The night slashes the sky like a blade, heavy and silent. Streetlights flicker in the distance, reflecting on the asphalt wet from the drizzle that still insists on falling. The roar of my motorcycle cuts through the dawn — a thunderbolt at full speed.
My eyes narrow as the truck looms ahead. I accelerate. The engine growls, vibrating beneath me. I can smell the metallic scent of ozone in the air — an electrical storm is coming… or maybe it's just the smell of death.
Two motorcycles appear in my side mirrors. Goons.
One on each side.
They pull out electric batons crackling with bluish sparks. The hissing sound slices through the silence between us. They swing their weapons violently, trying to hit me.
I duck, leaning close to the tank of the bike. The wind slashes my face like a razor. Adrenaline surges — hot, addictive. With a flick of the wrist, a sword appears in my left hand. Pure metal. Cold as the night.
"You really haven't learned anything," I mutter, nearly laughing.
I aim for the goon on the left. He raises the baton, but too slow. Way too slow. My blade cuts through it like butter, then slices through his neck. A dark spray splashes into the air. His bike skids out, dragging his body with it.
The other one tries to strike me from behind. I spin the sword into the air, making it vanish. The pistol appears in the same hand. A single shot. Popped tire.
His motorcycle spins out of control. Before his body hits the ground, I grab him by the neck with my free hand. He screams.
"AAAAAHHH!"
I drag his face across the asphalt at 100 km/h.
The sound of flesh shredding against the pavement is grotesque. I let go just before losing momentum. He tumbles across the ground and disappears behind me.
"Idiots," I mutter, adjusting my posture and accelerating harder. I align with the truck. "Last warning… pull over, or I'll open fire."
The driver stares at me through the mirror. Flips me off.
"Go fuck yourself!"
"Fine," I sigh, resigned. "You asked for it."
I brake, falling in behind the truck. Summon the pistol again and aim at the rear right tire.
Bang.
The bullet tears through rubber. The truck shakes, wheel twisting, losing traction. It crashes hard into a hydrant. Water erupts like a fountain as smoke seeps from the engine. The metal hisses like a wounded animal.
Two men leap out of the truck, armed. One's got an AK-47, the other is trying to aim.
I don't give them the chance.
The bike surges forward under my will. I make it jump — the front wheel smashes into the driver's face. His skull turns like a busted door hinge. I land on my feet as the bike skids behind me, brakes growling.
The second goon hesitates. Drops his weapon.
I brake the motorcycle right in front of him, slowly. I stare through the visor. He trembles. I can smell the fear — sweat, and urine just about to flow.
I grab him by the neck.
"Open it." My voice is low. Dry. Icy.
"W-what?"
I get off the bike. Cold.
Behind me, the driver is still breathing. A mistake. I point the gun backward and fire without looking. A dry thud. Silence.
I point the gun back at the thug, pressing it to his forehead. He's pale as wax.
"I'll only say this once more." I nod toward the truck's container. "Open it."
He stumbles to the back, trembling fingers tapping a code. Nothing.
"I-I don't know the code! If we try to force it open, it'll explode! I swear! We'll all go up in flames!"
I raise an eyebrow. Slam the butt of the gun into his forehead. He drops like a flickering light.
"Pathetic."
I activate the lenses. Rings of blue light spin across my vision, scanning the container's panel. A soft beep. Codes decrypted. The door unlocks with a click.
Night vision on.
I enter.
Silence.
No men. No bomb. Just emptiness. A bluff?
I look around, tense. Blue light bathes the interior. Suddenly, a screen behind me lights up. The glow calls to me like a whisper. I turn my face.
On the screen… her.
Nix.
Hair white like liquid silver. Violet eyes. Cold. Elegant. A black dress like a starless night.
Shit.
With a snap, the mask closes over my face. She can't know that Kronos and Sirius are one and the same.
She smiles.
"Looks like we've finally 'met', Kronos."
"Empress." I step closer to the screen, firm steps. "So this was a trap."
"I'd call it… a secure method," she replies, twirling a champagne glass with grace. "To find out who dares to challenge me. I've always wanted to know what you looked like. But you always erased the cameras. So rude."
"Now you've seen me." I spread my arms. "Unfortunately, not my face. But believe me… I'm handsome, Empress."
"You remind me of my father," she says, serious. "Or rather, you look like him."
I freeze. Her gaze cuts like a blade.
"I spent millions replacing Cazram Division agents you killed," she hisses.
"So that's it." I step even closer to the screen. "I'm like him because I fight for the freedom of this rotten city. I don't care about your money, Nix. When I find that bastard Cazram, this filthy race-trafficking ends."
"Freedom?" She laughs. A sharp sound. "You call this chaos freedom? The people spew hatred disguised as opinion."
"That's called freedom of speech, you bitch." I glare at the screen. "Unlike you, who arrests and kills anyone who disagrees."
"There's something that irritates me more." Her voice softens. "Sirius."
My heart skips a beat.
"He... had to let go of all his companies. Because of my segregation policies. He isolated himself in his own mansion."
Why is she telling me this?
"What's your point?"
She glances sideways. A sigh.
"If those races didn't exist, if the rules were different... Sirius would be by my side now."
Flash. I remember when we were fifteen. The abuser. The way she looked at me that night.
She sighs again.
