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 Emrgants, 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 walked down the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. She had been to this part of the compound many times, but today felt different. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and something else—something metallic, like blood. As she approached the door, she noticed it was different from the others. It was made of a dark, polished wood with intricate carvings that seemed to shift and move under the flickering light.
She didn't bother with pleasantries. Luna wasn't one for niceties, especially not with Lex. She banged on the door with enough force to wake the dead, and when there was no immediate response, she pushed it open and barged in. The room was dim, lit only by the slant of morning light streaming through the window. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and something else she couldn't quite place.
Lex was still in bed, his back turned to her. He stirred at the sound of her entrance but didn't bother to turn around. "Your payment is in the drawer," he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
Luna crossed the room in a few quick strides, her hand going straight to the drawer he had indicated. She opened it and found a small wooden box. Inside, the box was filled to the brim with gold coins, their polished surfaces gleaming in the dim light. She smirked, pleased with the weight of the reward. Lex had hired her for a series of unsavory tasks—killing off troublesome individuals, stealing rare blood samples from nearly extinct species—but she didn't mind. Work was work, and this job paid well.
She turned to leave, already imagining the luxuries she would indulge in with her newly acquired wealth, but Lex's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Wait," he said, and she heard the rustle of sheets as he moved.
Luna paused mid-step, her movements instinctive, precise. The soft rustle of sheets behind her signaled Lex's movement, and curiosity made her glance over her shoulder. He was rising from the bed, his body stretching with the languid grace of a predator waking from slumber. His dark hair was a tangled mess, strands falling over his sharp features, and the golden morning light poured through the half-open blinds, tracing along the sculpted lines of his torso.
She had always thought he moved like a man who was used to being watched, as if every motion was carefully measured yet utterly effortless. The play of light across his tanned skin only accentuated the perfection of his form, like a statue carved by the gods themselves. He made no effort to conceal himself, and for a moment, the sight was distracting enough that Luna faltered, nearly misstepping.
Lex smirked at her reaction, though he said nothing. Instead, he reached for the robe draped over a nearby chair, the fabric slipping over his shoulders with a practiced ease. As he tied the belt loosely around his waist, his gaze lifted—sharp, probing. Or rather, it tried to meet hers.
That damn blindfold.
Of all the mysteries he had encountered in his line of work, Luna's blindfold was the one that nagged at him the most. She never took it off. Never even adjusted it. And yet, she navigated the world with the confidence and precision of someone who could see perfectly well. It made no sense. And Lex hated things that didn't make sense.
"How can you see through that thing?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Luna tilted her head slightly, as if weighing whether or not to answer. Then she merely shrugged. "If you've got nothing else to say, I'm leaving. The job's done."
Lex took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "There's one more job I need you to handle. It pays more than twice what you've just earned."
That caught her attention. Luna arched an eyebrow beneath the blindfold, a habit she had long since developed, despite no one ever seeing the expression. "Go on."
He gestured for her to follow him, leading her out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit corridors of the compound. As they walked, the air around them grew colder, the walls pressing in with a sterile, metallic stillness. They moved deeper, past sections of the building Luna had never been permitted to enter before.
The deeper they went, the darker it became.
Finally, Lex stopped before a massive steel door. With a smooth motion, he keyed in a code, and a soft hiss followed as the mechanisms unlocked. The door slid open, revealing a space that sent a prickle of unease down Luna's spine.
The laboratory was vast—far larger than any she had seen before, almost the size of a small town. Bright, artificial light reflected off endless rows of equipment, gleaming metal surfaces and glass containment units. People in white robes moved with eerie precision, their hushed conversations blending into the low hum of machines.
But it wasn't the lab's size or its workers that made Luna pause.
At the very center of the room stood four massive containment tubes, each filled with a viscous, greenish liquid. Suspended within them were grotesque, pulsing masses of flesh. They writhed ever so slightly, as though something within them was stirring, alive.
A cold knot tightened in Luna's stomach.
"What the hell is that?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with a rare note of unease.
Lex stepped forward, regarding the tubes with an almost reverent air. "These," he said, gesturing at the grotesque forms, "are the beginnings of a new experiment. Something… groundbreaking."
Luna frowned. "And what does this have to do with me?"
Lex turned to her then, his gaze sharp, intense. "I need more data. More samples."
She crossed her arms. "Samples from what?"
"Not what. Who."
A pause. Then, with deliberate slowness, Luna asked, "You want me to track someone."
Lex nodded. "I need you to observe them. Study their behavior. Learn their patterns. And when the time is right, I need you to obtain as much of their DNA as possible—without harming them."
Luna exhaled through her nose, tilting her head as if weighing the request. "And why should I take this job? What's so special about this person?"
A slow, knowing smile curled across Lex's lips, a predator savoring the anticipation before the hunt. "Let's just say this individual holds the key to unlocking something far beyond what we've been able to achieve so far."
His voice dipped, promising, tempting. "And if you succeed… the rewards will be more than worth your while."
Luna remained silent, but deep in the recesses of her mind, a single thought flickered like a distant flame.
What had she just stepped into?