Three facing him, and another three from behind, the rush of wind acting as eyes on his back.

The smell of rancid rust was almost tangible here.

‘Higher-Tier Cybernetics.’

Miles breathed, and his feet danced in the nameless movement art, perfectly escaping the surrounding of the gangsters, through a barely open gap in their assault.

He appeared behind a man whose left palm had opened up to reveal a metallic hole, one that had begun to glow with blazing orange and searing heat.

‘An Inferno Blaster? Dangerous.’

The knife stabbed into the man’s neck, causing him to howl in pain, but to Miles’ surprise the weak metal only stabbed halfway through.

‘Subdermal defensive implants.’

So, Miles did the only other thing he could. In a perfectly smooth motion, the knife pulled out of the neck, causing no rain of blood, only a scream.

He released the knife, immediately catching it with the other hand, and stabbed it into the man’s left wrist, right where the peripheral neural interface for the Inferno Blaster should be.

Sparks burst and Miles immediately let go of the thing.

The air began to vibrate, extremely agitated, roaring in warning.

Miles didn’t need to be told twice as the nameless movement rushed him out in a speedy retreat.

BOOM!

The blast knocked him off his feet even with his fast reaction, but Miles rolled it off in practiced movement, easily dispelling the force of the explosion.

The ogre skin of the suit had protected his back and he had gotten off with only a few singed hairs.

Ding! Ding!

Miles heaved heavy breaths, excitement and adrenaline rushing through his undead veins.

He turned around, expecting to find all six gangsters burnt to a crisp, but as it turned out, there were only two burnt corpses, their flesh and skin incinerated right off.

Instead, what accompanied them was a red hot, blistering metal tower shield. It seemed to have manifested facing the explosion, behind which Miles assumed and could sense the last four had retreated to.

So, he breathed, and he rushed forth again.

Miles reached the source of the explosion, and the moment the heat from the blazing metal became unbearable, when the very air seemed to sizzle, he danced around the source, appearing perfectly behind the tower shield.

Miles ignored the gangster that had released and was maintaining the tower shield, and jumped into the air, striking down the one nearest to him with the pipe he still carried.

The man noticed immediately, his eyes glowing with the tell-tale signs of Cyberware. Surprisingly, he craned his neck, managing to dodge the hit, the pipe crashing into his shoulder instead.

The man collapsed onto his knees with a grunt, while the rest of the gangsters were still struggling to react against the sudden attack.

In a feat of impeccable acrobatics and quick reaction, Miles dropped the pipe, used the gangster on his knees as a platform and pushed off his body with his hands, propelling himself into the air.

His foot lashed sideways in a powerful kick, but the gangster he had targeted merely smirked. His eyes glowed with azure cyber light, and his skin shimmered with metallic scales.

This fellow had some of the better Cyberware here, the smell of rust comparatively less, but the rancidity of sharp metal extreme.

‘Decent quality retinal implants, blue-yellow light, Capital Oculus, series Azure. Allowed him to react to my attacks. Shimmering skin, a ‘dragon scale’ subdermal implant, series irrelevant. Decent defense.’

And yet, Miles didn’t relent.

The gangster’s smirk grew as he raised his muscular arm to defend and potentially even catch Miles’ foot.

Nothing of the sort happened.

Miles’ full body kick powered by 17 strength points was strong enough to break through the man’s guard. His foot, donned in an unassuming yet unseelie steel tipped boot, burst through in a splatter of blood, flesh and Cyberware.

The kick struck the gangster right in the face, his smirk collapsing into a howl as the infernal metal pierced through ‘dragon scales’, even managing to gouge off a cybernetic eye.

Expertly swiveling through the air, Miles landed on his feet.

While the rest of the white dragon runts were still gathering themselves, his pipe slammed into the gangster that had managed to dodge his first strike, this time managing to strike him cleanly in the skull, courtesy of the wonderful bloody and screaming distraction the now one-eyed man was providing.

The gangster he had just hit may have had quick reactions and retinal implants, but unlike his now one-eyed compatriot, he had nothing to defend with. With only an ordinary skull, the strike knocked him out completely, also, potentially severe brain damage.

And with that, only three of the six remained, one of them having lost an eye.

Miles felt nothing more from the wind.

By now, it was obvious that his sense of touch, his skin, was allowing him to use the air, the wind to see. It was even mysteriously managing to warn him of attacks before they actually came, and since there was no longer anything, it meant that all he had to worry about was what was right in front of him.

Two gangsters in fighting shape.

Inadvertently he had begun to relax, when one of the gangsters rushed him.

Miles patiently waited for the perfect moment to strike, but he was caught off guard when the man suddenly punched, way too early for his fist to actually reach Miles. And that was when he noticed the gangster's arms… or rather one unusually long arm.

