[Hexoset's Entrance]
The queue outside the nightclub was endless. In solos, pairs, or trios, Snigel scanned and scanned, verifying Normie patrons and Peculiars alike. Ever since his standoff with Ratelsi, he'd been moving on autopilot, trying to ignore the nagging itch at the back of his mind. He lifted the velvet rope for another guest.
Those Peculiars have been up in the penthouse for forty minutes now, he mused inwardly. There hasn't been any word from above. No orders from Broco since then.
Mid-scan, his hand froze around a patron's prosthetic arm. The green-skinned Peculiar flicked anxious eyes up at the looming bouncer. "W-what are ya lookin' at me like that fah? I'm clean, I swear on Liyuen!" The shrill, panicked voice snapped Snigel back to reality. Snorting in distaste, he sneered and shoved the guy through. But before the bouncer could reset his scanner, a deafening CRACK tore through the night sky.
High above, the penthouse glass exploded.
Shards rained down like a crystalline storm, hitting the pavement with a lethal shower of shrapnel. Pandemonium erupted, screams splitting the air as crowd members scrambled over one another to dodge the falling debris, while those at a safe distance froze, craning their necks toward the floor above.
"Look! Up there!" someone shrieked, pointing into the haze.
Snigel, who had instinctively thrown his massive body over a cluster of patrons, pushed himself up and followed the finger. Up at the jagged breach, silhouette framed by the interior lights, stood Ratelsi casually picking glass splinters out of her blood-soaked fist.
Snigel squinted into the night, his jaw tight. "What the hell is she doing?" he growled.
Just as he was trying to make sense of the shattered window, another collective shriek ripped through the crowd as Ratelsi hurled a heavy, limp shape out into the open air. The crowd watched, paralyzed, as the body plummeted through the dark before colliding with the pavement with a sickening, wet crunch.
Terror erupted!
"Is that… a person?!" a man screamed, backing away.
"Holy shit, he's dead!" another yelled as a morbidly curious circle began to form around the impact zone. Voices overlapped, shouting over the growing clamour until someone near the front blurted out, "Wait - fuck, that's Mhode!"
A ripple of hushed murmurs spread through those who recognized the name - locals who knew the man by sight or by his reputation as Broco's Merc. Snigel shoved his way through the swelling mob, elbowing past panicked patrons until he reached the front. He froze, his stomach turning cold at the carnage spread across the concrete.
"Mhode…" Snigel breathed, staring down at what was left of his colleague with wide eyes. There was no grief in his voice, only stunned disbelief at how fast the night was spiralling out of control. Mhode had never been a friend; they merely tolerated each other through a mutual, ugly set of prejudices. But to see him butchered like this? By some… what? Some girl? No. Only a monster could do this. Rip a guy open and toss him out a four-story window… Jesus. That ain't a bar fight, that's some cold-blooded monster shit!
Overcome by the sight of blood seeping from Mhode's exposed, ruined innards, several patrons fled the line in droves, while others dropped to their knees to retch onto the curb. The entire street descended into total chaos. Only then did Snigel's racing thoughts land on Broco. If Mhode was lying here dead on the street, only the gods knew what was happening upstairs. Broco could be in serious danger, trapped up there with the killer!
This realization hit him like a cold bucket of water. Whirling around, Snigel charged back toward the doors and slammed the velvet barrier back into place just as a few opportunistic patrons tried to slip past his post. Even with a shredded corpse cooling on the curb, some of these idiots still wanted to go inside and party.
Well, the party was over!
Snigel hooked the brass latch into place and bellowed over the commotion, "Entry's closed! Now, get lost, all of you!"
Groaning complaints immediately erupted from the line, with a handful of bold regulars trying to argue their way through. Irritated beyond belief by their stupidity, Snigel drew himself to his full, towering height, letting his massive shadow swallow the front line. They recoiled instantly, trembling in place.
"I didn't stutter," Snigel bared his teeth. "I said beat it!"
That was all it took. The crowd scattered like rats into the surrounding alleys.
