The shadows blocked Klint's path, pointing pitchforks and pickaxes at him. In an instant the boy closed the space between him and the monsters, lifting two of them by their stringy throats and slamming them to the ground, cracking the floor.

Two more shapes rushed at him from behind, letting out an eerie whistle. No one in the room could follow the speed with which Klint had decapitated both shadows. The only thing visible was Lance, his leg frozen in the air as he stopped his motion. He put his leg on the ground, feeling the ground with his shoe several times, trying to adjust it.

Said Roman, burning the hat in his hands, reducing it to a handful of ashes and revealing his black slicked-back hair.

He snapped his fingers again and a swarm of threads began to wrap around Klint, dragging him down into the pit of darkness beneath him. Roman himself began to descend into another pool of darkness. He put his index finger in front of his lips, ordering the boy who was trying in every way to squirm to be quiet.

He smiled deviously before they both disappeared onto the floor.

Jeanne exclaimed while trying to dive into the black pool, but she didn't have time to get there before the dark mass disappeared into thin air. Maica rudely pointed at Jeanne, mocking her attempts to chase her partner.

She smiled, wiping a single tear from her right eye.

Maica's young face contracted into a sadistic and disgusting grimace.

The little girl who had hidden behind Jeanne had taken shelter behind one of the gray sofas that occupied the large room. Jeanne smiled at the girl, in a cold and detached manner. She opened her briefcase, and a golden glow lit up the room. In the air was her frame, it traced circles in the air as it plummeted toward the floor. Jeanne elegantly caught it on the fly, rotating it around her arm and swaying her body to balance the new center of gravity.

He grabbed one end tightly and concentrated: Kroonlijst began to resonate at her touch, opening and rotating several times on its pivots, extending and retracting to form a long golden blade. The silver thread and curved quill-like tip of hers gave a ghostly appearance but the wings that served as hilt and guard and the shining golden color made the weapon overall pervaded by a mystical air.

Maica examined the girl in front of her: The posture was solid and although she was holding a blade almost as long as her own body, she didn't seem the least bit distressed by fatigue. She wasn't on guard, just placing the tip of the blade on the ground in front of her, yet Maica couldn't find a single opening.

She said smiling as she took out a wrench covered in nails and bolts from the large pocket of the overalls.

Klint and Roman, however, were inside an abandoned station, illuminated by dim yellowish emergency lights, contributing to giving a disturbing appearance to the place. The smell of mold and the amount of sheet metal from old locomotives and trams, swallowed up by roots, mosses, and other types of vegetation gave the station a heavy and suffocating atmosphere.

Klint fell from the ceiling, landing hard on the dusty, crumbling ground where tracks once ran. Roman had emerged from the ground, a few meters away from Klint.

He asked, unbuttoning his jacket.

Klint said ironically, looking at him sternly.

He replied smiling, his wrinkles thickened trying to match that horrible grimace.

Klint didn't answer, just sprinted towards Roman. Blades of grass, pebbles, and dust were thrown into the air under the force of the boy's acceleration. Klint reached Roman in a flash, twisting his hips vigorously, his arm contracting from the force he was applying to the blow.

Roman was quite amazed by the boy's explosiveness, it was rare to find Meta with similar physical abilities, but he could sense that Klint was circulating his Frequency with minimal intensity. A series of black threads condensed along the path of the shot, forming an indistinct mass of black and slimy ribs.

Klint sank his right through Roman's defenses, slowing down slightly but not enough to prevent the punch's atrocious impact.

Roman protected himself with his elbow covered in the same filamentary material with which he built his shadows. Sensing the boy's tremendous strength, he couldn't help but be a little surprised. His body was thrown across the deep room, colliding with several rusted signposts. Klint turned to him, walking slowly as he twitched his hand slightly, making sure it was intact.

