Corvin was being carried by Medina, their flight a desperate, jagged streak across the city's crumbling infrastructure. Corvin’s eyes narrowed as the implication of their pursuer sank in. "Ahh, so she was being followed," Corvin thought, a deep, sickening dread settling in his gut. "Of all the people, why did it have to be Reno? That guy is truly difficult. He's not just a hunter; he's the Empire's cleaner. His methods are surgically precise and leave nothing behind. I heard he wiped out an entire resistance cell in the northern sector just by poisoning their water supply, never firing a shot."

  The realization was a cold spike of adrenaline. "Now he is locked onto me. We have no choice, Medina. You have to push harder."

  Medina, however, did not seem to understand Corvin’s complex fear, or perhaps he simply compartmentalized it. He was a creature of singular focus, his massive, powerful legs devouring the ground. He simply kept jumping and running, his attention fixed entirely on evading the unseen threat of Reno and his men.

  Suddenly, the air behind them tore with a high-pitched whine. A trio of sleek, black, pulsing cylinders—Empire projectiles—launched toward them, forcing Medina to change his vector instantly. Another followed, then several more, designed to herd them into a choke point. Medina shifted Corvin higher onto his shoulder, securing him with one massive arm, and used his free hand to whip around and block an incoming missile.

  The impact was immediate and deafening. The projectile exploded in a flash of sulfurous yellow fire. Medina wasn't harmed, but the force alone would have shattered bone. Before the smoke cleared, Corvin acted. With a sharp gasp of pain, he focused his depleted energy, and from the skin of Medina's back, a barrier of raw, solidified crimson bloomed. It looked less like blood and more like layered, polished scale armor, deflecting the remaining shrapnel. Corvin felt the familiar, cold drain as his body paid the price for the manipulation.

  "Keep running, Medina! Do not stop!" Corvin urged, his voice tight.

  But the pursuit had paid off. Ahead of them, waiting in a cleared factory yard, stood Reno himself. He was immaculate in his blindingly white suit, black gloves, and dark glasses, a stark, unsettling contrast to the grime and shadows around them. His white beard was trimmed with military precision, and his posture was relaxed, yet predatory.

  "We've been trying to track you down for many months already," Reno said, his voice calm and carrying a chilling authority. "It turns out you are easily lured by one single girl. Is she your type? Sentimental attachments are rarely efficient." He sighed faintly. "Well, it doesn't matter. Why don't you just cooperate, and lay your head in front of me? It saves us all the effort."

  Corvin managed a thin, defiant smile. "Dogs of the Red Empire. You know there is so much blood on your hands. Do you enjoy seeing people live in lies and deceit? Blindly marching to the tune of a corrupted state? Ahh, of course you do. It must make your job so much easier."

  "What of it?" Reno scoffed, his dark glasses reflecting the city lights. "We give them stability, a good life within their boundaries. Why should we weep for the few we remove? Or would you prefer that they are all as miserable and hunted as you?"

  Meanwhile, on the perimeter, Reno's tactical squads were trying to coordinate.

  "The Captain has a lock on him. Hold position," a voice crackled over the radio. "No one interferes. You know the Captain prefers to cut our communication when he is in a one-on-one fight."

  The man, Sergeant Jax, finished his sentence and raised his wrist to acknowledge the order, but the communication line went dead. He waited a few seconds. "Hey, Bran, are you there? Team Alpha? Report status." Only static replied. Jax felt a cold prickle of alarm. The Captain wouldn't cut ALL lines...

  Jax looked nervously to his side, then let out a muffled grunt of shock. He was staring directly into the face of a gray-haired girl whose eyes were entirely covered by a strip of black cloth. Her presence was utterly silent, like the air had been drained from the space she occupied.

  Jax barely had time to react before the girl moved. He was instantly knocked down, the impact of the blow feeling unnaturally heavy and dampened, as if the sound had been swallowed. The girl stood up, her figure slender but commanding, taking in the scene in the distance: Corvin being carried by Medina, with Reno confronting them. She had ensured their isolation.

  Reno glanced toward the sudden silence on his flank but dismissed it. He turned his attention back to the pair. "So, how do you want to do this?" he challenged. "Is it going to be me and that thing you're carrying, or you and me? You can gang up if you like; either way is fine. I guarantee the outcome is the same."

  Medina, taking the cue, responded not with words, but with action. He hurled Corvin a great distance away from the fight, signaling his intent to take Reno on alone. Corvin, still airborne, quickly expanded his blood manipulation, creating a wide, cushioned net of hardened crimson webbing to catch his fall. "Thanks, Medina. Don't die on me," he muttered.

  Corvin scrambled to rise, but his body screamed in protest. He was clearly physically weak and injured. To compensate, he wrapped his legs with thin, pulsing, blood-like veins, which looked like dark, miniature circulatory systems on the outside of his skin. These artificial vessels aided his movement, allowing him to push himself into a jerky, unsteady run.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He didn't get far before he found Joan waiting for him.

  "Ah, you caught me," Corvin said, trying to regain his breath.

  Joan gripped her makeshift iron rod weapon tightly. "I need to know more," she demanded, her voice tight with controlled chaos. "What are you? Why are those men chasing you? I was fine until you showed up!"

  "I'm an enemy of the Red Empire," Corvin replied, sensing the raw, unstable power radiating from her. "But I think it's useless telling you anything right now, when you’re already making a choice, am I right?"

  Joan raised the rod. "Well, if you're an enemy to the Empire, then that means I'm your enemy too." Her eyes suddenly flashed scarlet, and then her right hand began to twist, transforming rapidly into a grotesque, scaled form of raw power. Red, crackling energy enveloped it, humming with destructive potential.