"But they do exist. And you, Kronos, align with my father's ideals. You support the races like Sirius does. That makes you an enemy of the State."
"You claimed to protect minorities. Now you trample them."
"And you act like a terrorist. A murderer."
She smiles. A smile dripping with venom.
"War has been declared, Kronos."
The screen goes black.
Beep. 5... 4... 3...
"Shit."
I run. The chest shakes. A contained explosion hurls me through the air. The world spins. Asphalt. Pain.
I roll on the ground and crawl to the bike. The engine's rumble still echoes in my chest.
"That... bitch..." I whisper through clenched teeth, lifting the motorcycle.
The engine roars through the silent night as I ride away, leaving behind the burning truck—now just a twisted pile of metal and thick smoke rising into the sky. The stench of burned gasoline clings to my clothes. My fingers are stiff on the handlebars, knuckles white.
My vision blurs slightly. The heat of the blast grazed me, and the shock... well, I've had better nights. The bike slides over the rain-slick asphalt. The city sleeps, but chaos breathes in the shadows.
---
I wake to an irritating buzz. The doorbell.
I open my eyes slowly. The light filters through the blinds, drawing lines across the ceiling. My whole body complains. Every bone, every muscle, every inch of skin pulses like I've been hit by a train... or blown up. Oh, right... I was.
"Shit," I mutter, trying to sit up. A metallic taste fills my mouth, and I feel a cut healing on the side of my tongue. When did I get home again? The last thing I remember is my body spinning midair like a ragdoll and then... black.
The bell rings again, this time more insistent, almost angry. And then... footsteps.
I tense instinctively. But it's no intruder. I recognize the sound of a tail dragging softly on the floor. Kiyomi. She's leaning on the hallway wall, feeling her way like a sleepwalking child.
"Damn..." I murmur, dragging myself to my feet.
I take a breath and walk toward her. Her silhouette is hunched, hair messy, ears twitching like radars trying to make sense of the world. I gently take her arm.
She turns her face toward me, eyes slightly vacant and confused. The tips of her ears tremble.
"Aegis," I say firmly, "reveal who's at the door."
The AI answers in its cold, precise voice:
"Miss Lyra is at the entrance, master."
"Authorize entry." I guide Kiyomi toward the living room, supporting her along the way. Her body is light, contrasting with the weight she carries inside. The trauma hasn't healed—not hers, not mine.
We reach the living room. The door opens with a soft hiss.
Lyra enters. Her eyes scan me in an instant, analyzing every bruise, scratch, and soot stain on me. She raises an eyebrow.
"Before any lecture from me or any smartass remark from you," she says, tone still professional, "I need to see my patient."
"Thought you'd only come in two days..." I mutter, tugging at the collar of my dirty shirt, trying to look less wrecked than I am.
"I was nearby," she replies, as if it's the most normal thing in the world, "and something told me you'd need me sooner than expected."
A metallic case materializes in her hand out of nowhere. Top-tier portable tech. This woman never ceases to amaze.
"Come on, Kiyomi," she says gently. "Time for your check-up."
Kiyomi hesitates for a second but then nods, ears lowering slowly. She trusts her. That's something.
I help Kiyomi to the couch. Her fluffy tail moves slowly, swaying like every muscle resists. Her ears, half-lowered, tremble with the effort—sensitive to every sound, every vibration in the air.
She settles into a corner of the cushion, upright and graceful, like any proper kitsune. But today, her aura feels more... vulnerable.
Lyra crouches in front of her. Her white coat sways lightly. She activates a small medical flashlight, and the beam hits Kiyomi's pink eyes, making them glow like crystal under moonlight.
"Hmm..." Lyra murmurs, adjusting the focus. "Vision is coming back. Still a while before it's at a hundred percent... but progress is good."
She turns off the flashlight with a crisp click. Then pulls out a translucent tablet with an x-ray interface. The device hums softly in her hand as she positions it over Kiyomi's throat. A soft blue glow spreads over her pale skin.
Kiyomi closes her eyes. Her tail sways gently, reacting to the stimulus.
Lyra analyzes the data and finally relaxes her shoulders.
— Phew. In a few days, your voice will come back, — she says with a smile. — Not bad, hmm, girl?
Kiyomi tilts her head slightly, her ears perking up.
After a few more quick checks — heartbeat and reflexes — Lyra stands, cracking her knees and rolling her neck. Then her eyes snap toward me like a blade turning its edge.
— Now you, — she says curtly. — Tell me... what the hell happened to you?
I let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. My muscles protest, too sore for jokes — not that that's ever stopped me.
— Oh, you know… went for a little ride. Behind a truck. Only, instead of a real bomb, it was Nix's theater. A bluff. All just to test me… see who I really was.
Lyra narrows her eyes. She crosses her arms, already imagining the worst.
— Did she see your face?
— Luckily, no. We talked a bit. Just… sharp words and barely hidden intentions. Then the transmitter exploded. Nothing too dramatic — I raise an eyebrow — I mean, aside from the part where I got launched into the air like a trash bag on collection day.
Lyra sighs, and the doctor gives way to the furious woman underneath.
— I told you not to leave! — she steps forward and jabs her finger in my face like it's a dagger. — You're still recovering from the bullet wounds you took rescuing Kiyomi! Show me the injury… in fact, just take your clothes off already.
— Excuse me? — I frown, caught off guard. — Going straight to it, huh?