A laugh echoed through the faint darkness of the station, in an instant the vegetation lost color, becoming grayish. Roman got up from the iron bars he had been thrown into. His jacket was torn, revealing his right arm. The armor he had built had crumbled, and even as he stood, black slivers fell from his elbow. For an elderly man, his muscle tone was incredibly defined. He felt his elbow, smiling and wrapping the threads around his forearm.

his tone was inexplicably distorted and dark. The grass, moss, and roots in front of Klint instantly withered, turning to dust. Roman pointed his index finger at Klint, smiling from beneath his thick beard. A series of threads wrapped around the boy's hips, squeezing him tightly. The mass of black tentacles thickened until it transformed into an arm. Klint could feel the slime that coated the cables that made up that creature, the sensation was like snails on his skin and it was truly disgusting.

The mass of tendrils began to contract until it struck against the remains of a carriage. The impact was excruciating and Klint could feel his ribs breaking. The arm swung, crashing into a streetlamp, so rusty that it shattered into a thousand pieces. The limb stopped its run against another locomotive. Klint was bleeding from the head, his left arm was completely torn apart from the wrist up, and small brownish splinters could be glimpsed between his tendons and muscles. His face was contorted in a faint grimace of pain, but Klint was not at all shaken.

He felt the Frequency increase in intensity, his heartbeat quickened and his blood pumped faster. She held onto what appeared to be the finger of the limb of black tendrils. A faint whitish light began to flow into her palm. Roman smiled as he approached the carriage where Klint had been crushed. His walk was elegant and straight even after being thrown against a wall and steel bars.

He thought, regretting not having tried to convince Klint to join their faction. His walk came to an abrupt halt as he watched his construct of darkness become engulfed in a flash of white. The blast of energy spread across the ground, ripping apart the barren soil and liquifying the metal it came into contact with. The dust was charged with electricity, sparkling with bluish flashes in the stale air of the station. The smell of ferrous rust and smoke hovered from the crater up to Roman's nostrils, which remained impassive at the sight of the figure in the center of the crater.

Amid the melted sheets of metal and the charred ground, a figure with his arm wrapped in white lightning was rising from the ground. A mass of molten iron slid down his leg, but as he began to burn the fabric of his clothing, it was repelled, scattering away from the boy. His sleeve had been torn off by the force of the explosion but his blood and wounds were completely gone, leaving only a dry halo of red where streams of red had once flowed.

Klint turned, clutching a partially intact pole. The veins in his arm swelled and the metal began to buckle under the pressure of his weight. He quickly ripped it from the ground, lifting in the process some burnt remains of roots and other plants. Roman was stunned, he didn't imagine that such a person was a recruit. His thought was abruptly interrupted by Klint appearing before him in an instant. He hadn't taken his eyes off the boy for even a second, yet he hadn't been able to follow his movement.

Klint looked at him sternly, but before Roman could decipher the intent from that face, he felt a heavy mass sink into his side. He had no time to react as he felt his bones shatter under the weight of the iron club, swung by Klint with superhuman strength. He flew through the dusty air, landing inside a derailed train on the cracked platform stained with grass and mold. The collapse of heavy concrete slabs, perforated by brown metal bars blocked the turnstiles.

Roman was panting, his side had been completely pulped, and the hand he was taxing with could only feel a grainy goo stirring beneath his swollen skin. Gasping, he grabbed the branch of a plant that had found space to grow, destroying the windows and walls of the carriage where he had been thrown away.

The twig began to tremble, graying until it became fragile and thin. The effect spread to all the plants that filled the ancient seats with a color that vaguely resembled red. All the vegetation in the carriage withered, while Roman's side seemed to reinvigorate, regaining thickness and shape. He stood up, only to see a shadow blocking the only light in that grim graveyard of scrap metal.

Klint stood above the hole created by his fall, a soft golden glow flickering in the depths of his gaze. The pole he'd hit Roman with was bent and twisted from the force he'd used it with. He jumped off, diving into the dusty air of the carriage. Slowly approaching him, throwing the warped metal rod to the ground, echoing in the ghostly atmosphere of the train.

They were face to face, just a few fingers apart. From under his beard, Roman no longer smiled while Klint maintained that disturbing face of cynical seriousness. Black wires exploded from the floor, tearing the old wooden walls and floor. Their sinuous movement resembled a swarm of insects as they wrapped themselves around Klint.