Pushing through the heavy Hexoset doors, Snigel took the mezzanine stairs two at a time. He swept his gaze across the shadows where his boys were posted, mentally tallying his strongest men. On his eighth headcount and deciding that was good enough, he tapped his HoloSmart's comms link. "Ground floor, seal the doors behind me. Floor two, rally at the private elevator. We've got a situation in the VVIP lounge."
"Say less, Snigel," came the gruff reply. "Moving now."
[Meanwhile, in the VVIP lounge]
Ratelsi stared down at the scattered mob, her malachite eyes unreadable. The cool night wind bit against her skin, raising goosebumps along her bare arms. Tonight was spiralling, refusing to end as it should. At the sound of soft, approaching footsteps, her gaze drifted down to a pair of polished loafers without her turning her head.
"Clingy much?" she muttered.
Ryken laughed softly. The sound was low, appreciative. "Can you blame me? I'm completely captivated by your showmanship. Your display of power… It's extraordinary."
"Right," she answered flatly, black-and-white hair breezing across her thoughtful face.
"So?"
"So."
"What now?" Ryken pushed smoothly. "Snigel will be through those doors in a few minutes, and he won't be alone. How do you plan to play it?"
Ratelsi finally turned her head, her sharp gaze clashing with Ryken's bright purple eyes. She felt that intuitive spark again but ignored it, instead glancing over her shoulder at the room where the others watched with bated breath. A small smirk broke her detached expression. "This is all just as entertaining for you as it is for me, isn't it?"
Ryken pouted theatrically, tapping his index finger against his lips as if pondering the accusation. "Well... you're not completely off the mark. Except the subject of my fascination isn't the chaos, Ms Runner. It's you."
She laughed, exposing the sharp points of her canines. "I figured as much." Turning to face him fully, she studied the runic tattoos crawling up his neck with open appraisal before settling back on his glowing gaze. "And what could a guy like you possibly want with me?"
Ryken offered a shrug. "Would you believe me if I said I came to offer you a job?"
"A job?" Ratelsi gave him a skeptical look. "Who sent you?"
"Ah-ah, Ms Runner," Ryken chided lightly, wagging his finger. "You're asking the right questions at the wrong time." Then he boldly stepped into her personal space, leaning close enough that his chest nearly brushed hers. Shielding his lips with a raised hand, he purred into her ear. "We could negotiate the finer details later, somewhere a little more… private."
He was teasing her. She could hear the smug satisfaction in his drawl, gloating over the leverage of secrets she didn't know. Malachite eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as Ryken pulled back, openly admiring her reaction.
Standing nearby, Timoth's jaw clenched, his stomach twisting into knots. Seeing Ryken lean in that close, whispering into her space, made an instinctual pang of jealousy and fear shoot through his gut. What is he telling her? Taking an agitated step forward to pull her away, Timoth opened his mouth to interrupt, but a subtle movement in his periphery caught his eye.
Broco was crawling through the debris, his hands shaking violently as he dragged the Venerite gun into his lap. Timoth faltered in his steps, trying to read the man's intentions. Until Broco squeezed his eyes shut and levelled the glowing barrel straight at Ratelsi's back.
No-NO!
A crackling projectile of blue plasma burst from the barrel, fast. But Timoth, already on the move, was faster, lunging blindly into the line of fire. The blue energy detonated against his torso, sending a large spray of blood splattering across the stone walls.
Everything stopped. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Seraph gasped, clutching her face in disbelief, while Ratelsi snapped her head to the sound of tearing flesh, the icy detachment in her malachite eyes widening in sudden, utter terror.
"Tim…oth…" she gasped.
In a blur of speed, Ratelsi intercepted Timoth's falling body, cradling his head gently against her lap. Her trembling hands hovered over him, completely at a loss, terrified to touch. The energy shot had torn open a massive portion of his chest and abdomen, exposing shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, and a severed spine.
A rattling wheeze scraped past his lips. "Ra… te…"
"Shut up! Don't speak, okay? Just - shut up!" she cried, tears breaking through her composure, spilling down her cheeks. She pressed a bloody hand onto his chest to force air into his lungs, but instantly yanked it back in fear, knowing one wrong press of her monstrous strength would crush his remaining organs.
