no trained vigilante. But I wasn’t just a victim anymore, either. I was Replica, and that meant I had more up my sleeve than brute force.

“Maybe,” I replied, steadying my voice, “but it’s working, isn’t it?”

The smirk that crossed his face was humourless, full of cold calculation. Without warning, he charged, closing the distance between us in a burst of raw power. I sensed his move a heartbeat before he lunged, but there was no time to dodge completely. His shoulder connected with my chest, sending me sprawling backward against the alley wall. The impact rattled my bones, and the world spun for a second before I forced myself to focus.

I gasped as the pain flared up my side, my vision swimming. Watcher didn’t let up. He grabbed my arm, his grip vice-like as he slammed me into the wall again, pressing his weight against me until breathing became a struggle.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, his breath hot against my ear. “Was it the Moon-Eaters? Or are you working alone, you reckless freak?”

The words cut through the haze of pain. My vision steadied, and I caught a flicker of his intent—a split second where he shifted his stance, loosening his grip just enough to draw back for another blow.

I moved on instinct, twisting my arm free and ducking under his next punch. I felt the rush of air as his fist struck the wall where my head had been a moment earlier, cracking the brick with a sharp thud. He swore, the sound filled with frustration, and I took advantage of the opening, ramming my elbow into his ribs.

He staggered, eyes widening as I drew back. Watcher’s face contorted, veins standing out in his neck as he gasped and buckled. His knees hit the ground, and for the first time, his gaze held more than rage—it held fear.

“Stay down,” I warned, my voice raspier than I intended. It was more of a plea to myself as much as a threat to him. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, and my vision edged with black. If he rose again, I wasn't sure I could stop him.

But Watcher was relentless. He reached for me, his bloodied hand grabbing at my ankle. Before he could pull me down, I lifted my boot and kicked hard, connecting with his jaw. The force sent him sprawling back, and his head cracked against the cobblestones. He lay there, eyes unfocused, chest heaving with pain.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by my ragged breaths. I stood there for a second longer, my body trembling as the adrenaline ebbed away, replaced by the dull throb of exhaustion.

The scarred woman groaned, shifting slightly as she tried to push herself up. Panic jolted through me. I couldn’t stay. If she managed to call for backup or if the wiry man regained consciousness, I’d be outnumbered again.

With the last reserves of my energy, I turned and sprinted down the alley, my footsteps echoing against the walls. The neon glow of Brotteaux blurred as I ran, slipping into the safety of deeper shadows and winding streets until the Red Hands and their threats were just a memory fading behind me.