However, the boy closed the distance again but found himself blocked by the web that Roman had woven in front of him. An expression of satisfaction and happiness was printed on the old man's face, the threads were slowly digging into the boy's flesh, tightening onto his skin more and more. Klint groaned, struggling to move forward, but with each step, he only felt his flesh being slowly chipped away.

Roman asked, cleaning himself from the dust and blood that had splattered on his cheek. Instead of receiving an answer, Klint simply looked at him contemptuously in a grimace contorted between a mixture of pain and anger.

He sighed as another swarm of wires behind him was massing into an eerie humanoid shadow. The string monster's twisted arm was poorly formed and was more like a needle than a limb. Roman turned his back, gesturing to his creature Klint. The mass of tendrils nodded, slowly approaching the boy, cutting the ground with its long spike. From the pocket inside of his jacket, Roman took out a small silver box no bigger than the palm of his hand, with a snap he opened it, taking a meticulously tidy cigarette from inside. With a quick gesture, he put the cigarette between his lips and lit the lighter placed next to the straws.

As he attempted to bring the dancing flame closer to the tobacco between his teeth, a high-pitched hiss echoed through the train. A mass of threads flew from his shoulders in front of him. He started to turn around but felt a force pressing on his skull.

He thought as he looked at the boy dripping with blood in front of him. His clothes were torn and a large hole could be seen at heart level, but this didn't bother Klint in the slightest, who instead of matching his gaze, tightened his grip. Pushing his weight forward, Lance lifted Roman. His muscles contracted violently, pushing the old man down with tremendous force, shattering the floor at their feet.

Silent like a madman, Klint lifted Roman again, still holding his face. Crushing it against the wall of the carriage, denting the iron. He pulled his face away from the dent, only to push him in again, this time with even more force. Roman shouted, freeing himself from the hold. Kicking Klint in the face. He could feel that he had broken his nose and cheekbones, but the boy was completely unfazed.

Klint's strong grip tightened on his ankle, but before he could try to squirm, Roman was once again locked in a vice grip. Klint's powerful hand pressed against his jaw. He had no time to react before Klint buried his head into the train wall again. Pressing hard against the rusted metal, starting to run while keeping Roman's face pressed against the wall, leaving a long dent behind.

He stopped abruptly, twisting his body and throwing the dazed old man against the end of the locomotive. Roman slammed into the wall like a doll, tearing it as if it were glass. He shot out of the train, taking with him splinters of rust and moldy wood. Three bounces were not enough to stop his flight, which ended only when Roman collided with the railway wall.

Roman was destroyed: his face was torn and his left arm was dismembered beyond recognition, becoming an amalgam of white tissue and reddish, dripping jelly.

Klint leaned against the wall panting, he had managed to protect his heart, using the frequency to contract his muscles and push them to the edges of his chest. His lung had been damaged, but after hitting Roman he was starting to feel reinvigorated. He had gotten confirmation of his ability: by introducing a frequency at the exact moment he came into contact with another, he could defuse it and transfer it within himself. The process was difficult but it was precisely for this reason that he could defeat the monsters summoned by Roman. Furthermore, Klint could "see" the flow of Frequency, tracing its movements and intensity.

Roman rose from the ground, his face almost completely healed but his limb barely usable. He looked up and met Klint's eyes. The golden glow was intensifying, pulsing beneath the young man's brown irises.

He whispered, holding on with his other arm to a large mass of mold and vines that had grown abnormally on the wall near the entrance to the collapsed tunnel. Klint's eyes widened in horror as he noticed the plant's Frequency rush into Roman's body. As their strength was drained away they started to lose more color. The fungal smell of mold gradually faded. Within moments, there wasn't a single living plant left in the entire station. The only things left were the smell of molten metal and the iron carcasses of abandoned trains.

Roman complimented, while a thick network of black and slimy tendrils wriggled behind him. The amorphous mass began to take shape and break apart, moving like a school of eels and worms.

Splat

The tangle fell to the ground, slowly expanding under Roman's feet, who was still holding his arm. It had finally returned to a shape that resembled a limb, but it was broken into several parts and it was difficult to distinguish which was the elbow among the various fractures.