Blood welled in the corners of Timoth's bleary eyes, spilling down his pale cheeks.
"Gods, what do I do?" she screamed, whipping her head toward Ryken. "Help him!"
The operative stood frozen, taking in the sight of her broken expression. He faltered, looking over at Seraph, who was equally at a loss for words. This was never part of the plan. Why had the boy thrown himself into the shot? The Mawborn could've easily deflected it!
"Help him, fuck it!" Ratelsi's scream tore through the room.
To see someone so incredibly powerful completely undone before his eyes shattered Ryken's composure. Brows furrowed in concern, he took an uncertain step forward, whispering, "Ratelsi… there's nothing left to save…"
Malachite eyes snapped to his, burning with a phosphorescent glow so terrifyingly evil that Ryken stumbled back. "Don't you dare say that," she growled, a warning.
Ryken immediately raised his hands, backing off. "Alright. Alright."
However, Broco watched the fallout from the marble floor, his rage evaporating into pure dread. The winged creature was holding the boy like a grieving mother. He had never seen her look so… fragile. Human. The concept of her being vulnerable sent a nauseating shudder through his frame. Panicking, he tried to slip away on his hands and knees, but Seraph caught the movement.
"Restringere!"[1] she incanted.
Her daggers dissolved into glowing golden ropes, lashing outward in tendrils and binding the Monger's heavy limbs to his torso, pinning him to the floor. "You don't get to leave, you odious cur," she spat angrily. "I've been waiting to do that all night."
"Fuck yer! Let me go, yer crazy bitch!!" Broco thrashed frantically against the magic.
Seraph raised a hand, slowly closing her fingers into a fist. The ropes reacted, constricting harder. They dug into his flesh, drawing blood, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Looking down at him with cold, glowing turquoise eyes, she added. "Fight it, and I'll flay your skin."
Broco continued to writhe against the burning energy cords nonetheless; foam and saliva dribbled from his mouth as he screamed at his Mercs, who were merely spectators in the unfolding scenes without so much as an investment in any of them. "Yer useless, fuckin' clowns! Yer boss is tied up like a carcass, and yer just standin' there gawkin' ?!" He thrashed against the floor, his face purple. "None of yer got a spine?! Yer eat good, carry my iron, take my Aures, and the second some fools lay a hand on me, yer turn into fuckin' statues?!?"
Seraph didn't bother repeating herself. Her frown deepened into a scowl as she made a twisting motion in the air with her fist. The mana ropes reacted instantly. A splintering crunch echoed through the room, followed by a shrill cry from Broco as his arm snapped backwards at an unnatural angle.
Standing by the overturned couch, Vesir and Styx traded wary glances. What had started as a routine transaction had spiralled into a total catastrophe, and both Peculiars seemed to realize the truth that Broco was officially a liability now. Stripped of his authority, he was just a helpless human trapped in a room of apex predators - a rat cornered by snakes. Contract or no contract, he was a dead man walking, and they owed him no loyalty. Vesir was more than happy to let him rot, walk away, and never look back. But Styx, having stayed the longest with the Monger, conditioned by years of psychological abuse, couldn't detach so easily.
The broad, bovine brute hauled himself up, the tip of his machete scraping across the floor, painting the marble with a streak of hot sparks. Then, the sudden stampede of running boots outside came to an abrupt halt right outside the threshold.
"Broco!" Snigel called out from the hallway.
Broco's bloodshot eyes went wide with desperate hope. "Snigel! Break it down! Kill these bastards and throw 'em outta my club! Make 'em pay!"
"Yes, boss!" responded Snigel as he stepped back, grounding his heels against the concrete floor, shifting his frame as he set his shoulder against the oak. When he struck, the sound was like a thunderclap trapped in the narrow hallway. Iron hinges groaned in their sockets, and dust rained down from the doorway frame as the deadbolt bent under the sheer momentum of his mass. Splintered fractures blossomed outward from the central panel, spider-webbing through the thick grain.
Two more hits and the heavy oaken door would give way.
Seraph glanced over her shoulder toward the failing door, then turned back to Ryken and asked. "Now what?"
