The night was thick with the scent of salt and iron. Waves crashed against the rocky shore in the distance, their rhythm steady, indifferent to the slaughter about to unfold. Inside a hidden facility nestled against the coast, darkness stretched in long corridors, punctuated only by the dim red glow of security lights.
A shadow moved between them, swift and silent. The figure's steps were as quiet as the whisper of the sea breeze slipping through cracked vents. Dressed in dark, form-fitting attire, they were almost indistinguishable from the shadows themselves. Their breath was steady, heart rate slow—perfectly in control.
Then, a voice shattered the silence.
"Hey, what the—?"
Before the guard could finish his sentence, a dagger flashed. The blade sliced clean through his throat, severing his words along with his windpipe. The figure caught his falling body, lowering him soundlessly to the floor. The scent of fresh blood mixed with the salty air.
An alarm was about to be raised.
The figure moved with practiced ease, twin daggers spinning in their grip as they glided toward the next guard. A twist of the wrist, a flick of the blade—the next target collapsed before he could even register the threat. A muffled gurgle, a widening stare, and then nothing. One after another, bodies hit the floor, silent as leaves falling in the wind.
It was nearly a hundred guards, some were Emergants, but their ranks varied. Some were trained soldiers, others mere mercenaries drawn by the promise of pay. But it didn't matter.
A squad of six stormed in, moving in perfect formation, each covering the other. The figure didn't hesitate. A dagger spun from their hand, finding the throat of the point man. He choked on his own blood as the others immediately reacted, gunfire filling the air. The figure twisted sideways, dodging the first volley. Rolling forward, they closed the distance before the guards could reposition.
A blade slashed through the wrist of one, disarming him. Another dagger buried itself deep into the gut of the next. The remaining four fanned out, attempting to flank. The figure shifted, grabbing the disarmed soldier as a human shield. Bullets tore into his body instead of their intended target. With a final push, the figure launched forward, cutting down the last two in a flurry of precise, lethal strikes.
The commotion did not go unnoticed.
A reinforced door slid open at the far end of the hallway, and a man in tactical gear stepped forward. Unlike the others, he was armed with a firearm—an anti-hunter weapon. Designed specifically to take down B-rank threats, it was a brutal piece of technology. The cold barrel gleamed as he aimed down his sights, the muzzle flaring as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew straight and true. It was supposed to pierce through reinforced armor, supposed to break through defenses normal weapons couldn't. But it didn't.
Instead, it bounced off.
The gunner's eyes widened in shock. "What the hell—?"
The figure was already upon him. A dagger arced through the air, burying itself deep in his face. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, the echoes swallowed by the stillness of death. Blood dripped from the retrieved dagger, the figure cleaning it against the dead man's sleeve before moving forward.
Beyond the corridor, the scene shifted.
Rows of metal cages stretched out like a grotesque marketplace. The captives inside were not human. Beasts with scales, creatures with wings, humanoid figures with glowing eyes—each one bore signs of mistreatment, of captivity that had lasted far too long. Their bodies were weak, their spirits dimmed.
A patrol unit rushed in from the left, heavier reinforcements. One wielded a massive electrified baton, its charge humming. Another had a reinforced shield, designed to withstand supernatural strength. They moved in sync, anticipating an attack.
The figure assessed them, then struck first. A dagger hurtled toward the shield-bearer, but he deflected it effortlessly. It didn't matter. The attack was a feint. The true strike came a second later—an upward slash that severed tendons in his thigh. He collapsed, and before he could recover, the figure finished him with a quick thrust to the throat.
The baton wielder swung. The figure dodged, ducking under the charged arc before twisting into an upward kick. The impact sent the baton spinning from his grasp. A follow-up strike shattered his jaw, sending him sprawling. One final plunge of the dagger ended him.
The figure stepped forward, boots clicking against the concrete floor. A hush fell over the caged beings as they watched in wary silence, too exhausted to hope but too aware to ignore the presence of their would-be liberator.
Then, in a voice far softer than the destruction they had just wrought, the figure spoke.
"Your order's ready."
...