Roman fixed his gaze full of malice and anger on Klint, leaning against the metal sheets of the carriage. His tone was calm but the atmosphere was filled with a violent murderous instinct.

The sensation was almost familiar to Klint and this made him understand how dangerous the figure in front of him was. The slime began to boil as Klint tried to frame the figure of the old man in the center of the pool. First one arm, then the other, and finally a chest with a thick, twisted head emerged from the puddle of wires.

The creature was wrapped in a thin mass of tendrils, similar to a cloak. Its arm was obscenely long and tapered, ending in a hand with thin, razor-sharp fingers. Its body was covered in spikes and on the other arm, there was, as a substitute for the hand, a heavy block of self-propelled wires, aggregated to form a shield.

The creature stomped the ground hard, turning and plunging its "arm" into the slime. Its body shook as if something was clinging to it. It didn't take long for a second Shadow to appear, this time smaller and wearing a similar but shorter cloak. The Monster that emerged from the pool was smaller than the powerful knight, yet appeared more human and proportionate, if it had not been for its extremities covered in thick layers of tendrils and spikes.

Both figures turned their gaze towards the boy, who was perched on the rubble of the train wall.

Klint thought, trying to compare the intensity of the monsters in front of him with those in his memories. He was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by the force that wrapped around his legs. The smallest shadow had grabbed him by the ankles, squeezing them violently, almost crushing the bone.

Klint tried to struggle but it was completely useless, the grip was too tight and the mighty knight was starting to walk towards him. The mighty weight of the slime armor made the earth crumble as he walked, leaving deep footprints on the dry, bare ground. Klint blinked, but that moment of blindness was more than enough for the Knight, who revealed himself before him.

The mass of tangles moved in unison, twisting its body and thickening its obscene arm, making it blade-like. The fingertips had interconnected to form the tip of the weapon that was approaching Klint's face with extreme rapidity. His nerves, his synapses, his flesh, and his bones reacted to the oncoming flow of Frequency that Klint was pumping through them. His body leaped backward, remaining anchored to the ground by the Shadow's grip.

The blade passed through a tuft of Klint's hair, severing a few. The fluff mixed with the dust raised by Klint's quick avoidance of the cut. The knight recomposed his center of gravity, this time rotating from below in an angled manner, aiming for Klint's exposed side. Suppressing the pain, the boy rolled on his leg, snapping it over and over, until he broke free.

The sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking started to echo in his head. He jumped over the heavy iron block, which stopped after tearing the train again and shattering the remains of the seats in the carriage.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Klint was leaning on the back of the blade, his ankle dripping with blood but already starting to heal. Before the knight could compose himself, Lance gave him a violent kick on the set of wires that should have been his neck. The frequency radiated from his bones to the tangle, giving off a small purple light upon impact. The monster was thrown skull-first into the wall, hissing and emitting a disturbing series of whistles.

While he was ascertaining his theory, he was brutally ejected from the carriage by the right hand of the second Shadow, finally emerging from its hiding place in the ground. The shot sank into Klint's shoulder, shattering his collarbone The boy tumbled across the dusty ground, but even before he could get up completely, he was hit by a kick coming from underneath him. The shadow's heel collided with his chin, hurling him into the air.

He fell disastrously into another train, on the opposite side of the station. His heavy body had demolished the rusty roof and embedded itself in the rotten floor. He could feel the ferrous taste of blood spreading across his palate, accumulating in his saliva. He tried to get back on her feet, only ending up spitting out a profuse reddish retch.

He thought as he watched the silhouettes of the two shadows across the wall. His legs were limp and his arm was shaking. Another direct assault would have been fatal for him. He turned his gaze towards the end of the station, a long dark tunnel seemed to still be intact. Refining what little frequency was left in his body, he began pumping it into the muscles and bones of his legs. His thighs began to spasm in anticipation of the movement.