Ryken exhaled a disappointed sigh, his amethyst eyes beginning to glow with intensifying violet light. Stepping around the sobbing Mawborn, he spared her a glance before settling a deathly judgemental scowl on Broco Aqqa's pathetic, squirming form. A cowardly, worthless human had managed to drain all the excitement from the night's experience. The thrill was gone, replaced only by grief and mounting irritation. Ryken's hand balled into a fist. Oh, he'd teach these pigs a lesson, alright. As he walked toward Seraph with unhurried grace, Ryken raised his right hand, extending his fingers as though reaching for something. A faint distortion rippled through the space beside him.
"Apertum porta," [2]he incanted coldly, glowing eyes hardening into malice.
At once, the air tore open into a swirling vortex, its jagged edges crackling with violet energy. The portal hovered alongside him at waist-to-shoulder height, moving as he strode. Ryken thrust his hand into the void, his forearm disappearing completely into the abyss up to his elbow. Slender fingers coiled around a heavy, solid shaft and pulled. Inches at a time, the weapon emerged: first the long staff, then the curved steel blade of a colossal scythe gleaming in the ambient light of the ruined lounge. Along the blade and the upper shaft, the same glowing runes that marked his neck and arm flared to life. Once the full length of the weapon was drawn, the portal snapped shut, imploding into nothingness.
Arriving at Seraph's side, Ryken adjusted his hold on his heavy staff, lowering his glowing eyes to meet her equally glowing ones, answering her question. "Now," he murmured, a dangerous smirk touching his lips, "we play pest control."
A burst of static hissed in their ears before Joji's electronic voice, piloted by Jeenah, broke the silence. "Uh… guys?"
Ryken tapped his comm. "Go ahead, Jeen."
"The Paladins are closing in. They'll reach Hexoset in ten minutes to initiate a Citadel evacuation. The operation's officially running outta time."
The operatives looked toward Ratelsi, traded a brief, knowing look, before Ryken spoke into the mic. "Ten minutes is enough time for something extraordinary to happen."
Seraph nodded in agreement, cutting the comms feed. Glancing over at the corner of the room, she leaned toward Ryken. "What about those two? Won't they be in the way?"
Ryken followed her gaze. Vesir was slouched against the far wall, a scarf wrapped over her eyes and arms crossed over her chest. Beside her, Styx stood with his machete resting in his hand, looking indecisive. "Let's find out, shall we?" he raised his voice, calling out to them. "You two aren't actually planning on stopping us, are you?"
Vesir let out a sharp, amused snort. Styx just looked away, silent.
Ryken chuckled, turning back to Seraph with a dry smile. "Well, there's your answer."
Another hit from Snigel shook the oaken door under his heavy impact from the hallway.
On the other hand, Ratelsi wrapped her blood-soaked fingers around Timoth's trembling hand, completely indifferent to the crimson painting her skin and clothes. Timoth was dying. He was… dying. Gods, no. They locked eyes in painful silence - Timoth wheezing through the dark blood welling at his lips, while Ratelsi sat entirely helpless, forced to watch his life slip away.
Weakly, he slipped his fingers from her grip and reached up, resting his trembling palm against her wet cheek. A choked sob escaped Ratelsi as she leaned into his fading warmth, covering his hand with both of hers to hold it there. A faint, tender smile touched Timoth's lips. As much as he hated the grief shattering her beautiful, glassy green eyes, a selfish part of him felt at peace knowing she cared enough to weep for him. She truly was sad to see him go.
"Ra… tel… si," he managed to scrape past his ruined throat.
"Shh, don't speak," she wept, her voice cracking as her tears washed streaks through the blood on his skin. She pressed her forehead lightly against his. "Every word is taking you further away from me. Please, don't leave me."
But Timoth knew his time was measured in heartbeats, and he refused to take his secret to the grave. He had locked it away since graduation, terrified that speaking it into existence would shatter the fragile, precious bond they shared. He had thought he'd have a lifetime to figure it out.
He didn't. It was now or never.
With her forehead pressed against his, Timoth's voice was barely a rasp against her lips as he whispered, "I… love you."