Luna's boots echoed through the dimly lit hallway, each step a sharp crack against the cold stone walls. The air breezed by her skin, thick with the acrid bite of sweet chemicals and a metallic tang that curled in her nostrils like blood. She'd walked this path through the compound countless times, but tonight, an uneasy weight settled in her gut. The door at the corridor's end loomed ahead, its dark, polished wood carved with writhing patterns that seemed to slither under the flickering torchlight, as if alive.
Luna didn't knock softly. She never did, especially not for Lex. Her fist slammed against the wood with a force that reverberated through the frame, and when no answer came, she shoved the door open, storming inside. The room was a cave of shadows, pierced only by slivers of dawn creeping through the window's half-drawn blinds. The air was heavy, sour with sweat and something sharper, unplaceable.
Lex lay sprawled in bed, his back to her, a tangle of dark hair spilling across the pillow. He stirred at her intrusion, voice gravelly with sleep. "Payment's in the drawer."
She crossed the room in three strides, her movements sharp, predatory. The drawer slid open with a soft scrape, revealing a wooden box. Inside, gold coins gleamed, their weight promising decadence. Luna's lips twitched into a smirk. Lex had hired her for dirty work—silencing nuisances, stealing rare blood from creatures teetering on extinction—and she'd delivered. The tasks were vile, but the coin was clean. She snapped the box shut, already tasting the luxuries it would buy, and turned to leave.
"Wait," Lex's voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate. The rustle of sheets followed.
Luna froze mid-step, instincts flaring. She glanced back, catching Lex as he rose from the bed, his body unfolding with the sleek grace of a panther. The morning light traced his sculpted form, shadows pooling in the hollows of his tanned skin. His movements were deliberate, each gesture honed for an audience, though the room held only her. He reached for a robe, the silk slipping over his shoulders like a second skin, and tied it loosely, his gaze lifting to hers—or trying to.
That damned blindfold.
Luna's blindfold, black as pitch, never shifted, never betrayed a hint of the eyes beneath. Yet she moved with a precision that mocked sight itself. Lex's jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration in his sharp features. "How do you see through that thing?" he asked, voice light but edged with a hunger for answers.
She tilted her head, a faint smirk curling her lips. "If you've got nothing else, I'm gone. Job's done."
Lex stepped closer, his presence a quiet threat. "One more job. Pays double what's in that box."
Her eyebrow arched beneath the blindfold, a silent prompt. "Go on."
He gestured for her to follow, leading her through the compound's labyrinthine corridors. The air grew colder, the walls closing in with a sterile, metallic sheen. Lex's voice broke the silence, low and fervent. "The other races—they're choking humanity, draining us by their mere existence. I'm building something to save us, Luna. To save them all."
Bullshit
They descended deeper, past restricted wings she'd never breached. The darkness thickened, pressing against her skin like a living thing. At last, Lex halted before a massive steel door. He keyed in a code, and with a hiss, the door slid open, revealing a laboratory that sprawled like a subterranean city. Harsh fluorescent light glinted off endless rows of machines, glass tubes, and white-robed figures moving with mechanical precision. The hum of technology buzzed in her bones.
But it was the center of the room that stopped her cold.
Four towering containment tubes dominated the space, filled with a sickly green liquid. Within them, grotesque masses of flesh pulsed, their slow writhing suggesting something alive, something wrong. A chill coiled in Luna's stomach, sharp and unfamiliar.
"What the hell is that?" Her voice held steady, but a thread of unease wove through it.
Lex approached the tubes, his expression almost worshipful. "The start of something revolutionary."
Her eyes narrowed. "And my role?"
"I need more data. Samples." His voice was smooth, too smooth. "From a person."
Luna's arms crossed, her posture rigid. "You want me to hunt someone."
"Observe them," Lex corrected, his gaze piercing. "Learn their habits, their rhythms. Then, when the time comes, take their DNA—without harm."
She exhaled sharply, weighing his words. "Why them?"
His smile was a slow, venomous thing, dripping with promise. "They're the key to something… greater. Succeed, and the rewards will eclipse anything you've known."
Luna stood silent, her mind a storm of calculations. Beneath the blindfold, a single thought flickered, sharp and dangerous.
What had she just stepped into?