A black and slimy blade tore apart the iron wall of the locomotive. The sword cut a vaguely square shape in the iron, piercing the material as if it were cream. As soon as Klint saw the gap, he sprinted with all the strength he had. The knight was overwhelmed by the boy's speed. The departure had even lifted the train and deformed the nearby iron, melting it. Regardless of the figures, Lance launched himself at top speed towards the gloomy darkness of the tunnel, leaving behind a trail of scorched earth and white flashes.

Roman emerged from the ground, his arm still covered in bumps and a purple halo. The shadows bowed as they reformed the bonds Klint had destroyed.

Roman ordered as he disappeared back into the floor. The shadows, hissing, began to unravel their shape, transforming into a gelatinous mass of tendrils, which leaped and dived into the depths of the tunnel.

Roman smiled, before completely plunging into the darkness.

The room where the confrontation had begun was completely unrecognizable, what had once been the sofas were now a mass of triangular-shaped fabric and wood floating in the air while spikes and groups of polygons cubic had distorted the floor and walls.

Jeanne panted, holding her frame with her blood-stained hand, still locked in that blade-like form. The girl in front of her had been cut dozens of times but every time Jeanne opened her pale skin, she reformed, enveloping herself in a distorted layer of geometric solids.

Maica smiled, fixing her torn suit Jeanne's mind shuddered, causing her body to jerk to the side. A sharp column shot out of the ground, branching out like an oak tree and bearing down on the girl.

Jeanne danced between the concrete branches, moving sinuously, avoiding every single blow. The column in front of her collapsed, shattering into pieces. Jeanne's blade and Maica's wrench collided, sparking across the white room. Maica, rotating her body, hit Jeanne's side with the tip of her shoe, however the hard and thick sensation of her skin left her amazed.

She thought, getting distracted and not noticing the golden shadow near his throat. The silver edge of the blade pierced the skin of the neck, severing all the capillaries beneath, making its way to the other end. Maica slid backward, blood spraying in jets like a fountain.

Was the only thought when she realized how quickly Jeanne had severed her flesh.

Despite having suffered a direct hit, Jeanne had kept her center of gravity stable, and using the rotation mixed with the strength of the kick, she had sprinted towards Maica even before she could touch the ground. She held her side, panting and not caring about the blood that was staining her clothing. Her uniform had softened the damage, but her pain was as stinging as a viper's bite. Maica tumbled to the ground, clutching her throat, the fingers unable to contain the crimson flow, letting it escape between the spaces of her knuckles and phalanges.

Slowly, the red streams began to slow and fade in intensity. Until his throat was as good as new. but her exhaustion was palpable on the girl's face, which had already been cut numerous times.

She raised her face, wrapped in an expression of fury towards Jeanne, who had remained impassive but visibly tired. The fight had been going on since Roman and Klint had disappeared and both had failed to land a significant blow. Jeanne had felt the blade tear Maica dozens of times, but each time she only got up more tired, while Maica had failed to impale or bury Jeanne with her ability.

Both felt the weight of the struggle of attrition, yet Jeanne still hadn't used her ability even once. Maica had been wondering why for a while but still couldn't understand the true nature of the girl in front of her. Her posture and movements were impeccable, but it wasn't a swordplay that Maica had seen anywhere else. She had massacred dozens of soldiers of Andimica's army, but no one had come close to that technique, so sinuous and primitive at the same time.

She repeated in sequence, like a child who had a toy taken away from her. A mass of polygons accumulated in her palm as she rose from the puddle of her blood. She took up the wrench and poured out all her killer instinct against Jeanne, still with her sword lowered and her shoulder dropped.

Unexpectedly, Maica forcefully placed her foot on the ground, throwing her weapon. The wrench whirled through the air, coming within a few feet of Jeanne. The iron of the tool was split in two by the girl's sharp ascending cut. She failed, however, to readjust the blade in time for Maica, who was beneath her, aiming the sphere of polygons directly at her belly.

The girl's small hand dug into Jeanne's abdomen, without however managing to tear it. A strange sensation spread throughout her body, a mixture of nausea and exhilaration began to envelop her flesh.