The wind burst into a deadly frenzy, a roaring gust rushing towards his neck.

Miles’ eyes widened, immediately falling into a crouch, just below the laser-edged, sickle-like mantis-blade that had unfurled out of the man’s arm, shaving off some of his hair he was sure.

Snarling in anger, Miles struck out at the man whose guard was now entirely open, when the second gangster acted.

The woman behind the shield had been at a considerable distance and Miles had not seen or felt anything from her, except for the fact that she had faced her free palm forwards. He had expected something sub-par, when a tell-tale white light had flashed into his eyes.

‘Neural Disruption!’

There had been nothing physical for Miles to be warned via the wind and he had been unprepared, allowing a direct hit.

A blast of nausea hit him, sending him reeling. His feet were unsteady, limbs difficult to move and his senses dulled.

Miles attempted to rush back immediately, trying to use the nameless footwork, but his body was sluggish, and he was too slow.

A familiar click of metal knocking against metal, and what could only be assumed to be the other Strider of the pair, sent the wind into a screaming, roaring frenzy.

A thin sliver-like piercing of wind burned into his chest, and it took everything Miles had to force himself back and to the side.

HISS!

Pain, searing, blazing pain.

Overwhelming pain.

Blood, bone and flesh splattered onto the floor.

A piece of him had been cleanly speared off his shoulder, leaving a gaping hole.

The mantis blade that had barely missed his vitals remained impaled within his shoulder, flesh sizzled, but the wound already cauterized by the burning laser, halted any further blood loss.

Even the inlaid ogre skin of his custom suit had not been capable of stopping a nearly 2000 degrees Celsius laser from piercing through.

Ding!

[-2 HP]

[HP 8/10. External Injury Detected.]

[No bleeding detected.]

[2.1 Blood Points (BP) lost. 8/10 BP remaining.]

Miles was in no state to notice or even comprehend the system notifications, but they continued regardless.

Ding!

[Conditional Undeath disrupted. Failure Condition: Fire.]

As the pain and agony seared into him, the heat beginning to shatter his resolve, what little control he had been able to maintain over his emotions… splintered.

Smoky air burst out of his nostrils, as a primal, bestial rage burst out within him.

PARVIS DOLIS! YOU ANDHA MORTALS DARE FELL CHAOS BLESSED FLESH? STIPENDIUM CUM ANIMABUS VESTRIS!

The pain dulled, the searing heat faded, and everything else that mattered little vanished from his perception. All that remained were himself and the two gangsters involved in his injury.

The nameless footwork exploded below him, and Miles pulled back in a hiss of burning flesh, freeing himself off the mantis blade. He did not retreat but rushed forth.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The gangster who had used both the blade of mantis and one strider, was rejoicing striking the monstrous boy, even sneering in confidence, “Hah! F*cking Corpo bastard! That’s what you get for knocking out my brother! That’s what you get for messing with the white dragons!”

The fact that nearly half of their number were dead or severely injured didn’t seem to have registered.

At least until, the woman with the shield lowered her neural disrupting palm and offered with a contrasting sadness, "The others."

The mantis bladed gangster only seemed to have realize reality then...

It also meant he was caught completely off guard when Miles vaulted over the mantis blade, avoiding the blazing green laser by a hair's breadth.

Miles snarled in rage, as his hands, even the one with half of his shoulder missing, grabbed onto the distracted man’s elbow, just where the mantis blade began. And— twisted.

The gangster’s sneer fell apart, and he screamed, his howls joining in with everybody else who were unfortunate enough to have survived so far and not been knocked out, yet unable to do much courtesy of debilitating injuries.

Blood and flesh splattered, and the man screeched in pain, his barely reinforced bones and subdermal doing nothing more than break a few of Miles’ unenhanced finger bones.

Pain that Miles had already stopped feeling.

The mantis blade was ripped out of the hand it had unfurled out of. The hum of the laser began to dull, its heat started to weaken, all owing to the lack of a body to power its neural interface, but well before the cybernetic could truly shut down…

A scream of warning rang out from elsewhere, far too late now, but he didn't mind. It helped him aim.

Miles pulled back and threw with all his strength, and like a shuriken, the laser blade rippled through the air.

The woman that had used the neural disruptor was completely shocked, too slow to move the deployed tower shield, only barely managing to launch another neural blast at the javelin of a mantis blade.

It didn’t do much to a separated arm, but what passed through it, still hit Miles, causing him to snarl once more.

In a sickening crunch of blade and flesh, the mantis blade speared into the gangster, adding her tortured screams into the ongoing cacophony.

It had been a good throw, but the blade had bent and become less effective, owing to the fact that it was a mantis blade wielding arm and not an actual weapon.

Still, the remnants of laser on the mantis blade had been more than sufficient to pierce through the woman's torso, blazing her organs in the torturous fire that still continued to burn through Miles’ own shoulder.