Ratelsi bit her bottom lip so hard her own blood mixed with his. She knew. Deep down, she'd always known. But hearing it now, knowing she'd never hear him say it again, never see his eyes light up, never share another moment, shattered her completely.
"Oh, Timoth…"
She pressed her lips against his. The kiss was gentle, almost painfully innocent. Ratelsi treated him like an egg, exercising an agonizing restraint as she poured every ounce of her unspoken feelings into a final goodbye. Tears streamed down her face, pooling between their cheeks as Timoth, with the very last of his fading strength, kissed her back. A profound peace settled over him.
And with that kiss, he surrendered his final breath.
Ratlesi didn't pull away. She kept her lips pressed to his even as his hand slipped listlessly from her cheek to the floor. Even as the rattling in his chest fell silent, and his heart ceased to beat.
Timoth was gone.
The heavy oaken door finally gave way under Snigel's relentless battering, collapsing inward with a loud crash. Snigel surged across the threshold, flanked by eight massive security guards built like he was, except they all wore utility vests over thick crewneck sweaters and cargo pants. On their bodies were crude weapons - handguns, heavy rubber nightsticks, shock tasers, and long expandable clubs. Their eyes went wide as they took in the splintered furniture and blood-slicked marble. A sight that drew a low, amused chuckle from Ryken. They hadn't even registered the operatives yet, too stunned by their surroundings. As Snigel sprinted straight to Broco, clawing aggressively, grunting, yet failing to rip the golden threads around his boss, Ryken leaned over to Seraph.
"It'll hold, right?" he whispered.
Seraph arched a ducal brow. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Van Uther." "Oop." Ryken theatrically clapped a hand over his mouth at her slip of his family name. He squinted. "I was just making conversation, jeez." Realising what she'd unintentionally done, Seraph huffed, rolled her eyes, and said dryly. "It'll hold." "Praeclare,"[3] Ryken grinned, resting his massive scythe over his shoulder. "Then let's take them four by four."
She nodded in response.
"That's not gonna work, you know. Her spells don't break that easily," Ryken announced cheerfully to Snigel, pointing a lazy finger at Seraph. The security squad snapped their weapons around, genuinely startled - a bizarre reaction, considering the state of the penthouse. Sauntering forward, with Seraph trailing unhurriedly behind him, Ryken continued. "I'd give you a minute to process the room, but…" He sucked his teeth and shrugged. "We're a little pressed for time. So, let's make this quick, yeah?"
Snigel's jaw slackened as he connected the dots. These were the smooth-talking clients Broco had escorted up less than two hours ago. He processed the room then, taking in the horrifying scene - Ratelsi, still hunched over Timoth's corpse, Vesir and Styx standing idly by the far wall, and Broco bound on the floor.
"You…" Snigel stammered, his blood running cold. "You did this."
At once, the bouncers raised their firearms, raising a wall of barrels. Ryken and Seraph halted their march, completely unbothered. Baring his teeth, Snigel levelled his gun right between Ryken's glowing eyes. "I shoulda known you were trouble the second you walked through my doors. All of you Peculiars are always trouble wherever you walk into."
Seraph scoffed, sweeping her glowing turquoise eyes over their array of conventional weapons pointed at her chest. "Normie weapons… Are they even taking us seriously?"
Ryken threw his head back, laughing, delighted. "All the better for us."
Snigel jerked his chin toward Seraph, signalling two of his bouncers. One racked a heavy handgun; the other snapped open an expandable baton with a sharp metallic clack. They began to close in. Ryken obligingly drifted out of the line of fire, giving his partner ample space to handle the incoming threat. The bouncers likely assumed that, as the lady in the duo, she was the easy target.
That was a mistake they might not live to repeat.
The man with the club lunged first. Seraph glided out of his trajectory with practised ease, her hands conjuring glowing threads from her fingertips. The two security men spread out, circling her like wolves. Or so they thought.