Jeanne said faintly, noticing that her vision was starting to look similar to what one would see through a Kaleidoscope. the shape of the room was distorted, appearing at times spherical and others triangular.

A mass of cubes, rhombuses, and rectangles was moving, or rather recomposing, towards her. Her brain was distracted by the amount of information she was receiving from the eyes, failing to decipher those distorted images.

She looked down, noticing that even her skin was made up of a collection of small geometric shapes. The horror was tangible on her face, which according to her body was now the cross section of a cone. A laugh reached her ears, followed by a tremendous blow to what must have been the abdomen. Even before she could identify the pain, a second blow, this time to her side, made her groan.

She heard these words coming from the geometric mass in front of her, while her body slowly collapsed to the ground.

Maica rejoiced at the sight of Jeanne, left on the ground bleeding like a stray dog. She was pleased and observed her hand, noticing however that the fingers were starting to appear more and more squared and torn.

She thought while approaching Jeanne. Her gaze fell on Kroonlijst, the sword remained close to the girl but it slipped from her grasp as soon as the ability clouded her vision.

She said, suppressing a retch with a vague iron taste.

The ability that Maica had called Distortion, was capable of "distorting" the frequency of the bodies with which it came into contact, tampering with their shape, the same could be done to the Frequency of people, but being infinitely more complex, it could only distort their perception or slowly chip away their flesh, something not that meaningful against a powerful foe.

Jeanne's white shirt began to soak up red as her body spasmed, unable to understand her surroundings. Maica began to pick up the golden sword from the ground, happily anticipating the moment when the icy blade would pierce her heart.

She sighed ironically, looking at her with a cold and cruel smile.

As soon as she touched the hilt of the blade, a gray, sticky liquid smeared her hand. It had the same consistency as glue but was inexplicably liquid. The entire handle was saturated with it, so much so that Maica appeared disgusted.

She formulated in her mind. The liquid began to slip between her fingers, partially dripping onto the floor and getting stuck in her hands.

A laugh, disturbing and sadistic, escaped Jeanne's lips, who was slowly getting back to her feet. Her liquid had completely absorbed the blood and was slowly dripping down her thighs, staining her pants.

She whispered in a distorted voice, while the ink in Maica's hands began to take on a reddish tone, similar to that of a rose or a flame. A powerful blast of fire enveloped the girl's hand, and she fell backward, desperately trying to put out the flames. The same liquid seemed to have become fuel for the fire that was slowly eating away at his limb.

Her cries of pain washed across the room, as in a desperate gesture, she severed her arm with a spike of her own making. Sprays of blood splashed at her feet, but Maica's concern was directed towards Jeanne. Her hair had grown longer, almost touching her knees. Her blue eyes had turned a wicked ruby red.

Slowly she approached the sword, which remained on the ground still engulfed in flames. She kicked it into the air, sending it spinning. The fire died as the weapon settled in Jeanne's grip, dripping with that strange grayish substance.

She began to speak, unbuttoning the last button of her shirt, revealing her abdomen, completely healed.

She continued, unbuttoning two more buttons, slightly revealing her cleavage.

Her heartbeat became almost like a strange and ominous melody, echoing through the room.

She concluded the discussion, bringing her hand closer to her lips.

Her cheeks became colored by a sensual red as she delicately ran her tongue between the tips of her index and middle fingers. Elegantly she began to rub her fingers against the skin, starting from the shoulder, passing through the cleavage, and arriving at the abdomen.

Lifting her fingers, Maica noticed that they were dripping profusely with that same grayish liquid. Her hand was completely enveloped in it, like a gelatinous film covering her skin. She picked up his blade-shaped frame, smiling at the blood-stained tip. She gently passed her hand full of liquid over it, stopping at the edge of the sword.

She raised the weapon and with a quick gesture cleaned it of the blood, causing that jelly mixed between white and gray to splash in all directions.

Maica was completely horrified by the changes in the girl in front of her: from the beginning she was strange, that sword technique and those movements of hers were certainly not that of a recruit or a novice, but she was still similar to a high-ranking soldier, but now the atmosphere she gave off was completely different. Jeanne's aura was sinister, almost grotesque, and her rosy cheeks twisted into a grin giving the impression that she was enjoying it.

