It's around 4:55 p.m. in France the evening is right in the corner.
Loki was just out for a walk at Bois de Boulogne.
He switches his jacket to a brown one ealier. (the dark jacket he wore earlier was covered with blood during the fight with the bandits)
Headphones in, scrolling through his phone for some social media reels he'd always watch.
He passed by and suddenly noticed a lone player, with a mask and wearing sunglasses seems like his hiding his identity.
The guy was tall probably around 6ft, athletic, with an arrogant expression on his face that no one probably see because of the mask.
He called out some passerby to a quick match of Tennis. "Anyone up for a game? Loser buys coffee!" Most of them ignored.
Loki, was bored and with nothing to do, he shrugged.
"Why not? It's just tennis. Might as well kill some time." He thought.
He didn't recognize the disguised guy was actually Royd Sargent, the Z-Rank adventurer that just broadcasted in the talk show earlier.
Royd usually use his incognito persona to avoid fans, was just looking for a low-key diversion during his extended "vacation" in France.
Little did Loki know this "normal" match would turn into a complete fast paced fight.
He raised his hand as Royd throw an extra racket on the way, Loki catched it with ease.
They positioned themselves on each side.
"First to 11 points?" Loki suggested not bothering with warm-ups.
Royd nodded, grinning under the mask. "Sounds good. Let's see what you've got!"
The match slow. Loki served first—an intense lob that arced gracefully over the net.
"Hmm... This guy does not play normal." Royd judged from the first served as he returned it with a solid forehand, the ball zipping back to Loki.
Loki countered with ease.
The first few points was a bit too slow so they'd thought to sped it up a little bit.
The thwack of the racket hitting the ball echoed.
Few joggers passed by laughing at the "Friendly" Tennis match.
Royd amped it up. His next serve was like a straight cannon firing—his body coiled like spring.
"Maybe he's an adventurer I don't know about?" He pondered.
The ball shoot across the net at crazy speeds that it blurred.
Each impact made sound like a thunder coming down from the sky making the ground tremble slightly.
Loki still has that expressionless face, returning the ball with equal power.
His racket meeting the ball in a shockwave that sent a ripple through the air.
"Finally, a worthy opponent!" Royd shouted, his voice was full of excitement and thrill.
He dashed forward faster than the speed of sound, his body blurred into twenty or more of afterimages.
The string of the racket was tearing with each hit of the ball.
Loki's thoughts, "I'm only here to play normal match up though..." He grumbled.
Loki kept up with Royd's pace who's like dashing faster than supersonics. His jacket flapping against the wind.
A Tennis match cannot be this serious.
The ball became invisible to the spectators eyes.
A phantom projectile that existed only in other dimension.
Not a single person could follow their movements.
Crowds gathered like crazy, some joggers too stunned to speak, some parent hanging out with their families, kids, couples and etc.
Some of them was even recording the match probably going to post it in social media which is really bad for Loki as he don't really wish for attention...
He thought this would turn out to be a normal match but nevermind seems like it's not.
Whispers spread through the crowd: "Are they pros—?" "They move like an professional adventurer." "How fast are they moving?" and "I-I can't see their movements at all..."
The match drew more people in, swelling over 50+ more spectators.
Among the spectators few of them started to gambling.
Betting few euros for who's going to take the dub.
"I bet my 25 euros on the Brown Jacket dude he's got that calm vibe!"
His friend then shook his head, responding "Nah, that masked guy got power! I'll also bet 25 euros easy money."
A young mother with her daughter, a wide-eyed girl probably around eight years old, clutching a stuffed teddy bear jumping around excitedly.
She pointed her pointy finger at the Tennis court,
"Wow! Mama, look at them—they move like superheroes! The ball's invisible! Do you think I'll become like them one day? Zooming around, bam-bam-bam!"
The parent, a woman in her thirties with kind eyes and a gentle smile, knelt down to her daughter's level, patting her head affectionately.
"I'm sure you can, sweetie," she replied, her voice warm amid the chaos.
"Just like your dad said practice makes perfect—and look at them! That's what happens when you never give up."
The girl jumps around excitedly rooting for the brown jacket guy.
While the mother watched with a mix of awe and nostalgia, perhaps having some flashback of her adventurous past where she first met her husband.
The legendary fight raged on, escalating into intensity more than any human could witness.
Meanwhile a few miles away...
A group of cloaked man with their dark coats that bore a unmistakable Demon Cult logo, menacing skull with lyre-shaped horns.
They leaped from building to building with unnatural agility, their movements is precise.
They were en route to a hidden safehouse.
Sirens wailed below as Paris police—alerted by a vigilant rooftop security camera—mobilized in pursuit.
Two squad cars screeched around corners.
Helicopters just ahead.
"Suspects on the roofs—heading east toward the Seine!" a radio crackled from one of the cars.
The cloaked men split momentarily to evade, one vaulting over a chimney while another slid down a drainpipe to street level, only to leap back up onto an adjacent balcony.
Bullets pinged off bricks as ground officers fired warning shots, but the cultists were too fast, their cloaks billowing like capes in the wind.
"They're enhanced—adventurer types!" an officer shouted, diving for cover as one cultist hurled a smoke bomb that exploded in a choking cloud.
The chase intensified near the Pont des Arts bridge.
The cultists bounded across parked cars, scattering pedestrians who screamed and fled.
A police van swerved to block their path, officers piling out with shields and batons.
"Halt! Police!" But the lead cultist waved a hand, summoning a burst of dark energy that shattered the van's windshield, forcing the cops to retreat.
High above, the helicopter closed in, its rotor wash whipping up debris. "This is Air Unit 7—targets in sight. Preparing to deploy net!"
The cultists responded by one firing a shadowy bolt that clipped the chopper's tail, sending it spinning wildly before the pilot stabilized.
Ground pursuit caught up again near the Tuileries Garden, where the cloaked figures weaved through statues and fountains, police on foot now joining the fray.
After a tense pursuit through narrow alleys and over garden walls, the cultists regrouped on a rooftop overlooking the Seine.
They panted preparing to jump at the river—until suddenly a figure materialized in front of them, blocking their path.
It was Yvonne, her silver hair swaying from the wind, a single dagger she held in her hand.
Low-S Rank, Assassin class, Grade V sorcerer titled 'Shade Threader' part and member of the Cernunnos Guild.
Her eyes were cold. "Going somewhere?" she said.
The cultists froze, realizing escape was no longer an option.
The chase was over.