Snigel kept one eye on Ryken, bracing for a joint assault, but the Peculiar stayed put, leaning his weapon on the wall. Cold sweat prickled Snigel's neck. Were they really that confident? Even with numerical advantage, they were outclassed on every conceivable level. Snigel snapped his head back just in time to see Seraph airborne, leaping backwards to dodge a violent salvo of baton strikes. But while the second guard was swinging wildly side to side, her golden energy rope had already constricted around the gunman's shoulder. Landing lightly on her toes, Seraph braced her stance and yanked. The thread sheared straight through joint and tendon, severing the limb completely. The man collapsed to his knees, howling in agony as he clutched his ruined shoulder, blood pooling onto the marble floor.
"Ooh… ouch," Ryken murmured, pressing a loose fist against his lips and wincing. "That one's gotta sting."
Seraph paid no mind to the screaming man bleeding out on the floor, tossing her hair over her shoulder as her gaze locked onto his partner. She took a slow, measured breath.
"Nothing personal, doll," the bouncer spat, swinging his baton in a broad arc. "How 'bout you stop moving so we can end this easy?"
Disgust twisted Seraph's beautiful features. "I would sooner rot in the burning depths of Shimun[4] than let your filthy hands touch my flawless skin."
Growling, the man charged forward to tackle her. Prepared, Seraph vaulted backwards into the air, executing an effortless flip over his large, rushing frame. While upside down above his shoulders, she brushed two fingers against his back and uttered a single word:
"Restringere!"
Heavy magic cords instantly manifested around his large limbs, pulling taut with force and crashing him face-first onto the ground, immobilised.
Snigel clicked his tongue in bitter irritation, glaring at the two bound and bleeding guards on the floor, defeated so cleanly.
"Two down, six to go," Ryken chirped, counting on his fingers. Seraph smoothed her dress, resting a palm on her hip as if she hadn't just severed a man's arm.
"Dzov," Snigel ordered, gesturing toward Ryken. "You, Miller, and Vane. Take the left flank. Go." It was a suicide run, and Snigel was a pragmatic man who knew he was throwing three of his own men into the meat grinder just to buy time and measure the range of the purple-eyed monster's abilities.
Seeing the trio fan out and advance on him, Ryken pointed a finger at himself, looking delighted. "Is it my turn already? Oh, wonderful." Even as three laser sights painted red dots across his chest, Ryken remained casually propped against the structural column. He could read the murderous intent in their posture. Pushing off the wall, Ryken's glowing eyes flared brighter with dangerous excitement. "Mhm. I do so love a crowd with bad intentions. Don't hold back now."
The three guards traded tense glances before hardening their expressions into scowls. The lead bouncer, Dzov, gripped his firearm tightly, his voice dripping with hatred. "Of all the turfs to mess with, you picked this one, huh, Peculiar?"
Ryken exhaled an airy sigh. "Ah, well… it was a business trip, you see."
"I'll show you business. Die!"
BANG! BANG!
Muzzle flashes illuminated the room as Dzov fired two point-blank rounds. Twin gunshots echoed through the penthouse. Concrete dust sprayed into the air as the bullets blew chunks out of the wall - right where Ryken's head had been a microsecond prior. The scythe was still resting against the pillar, but the man holding it had vanished into thin air.
"What the -? Where is he?!" Vane yelled, sweeping his barrel across the space. "He was standing right there!" The bouncers lowered their weapons, staring in dumbfounded shock at the smoking impact craters. A light double-tap sounded against the back of Vane's utility vest. Vane spun on his heel. Ryken was standing a breath away, grinning as he raised an open palm toward Vane's sternum. Before his nervous system could even register the threat, a compressed burst of physical force exploded from Ryken's hand. The impact sounded like a cannon shot. Vane flew across the room, smashing violently through the wall, leaving a bloody, human-shaped crater in the masonry before slumping into a lifeless heap amidst a shower of stone and broken ribs.
Ryken squinted one eye, sucking his teeth in mild disappointment. "Oof. My bad. Still working on my restraint."
Dzov backed away slowly, his blood running ice-cold as he looked from the crater in the wall to the smiling creature in front of him, terror finally breaking through his rage. That was restraint? Such monsters! This wasn't a fight at all. It was an execution! They were all gonna die! Dzov's hands shook so hard the barrel of his pistol jittered. Miller stood rooted to the floor behind him, handgun dangling uselessly from his fingers. The human-shaped crater in the wall still wept dust and blood. Vane's boots stuck out at a wrong angle from the rubble.