She whispered again, making Maica's blood freeze as she still hadn't recovered from her charred hand.

A yellowish glow enveloped the weapon, which found itself once again covered in flames. The silvery glow of iron echoed through the dancing blazes. Her red, evil gaze seemed to flash among the blaze emanating from the blade.

Maica immediately understood that something was wrong, her instinct told her, that if she had stayed still she would have died. As she formulated an idea, she felt the heat a few feet away from her. She looked down, noticing a blaze rising from below.

She shouted, while an iron beam under the floor deformed into a particular juxtaposition of cubes and triangles. But no matter how much iron she placed between her and the blade, Jeanne's weapon cut through the metal as if it were paper, leaving only a torn, shining sheet of metal in her place. Before she knew it, her hand had been severed and the wound cauterized. She didn't have time to scream, her body was too busy keeping her alive against that grinning monster engulfed in flames.

She whispered in horror, narrowly avoiding Jeanne's blade.

Jeanne's blade was not trained against the myriad techniques and rules of military fencing, it was completely unrefined. Her lithe, sinuous body gave her diabolical speed and precision, but the true core of that technique was the motivation behind it. She wasn't aggressive, she wasn't prudent, she wasn't even strategic, her only goal was not to be killed. Those quick, sharp movements and that unshakable resistance were the result of her will to not die.

Maica landed on a pillar that popped out of the distorted, cracked wall, desperately trying to increase the space between her and the creature. Jeanne smiled as she raised the sword towards her, suddenly the flames condensed, stopping the dance and all accumulating towards the tip.

The blade was completely submerged in the liquid she secreted, except for the curved tip, which was bathed in a crimson-red glow. Before Maica could even comprehend the situation, a violent gust of flames exploded towards her. The wall of fire reached the wall in mere moments, hitting the girl.

The incandescent mass expanded, burning the entire wall. Jeanne lowered the blade, letting it drip. A smug smile appeared on her face as she observed Maica wrapped in a thin layer of concrete cubes, but with her right arm completely burned. Her wounds were struggling to heal, a strange and twisted geometric shape had begun to spawn on her where the hand once was, and the suit was partly burned and torn, exposing her side to the monster. Her bluish-toned hair had escaped the grip of the elastic that held it together, causing it to fall over her shoulders. A tired and scared expression was printed on her face.

Jeanne said as she gripped the blade with both hands. The flames went out, returning to that liquid similar to ink and glue. The whole wall was covered in it and it was starting to pile up near Maica's column. In a few seconds, the liquid changed color, becoming blue and exploding into a myriad of ice shards.

Maica was thrown and pierced by the freezing spears that were being thrown from the enormous monolith of cold rock, which was slowly chasing her around the room. Jeanne simply twirled her fingers in the air and on the edge of the sword, smiling. Her leg found itself blocked by a cold tendril of ice coming out of the floor, the frost freezing her ankle completely down to the bone.

From beneath her, she glimpsed a dark golden glow, followed by an eerie series of sounds.

Crack Crack….

Maica felt her ribs breaking into many pieces, like a vase falling to the ground. The back of the blade had sunk completely into her side, crushing her spleen and probably her pancreas as well. The force of the blow was such that it broke the ice's grip on the ankle, shattering even the skin that remained attached.

Maica slid across the floor, coming to rest against one of the few sofas that remained intact during the fight. The little girl that Klint had "purchased" looked out in fear from the opposite side of the room, now unrecognizable. The manager's body had been absorbed by the rubble and dismembered by the triangular-shaped concrete spikes. Rubble floated through the air, mixing with the smoke and delicate condensation produced by the giant block of ice.

But the little girl had her gaze fixed on Jeanne's figure: she was standing in front of Maica, her clothes completely torn. Her skin was exposed from the right ankle almost to her hip. Her shirt was stained with that substance and dark blood. Her long hair and her commendable posture made her appear like a nobleman's daughter but her face, shrouded in sinister malignity and sadism made the girl more similar to a beast.