One taken care of, Miles’ face twisted into one of inhuman rage as he leapt off the ground and pounced onto the still screaming, now one-armed man’s shoulders.

He grabbed onto the head, the head of the mortal that had injured him so gravely.

With a sickening twist, he shattered the neck, forcing the life out of the gangster’s terrified eyes.

Ding!

Miles moved, and blood and screams ensued.

The one-eyed man was punched in the heart until his chest caved in.

Ding!

Miles pulled out the mantis blade, now laser-less, but still extremely sharp, from the gangster that had her innards burned in laser heat, weakly begging for death.

He obliged, smashing her head in, with her own tower shield.

Ding!

Miles walked through the remnants of the gangsters, somehow managing to identify the few that had barely survived and were knocked out with varying amounts of brain damage.

Merciless stabs to the heart freed them of their misery.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

And finally, he arrived at the last white dragon.

The one who had instigated the whole thing, the formerly confident pickpocket was on his knees, still holding and cradling his horseshoe of an arm while staring at the floor. It was almost as if he hoped that looking away would make events any less real.

The reedy pickpocket had not participated in the fight, he had not helped out his fellow white dragons, nor had they asked him to. Perhaps it was because he had the least cyberware among them all, perhaps it was due to some other reason, and Miles simply didn’t care.

The gangster however, seemed to notice his arrival, beginning to shout, eyes still glued to the floor, “R-Ryo-san! He's the Gokuryuu's right hand man! H-he won’t let you get away with this! Even if you’re a C-Corpo! H-He’s coming soon!”

Miles didn’t react, continuing to walk forwards, the mantis blade in hand dripping blood.

The pickpocket gangster seemed to sense something was off, and lifted his head, daring a moment of eye contact.

Their eyes met, and all he saw were two tearful eyes, of disbelief, fear and terror.

Miles, who had shown no emotion besides anger so far, froze.

That– that sight– his facade, his lies, all broken, to reveal the weak, terrified soul hiding within…

Miles' lips curled into a full-blown grin.

MUCH BETTER, PRAEDA.

The gangster shivered, and screamed, “M-MONSTER!” and began to, or at least attempt to, run away. All he managed was a slow crawl.

The mantis blade ripped through the man’s back, impaling him, like the many Miles had slaughtered before.

Ding!

With that, everyone was dead. Of everyone that had dared consider him prey, only their mutilated corpses were left.

The rage that had awoken within him was seemingly satisfied.

All energy seeped out of Miles. The result of having his flesh seared off and forcing himself to go beyond his limits, finally hit, sending him to his knees.

His mind was fried, self-control and any sense of enforced discipline long shattered.

He didn’t really feel much of the pain, as if having a hole in his shoulder was nothing much at all.

Instead, he just felt tired, exhausted, and so… so… thirsty.

An ordinary thirst would’ve made his mouth dry and uncomfortable, but this was different. He in his entirety, all of his very being, felt dry and parched.

His eyes were locked, unblinking, upon the many corpses before him and the mouth-watering scarlet liquid that seeped out of them.

Even the rancid stench of rusting metal smelled like added flavor, rather than a reason for the disgust he had felt initially.

‘So tired, so– so thirsty. Just a little, a drop or two wouldn’t hurt?’

ITA, BIBERE.

He had his mouth wide open, his canines entirely ordinary, but his mouth salivating.

‘I’ll stop right after. Yes, just a little. It’ll be fine?’

ITA, BIBERE NEWBORN.

He lunged forwards on hand and knees, all thoughts of ‘little’ and ‘bit’ forgotten, prepared to do something that should’ve been unthinkable to his ordinary self.

But before he did something he would forever regret, something snatched onto his neck, holding him from his nape in a strangely familiar fashion.

He struggled and fought, trying to escape, to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, that which would surely sate the burn in his throat, with single minded madness.

That was when something warm, comforting and familiar rushed into him, through whatever held onto his neck, granting a moment of clarity to his lost mind.

Miles blinked, feeling the fog and the darkness that had overwhelmed him lift, ever so slightly.

He gasped, surprised to see where he was, almost on his knees upon the street that he had been disgusted to even just stand upon, almost bathing in the blood and gore of the gangsters he had spurned before.

‘W-What was I going to do? N-No, w-what did I do?’

Miles stared at himself, and the obvious target had he been allowed to reach it, a slew of mangled corpses.

He couldn’t help but find the noise disconcerting. The screams and howls all gone, leaving a stifling, uncomfortable lack of human noise. It was so strangely silent.

Miles didn’t, yet also did, remember all that he had done, like a veiled, yet surreal memory from a dream.

He couldn’t drag his eyes off of the mutilated bodies before him, broken necks, speared through, burned, or with chests beaten in.