  Corvin observed the change, a flicker of something close to pity in his eyes. "Ah, you seem to have control over it now. You’re not fighting it anymore, are you? Did you finally come to a realization? Have you truly embraced it? Too bad. I might be forced to hurt you too, or they’ll use you until you’re empty."

  Joan, in a semi-berserk state fueled by fear and newfound strength, lunged at Corvin. Although he felt weak and disadvantaged, Corvin immediately began his specialized form of movement. He used his blood manipulation to control his body like a marionette, forcing his limbs into unnatural angles that allowed him to dodge every strike. He moved like a puppet on severed strings; his limbs and head seemed perpetually disconnected from his core body movement, with a slight, mechanical delay in his reactions.

  What is he? Is he even human? His movements are weird, Joan thought, the disjointed dodges making her furious. The puppet-like evasion, however, was successful.

  As she went for a final, frustrated full dive attack, she stepped on something that immediately locked her right leg in place—a thin, crimson thread woven into the shadows.

  "Gotcha," Corvin said. He had set a trip-trap woven from ultra-fine, hardened blood filament.

  Joan’s eyes instantly flashed pure white as she was hit by the trap’s silent, potent discharge. The shock was intense, smelling faintly of ozone and burning copper, and it coursed through her muscles, causing them to seize and ultimately knocking her unconscious where she stood.

  "Don't worry, that won't kill you. Just puts you out for a bit," Corvin muttered, before continuing his run, leaving the stunned Joan behind. He then noticed the immediate cessation of sound from the perimeter. No more radio chatter, no more footsteps. "Ahh, it must be them. You have my thanks."

  "Well, to tell you the truth, you look more human than that bandaged guy," Reno said, studying Medina. "So, are you strong? You should be, or else I will be greatly disappointed."

  Medina offered no response. His arms were now wrapped with thick metallic bands, and his fists were encased in heavy, specialized mechanical gauntlets—not for hitting, but for enduring. His eyes disappeared behind a pair of sleek, black goggles that hummed faintly.

  "Remarkable. That must be your battle mode," Reno observed with a chilling interest. "Okay, let's not delay. Let's see what you've got."

  Reno produced two black, cross-shaped daggers. As he gripped them, they instantly became wreathed in a dark red, hazy aura that seemed to shimmer and consume the light around them.

  The two men clashed. Reno was a master of versatility and lightning speed. He moved like a striking viper, his daggers blurring into a constant storm of attacks. Medina, meanwhile, was a bulwark. He managed to block every hit; his gauntlets rang with the impacts, seemingly withstanding the devastating, corrosive effects of Reno’s cursed blades. It must be some kind of advanced defensive technology capable of withstanding my daggers, Reno mused internally, annoyed. Reno effortlessly avoided Medina's counterattacks, which, though slow, hit with immense, ground-breaking force, shattering the concrete and metal nearby.

  This guy is strong. I won't be able to defeat him at this level of exertion. I guess I have to use that, Reno thought, his patience wearing thin.

  He swiftly withdrew a small, transparent syringe containing a viscous black liquid and, without hesitation, injected the contents directly into the side of his neck. His skin immediately rippled. "Let's even the playing field a little," he mused, a cruel smile forming.

  Reno ripped off his dark glasses. His eyes were now horrifying: entirely black with a bright, red pupil burning in the center. His veins instantly popped and swelled, looking like black ropes straining under the skin, and his muscle definition became terrifyingly sharp and refined.

  Reno launched his enhanced assault. His movement was now many times faster than before, approaching a blur. Some of his wounds healed moments after being inflicted, showing the regenerative power of the serum. He was in full control of the fight, managing to slice into Medina's armored parts. Reno became a maniacal whirlwind of blades, slashing at Medina from all angles. Medina’s augmented eye could track Reno, but his enhanced body simply couldn't match the terrifying new speed. Medina bled heavily now and was entirely reduced to defense.

  Ahh, so that's your limit. Time to end this, Reno thought, raising his daggers for the final, decisive blow aimed at Medina's exposed throat.

  Then, Reno felt an impossible shift. The entire area became dark. Not physically dark, but perceptually dark. It was silent, too silent—a silence that felt heavy and pressurized. Reno stopped, his focus snapping. He realized Medina was no longer in front of him. Only the unnatural sound of slow, deliberate footsteps coming closer filled the void.

  "What is this? Where am I?" Reno's breathing hitched.

  A figure emerged from the profound darkness: the gray-haired girl whose eyes were covered by the black cloth. "A girl?" he choked out.

  Then, a thought entered his mind, clear, cold, and absolute: "It's Master's order. The master of the 'Unwoven' willed it so you can still cling into your life for now."

  Reno couldn't comprehend the origin of the message, or the terrifying power of the girl standing before him. He knew instinctively that this was the same group, the one they were desperately trying to track, yet he was utterly helpless. He was careful not to make a stupid move, but the message kept playing in his mind, echoing his impotence: You get to live today, only because Master allowed it.

  Who is this 'Master' the girl spoke of? And what in the hell is the 'Unwoven'?

  Then, everything snapped back to normal. The light returned, the sound rushed back, and he was standing alone in the clearing where he and Medina had fought. Medina was nowhere to be found.

  Reno immediately radioed his team, his voice rough. "Captain, are you okay?" one of his men asked anxiously.

  "Yes, yes. What of the girl?."

  "We found her," his man replied.

  "Good. Take her," Reno commanded, wiping the black ooze from his chin. "Let's retreat for now. Status report immediately."