Smiling, she caressed the lips with her fingers, collecting the drops of blood that had settled there. Joyfully, she slipped her wet finger into her tiny mouth. The blush on her cheeks almost seemed to intensify as she felt the heat of the thick fluid slide down her throat.

Maica watched in horror but was unable to get back on her feet. Her stamina was drained away completely, she could barely keep her tired, cut and burnt body intact.

She thought, following with her gaze the movements of Jeanne, who was touching her blade. The girl ran her hand from the shaft to the curved tip. With every movement whitish drops fell from the golden iron, staining the damp and dirty floor with ash and dust. Suddenly, she gripped her weapon tightly, which seemed to bend until it separated with a sharp sea of reddish sparks.

The sword changed shape, breaking into two smaller sections. The hilt composed of the two marble wings had become the handles of the two small daggers held in Jeanne's tapered hands. One was longer and straighter while the other bore the same curve as the sword tip.

Jeanne observed her new weapons, looking at them with a satisfied and mischievous look. Maica was motionless, struggling to hold on to her weak, trembling legs, leaning against a column of debris. The thick liquid accumulated on the walls and floor began to evaporate, filling the room with a thin, transparent white smoke. Maica's vision blurred, a terrified grimace appearing on her face as she watched Jeanne lower the daggers and turn the blades toward her.

The whitish halo thickened, forming a thick curtain of smoke, incorporating Maica in the middle. at the center of the greyish wall, she could hear laughter, mixed with the harsh, hard noise of the shattering ice.

She thought compulsively, holding a new cluster of polygons in her hand, much smaller than the previous one. A golden shape penetrated the smoke, shooting towards Maica who desperately erected a column. The dagger pierced the concrete, coming dangerously close to the girl's eyelashes. She stepped back, feeling a shiver run down her spine, up to her neck. A sensation of icy iron was caressing her skin, being immediately replaced by the heat of the blood that was gushing from her wound.

Jeanne's dagger had managed to connect with her body but was unable to tear it. The girl's hand trembled, spasmodically moving the blade that had barely torn Maica's skin. Deep purple veins were spreading from her hand to her neck. As if they were cracks, they were slowly digging into Jeanne's skin like a sore.

The pain brought Jeanne back to consciousness, restoring the color of her eyes and her hair. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to stop the retching of blood and whitish liquid that was starting to leak from her lips.

Maica thought as she launched herself towards the curtain of smoke that was slowly clearing.

Jeanne collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain and looking for the box that Klint had given her earlier. She ran her hand under her worn shirt, searching for the container. She tore away the bindings it was attached to, quickly opening it. Inside there were three syringes of purple fluorescent liquid.

Jeanne removed the cap from her needle and pressed it against the bare skin of her leg. An electric sensation ran through her body as if she was being electrocuted. The pain lasted for moments and finally, the veins and white vomit began to recede.

Maica had staggered to the door, but a figure dressed in white and with a peculiar black iron contraption blocked his way.

The figure, more of a young man than an adult, was leaning against the wall just outside the door, applauding with satisfaction.

He said pushing towards Maica and slowly taking off his white coat with the fur collar. The tone of his voice was slightly harsh and sarcastic.

Jeanne asked, enduring the enormous pain of the overload.

Maica knew that name, Lautre Clerc, the instructor and one of the big shots of NOIR.

He asked, handing her coat to the little girl saved by Klint. The frightened girl picked the clothing up and held it in her tender arms. Clerc was wearing a black tank top, revealing the muscles of his arms and shoulders, finely shaped and full of tear-like scars, which stained the man's very pale skin.

He said pointing to Maica, his mechanical device shining with a clear light.

He concluded, clenching his fist as the earth vibrated under his feet. Even the air began to shake.

Anf Anf,

Thought Klint, leaning against the wall outside the tunnel which he had rushed into, chased by Roman's shadows. The station he'd emerged was in tremendously better condition than the one he'd fought in moments earlier. He searched inside his jacket pocket, touching the small white metal cube with his fingertips. A faint hiss echoed in the darkness of the tunnel.

He smiled, turning towards the looming darkness.