‘I did that? Me?

...It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s not like I haven’t killed before. These Hakuryuu deserved it! It’s fine. It was self-defense?’

A familiar voice, the one whose hand had held him back and returned him control, “I apologize Master Miles. I may have anticipated a similar result, but… if not now, it would’ve happened somewhere, someday, to better people that may not have deserved it.” The voice was comforting, yet it was also a spear that gouged through his already uncertain mind, “This-- creature within you, it is a responsibility that you must learn to carry, if, you wish to pursue this misbegotten path.”

Miles couldn’t reply…

‘I did that. Me.’

He could only stare, wanting to feel terrified, horrified, but— unable to.

His mind was in no place to think things through, and Zhan Shen seemed to notice.

“Right, rest for now,” and with that, the warmth returned, but it was different. Calm, peaceful, and welcoming.

It didn’t take Miles long to lose consciousness, falling into an uncertain rest.

“Even the mentality of a Bala, an almost Sakti, failed to hold back that– thing?” the old butler seemed troubled, “It seems we will have much work to do kiddo.”

***

Far from the abandoned streets of Yumekuro, sheltered by the great energy dome that shielded them from the sparks of Tartarus’ wrath, lay the never sleeping Inner City.

Far from the mortals that buzzed down upon the earth, where even the sprawling Inner City appeared no more than a pond of neon lights obscured by wisps of fae-laced fog, stood a resplendent tower of luminous silver glass.

The epicenter of Capital City, the bustling hub for thousands of transporters that flitted in and out like bees to a hive, overseen by an array of revolving holographic adverts, as if the very heavens were endorsing what the ants below should consume.

This was the Capital Tower, and atop its lofty spire, amidst the lonely shadows of the often-forgotten rooftop, perched a solitary figure.

The neon city and the crescent moon reflected off his silver visage in a halo of pure light, and the chilling wind rustled through his blonde hair. He may as well have been an angel, his gleaming white eyes surveying the world below, seemingly seeing everything.

And he truly did, for wherever he turned, the CCV9 AllSight optical implants would seamlessly connect to all available Capital City surveillance, granting him an unimpeded view of anything and everything, courtesy of Capital Corp. Central Command.

Petty crimes, heated arguments, clandestine deals, secret trades, whispers and mutterings, nothing could escape his gaze.

But it was never his place to intervene.

The man occasionally glanced beyond the walls, at the lush forestry that surrounded Capital City, seeming to want to swallow the industrious city whole, where brave souls defended the city from Fae invaders even now. Where even his own sister–

But his place was here.

He was but a human component in a grand scheme, a silent observer, a sentinel that could only act upon orders.

Suddenly, a faint chime resonated in his ear, prompting him to press behind his ear.

Moments later, his gaze shifted towards a particular region of the outer city, unnaturally dark and lifeless this particular night.

Surveillance was limited there, but in Capital City the Allsight were the eyes of God. His eyes flashed white, and he answered, “Between Swordlake and Hamelin, a gang war. The Blades and some Netweavers, potentially the Craven, attacking the White Dragons teamed up with… some rats. Nothing of particular unusualness.”

Another chime, another pause, but this time, the reaction of the silver armored man was markedly different, “Orders to help the Blades?! Those gangsters of Swordlake? Is this really what the Knights should care about in the middle of an Orc Invasion?!”

The chimes persisted, and eventually the man’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “Yes sir. I’m sorry sir, no sir–”

But then, something happened.

The angelic man’s breath grew heavy, eyes widening, and his figure trembled as if the cold had finally caught up to him. Inadvertently, he lowered his hand, deaf to the chimes in his ear, and began to scour the city below him, his eyes burning through the AllSight.

And finally, he found the something.

While the surveillance was more comprehensive here, even the Allsight failed to find anything amiss or out of the norm. There was nothing of note here.

If it was anyone but him, they would have moved on.

But he knew different.

The silver-clad man placed a trembling hand upon his heart, as if to steady himself.

His gaze darted between Hamelin, Swordlake, and this third district which shared a border with Hamelin.

It was close enough.

With a deep breath, the man reached behind his ear and finally answered the incessant, seemingly agitated chimes.

“Sorry for the delay sir. Interference, I think. Knight Xavier will obey the King’s command.”

With that the chimes finally calmed down, and the man heaved a sigh.

Even if it meant disobeying direct orders, he had to discover the source. The source of what had struck fear into his heart.

A feeling so eerily similar, of that night that had struck sheer terror in him, but it couldn’t be…

His target was set; the Kingdom of the Jade Dragon, the gateway to the dark underbelly of the OtherworldTM, the realm of the Hakuryuu.

The district of Yumekuro.

And without a moment’s pause, he leapt off the skyscraper. Like a silver meteor free falling towards certain death, or... a falling angel.