Ryken tilted his head, amethyst eyes bright with lazy interest. "Still two of you. Don't keep a lady waiting." He flicked a glance toward Seraph, who was already stalking the remaining two bouncers. Her heels struck the marble in a slow march, echoing through the penthouse like a death toll. Seraph's turquoise eyes burned bright with cold contempt as she flicked her wrist, unleashing a long, crackling whip of pure golden mana. She snapped her arm back and drove the tip into the floor with a vicious whiplash, leaving a scorched scar across the stone.
Snarling, Snigel abandoned Broco's bound form. The golden ropes still held the Monger like a hog-tied carcass. No amount of Snigel's brute strength had loosened them. These fucking beasts and their abilities! "All of you - on the purple-eyed freak! Now!" he yelled.
The remaining bouncers obeyed out of terror. Four men charged Ryken at once, guns barking, batons raised. Muzzle flashes strobed the ruined lounge. Ryken simply wasn't there when the bullets arrived. One heartbeat, he stood in the open; the next he was a violet blur weaving between them.
Extending his hand lazily to the side, Ryken summoned his scythe. The runes on his body and the blade flared brighter as the weapon levitated off the ruined wall, floating obediently through the air before settling its shaft smoothly into his open palm like a loyal hound. A slow, predatory grin spread across his lips. Bending the staff, he drew the curved point to his mouth, running his tongue along the blade's edge with sadistic pleasure, his glowing eyes flicking between the remaining men through heavy lids, as if savouring the choice of which pest to bleed first.
The first swing was almost gentle. The curved blade kissed the nearest man's throat in a silver arc. Arterial spray painted the ceiling as the severed head rolled to the ground. The body took two more shuddering steps before it realized it was dead and collapsed. Ryken spun with momentum, staff slicing into Miller's knee with a wet pop. Screaming, Miller went down, and Ryken's follow-up heel kick drove his head into the marble hard enough to leave a red smear.
Unspooling into panic, Dzov fired again, point-blank into Ryken's back. But the heavy rounds slammed into an invisible wall of compressed air, instantly losing their momentum. The bullets spun in mid-air for a fraction of a second, glowing red-hot, before tumbling uselessly onto the blood-stained tile.
Ryken glanced over his shoulder, almost offended. "Rude."
He reversed the scythe in his grip and drove the butt into Dzov's solar plexus. The big man folded, air exploding from his lungs. Before he could hit the floor, Ryken caught him by the scruff of his neck, lifted him like a rag doll, and hurled him through the already-shattered window. Dzov's fading scream trailed into the night, ending in a distant, wet impact somewhere below. Another scream erupted, as if the previous ones weren't enough for this bloodthirsty night.
Three left.
Seraph finished her own count with elegant efficiency. One bouncer tried to rush her from behind; golden threads snapped around his ankle and yanked him off his feet, tearing the limb off. She stepped on the screaming man's chest and placed a fingertip on his forehead before incanting her restraining spell. The ropes cinched the bouncer's limbs until his spine cracked. Another received a glowing whip across the face that left him with burned eyes and a piercing scream. Silence fell as Seraph and Ryken stood side by side, broken only by Broco's panicked wheezing and the soft drip of blood. Ryken rested the scythe across his shoulder again, not even winded.
Now, only Snigel was left among the security team. Sweat pooled on the man's forehead, running cold down his neck, chest heaving, eyes wide. His fingers shook around his weapon, unable to maintain its grip. What was happening? Who were these Peculiars? He looked from the bodies to Ryken to Seraph, then finally to Ratelsi, who had not moved from Timoth's side. The green of her bright eyes had gone almost black with grief and something far more dangerous. Manic.
"Monster," Snigel whispered, staring at her. "All of you."
[1] Translates to "Restrict."
[2] Translates to "Open the gate"
[3] Translates to "Excellent"
[4] Shimun is Argona's underworld, equivalent to Hell