The skyline of Prime City shimmered like a digital mirage beyond the thick panes of reinforced glass. Neon advertisements bathed over the boulevard far below, casting shifting hues across the expansive penthouse suite. The room smelled of polished steel and aged whiskey, the scent of wealth earned through blood and sweat. A man sat alone in a leather chair, watching the latest broadcast from the Universal News Network.

"—reports confirm another triple homicide in the upper North Prime district earlier this evening. Law enforcement officials suspect the work of Jackson’s Army, a notorious violent outlaw faction responsible for the growing instability in Prime City. Police Commissioner Nash Holiday issued a statement just hours ago—"

The screen cut to a scruffy, one-eyed policeman standing behind an imposing podium, his deep voice laced with manufactured confidence. "We will not be intimidated. The safety of Prime City’s citizens remains our highest priority, and I promise you, justice will be swift and absolute."

The man watching scoffed, rolling a crystal tumbler between his fingers. Justice. A word used too often by men who had never fought for it. He sipped the whiskey, the burn of it sharp against his throat, and leaned back in his chair. The city was unraveling. He had seen it coming long before the news anchors dared to whisper it.

Then he heard it.

A whisper of displaced air. A disturbance beyond the quiet hum of the penthouse.

Instinct overruled thought. He moved.

The glass shattered behind him. A black-clad figure burst through the reinforced window in a motion blur, landing in a low crouch on the marble floor. The intruder was wrapped in a sleek, seamless tactical body suit with a faceless mask reflecting the ambient neon glow. There was no insignia, no voice, and only the shallow rise and fall of breath beneath the armor.

The man’s hands shot to his twin pistols, sleek and modified, holstered beneath his seat. In a heartbeat, they were drawn, muzzles flashing as he fired at the intruder. The assassin moved like a liquid shadow, weaving inhumanly past the bullets. Then, with a single motion, they unsheathed a katana from their back—a blade with a Japanese engravement that made the man’s breath hitch. Recognition shot in his eyes.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The assassin struck.

A blur of steel. He barely dodged, rolling to the side and firing again. The sword deflected the bullets unnaturally, sparks dancing across the room. He adjusted, shifting his aim, but the assassin was already upon him. A precise slash knocked one pistol from his grip. He fired the other, but the assassin twisted, the blade slicing through the barrel like paper.

Disarmed.

The man snarled, tossing the ruined weapon aside as the assassin advanced. He blocked the first strike with his forearm, pain igniting as the blade nicked his skin. He twisted, catching the assassin’s wrist and forcing the katana away. A brutal kick to the stomach sent the assassin staggering, but they recovered instantly, moving with an eerie grace.

A hand-to-hand battle erupted. Blows landed with bone-shattering force. The assassin was relentless and precise—every movement calculated. The man fought like a caged beast, raw and unyielding. He punched the assassin’s mask, cracking it slightly, revealing the faintest hint of a familiar scar beneath.

His mind raced. He knew that face.

Then, pain.

A sharp, searing agony bloomed in his abdomen. He gasped, looking down to see the katana buried deep between his ribs. Blood pooled at the edges, warm and thick. His fingers twitched, reaching, but the assassin twisted the blade, ending the struggle.

He collapsed onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The city lights pulsed above him like dying stars.

The assassin kneeled beside him, retrieving a small device from his belt. A dark blue holographic screen projected above their palm, displaying a locked file: Forerunner. They extracted a tiny encrypted holodisk from a hidden compartment in the penthouse wall and inserted it into the device. A moment later, the screen blinked green. Download complete.

The assassin stood and turned to leave, but then…

“He’ll come for you,” said the man as he struggled to breathe. “I know he will.”

The assassin hesitated. A small, silent choice was made.

They reached into their suit and retrieved a compact incendiary charge. With a flick of their wrist, they activated it and dropped it onto the floor beside the dying man.

There was a low beep. Then, a slow, creeping fire spread outward, consuming the fine rugs, the shattered glass, and the bloodstained floor.

The last thing the man saw before the world faded was the shimmering light of his burning empire reflected in the assassin’s expressionless mask.

And then—

Darkness.