Shiro stood still.
Steam curled off his shoulders. His breath fogged the air. Eyes—gold ringed with red—burned beneath white dreads soaked in blood and sweat.
He didn't just look beast-like now.
He looked like something ancient waking up.
His teeth—longer, sharper. Nails warped into dark claws that flexed with eerie calm.
Up on the catwalk, the two mages who had juiced up Big Ugly froze.
Shiro tilted his head at them—slow. Deliberate.
Then he vanished.
SNAP.
A scream tore the air.
Shiro reappeared beside the younger mage—blood dripping from his jaw. One arm missing. The man didn't even fall. He just stood there in shock, then tipped over like a rag doll.
The second mage turned to run—only to find Shiro behind him again, claws already buried in his spine.
One flick—and the body dropped.
Shiro turned toward the warehouse floor like a predator catching scent.
Below—Dez struggled behind a fallen scaffold, three guards closing in.
"Come on, reload—come on—"
One raised a shock baton—then—
CRASH!
Shiro landed behind them like a meteor.
The concrete cracked. Dust exploded outward.
Three claws. Three guards down in two seconds.
Blood. Silence.
Dez blinked, breath caught. "What in the hell…"
Shiro didn't answer. Just glanced over his shoulder and nodded—then moved on.
The remaining guards panicked. A few dropped their weapons. One bolted.
Shiro didn't chase.
He didn't have to.
He was moving too smooth. Too fast. Like joints didn't matter. Like muscle was optional.
Just watching him broke morale.
Even Dez felt it—this wasn't the same guy he'd joked with an hour ago.
This was something apex wearing Shiro's skin.
Then—
THUD.
The floor behind Shiro cracked.
Big Ugly.
Trying for a sneak kill.
Shiro didn't flinch.
He leaned slightly to the side.
The hammer whooshed past his face.
His grin widened.
"…Slow."
He spun, ducked, and backhanded the brute across the jaw—hard enough to shatter bricks.
Big Ugly stumbled, blood flying from his mouth.
Shiro pounced.
Claws first.
The next thirty seconds weren't a fight.
They were a beating.
Shiro dodged every swing like he was bored. Tore into Big Ugly's sides. Crushed his nose. Slammed him through crates—then yanked him back out just to toss him again.
Every hit was sharp. Vicious. Unforgiving.
Shiro grinned the whole time.
Like he was playing with food.
Dez peeked from cover, jaw slack.
"…Yo."
He'd seen Shiro throw down plenty.
But this?
This was different.
Like watching a storm get hands.
And the worst part?
Shiro was laughing.
Big Ugly wheezed.
Slumped. Bloody. Glyphs flickering like dying neon.
He reached for his hammer—slow. Desperate.
Shiro stood over him.
No grin now. Just sharpened teeth and burning eyes.
"You talk shit about my women…"
One clawed gauntlet raised.
No flourish.
No mercy.
"This is what happens."
SLASH.
One clean stroke.
Blood arced.
Big Ugly's head hit the floor with a wet thud.
For a second—no one moved.
Then chaos.
The last stragglers panicked.
Tried to run.
Bad call.
Shiro lunged.
Tore one down mid-sprint.
Impaled another through the chest—lifted him like trash.
Two begged. He slashed both in one motion.
When it ended, blood steamed across concrete.
Silence fell like a curtain.
Then Dez appeared—panting, half-burnt, gauntlet sparking.
"…You done?"
Shiro nodded once.
They looked around. Crates cracked open. Weapon scraps. Melted consoles. Tech stripped bare.
Most of the important stuff was already gone or fried.
But—
"Yo," Dez called from a wrecked file cabinet, flipping pages. "These look like smuggling logs. Export IDs, relic tracking numbers… names too. Might be nothin'. Might be gold."
Shiro grunted. "Grab it."
He turned away—eyes scanning deeper into the warehouse.
Something was off.
A smell.
Not blood.
Perfume.
And fear.
He followed it—toward a tarp-covered cage at the far end.
Pulled it back.
Inside—a single rune-sealed cell.
Inside that—her.
A tiefling.
Not like the street-side ones in Nexus. This one was different.
She sat curled, head low, body bruised but not broken. Red skin shimmered faintly under torn rags. Long black-red hair draped over a shoulder. Horns coiled upward like obsidian blades.
Her glowing amber eyes locked onto him.
No fear.
No begging.
Just quiet rage.
Shiro crouched.
"…You speak?"
She blinked. Voice low.
"I bite."
He grinned. "I like that."
He slashed the lock and yanked the cage open.
Held out a hand.
She hesitated.
Then took it.
Grip firm.
"C'mon," he said. "You're with me now."
Across the warehouse, Dez called out—arms full of stolen docs and a half-burned relic core.
"Yo, I'm headin' out the back. Got what I came for. I'll torch the rest."
Shiro nodded. "I'll catch up."
Dez paused, eyeing the girl.
"You sure you wanna bring another problem home?"
Shiro looked her over again.
She stood tall now. Still quiet. Still dangerous.
"Not a problem," he said.
Then smirked.
"She's a surprise."