Ember 20, 2999 – sunday Afternoon
Lena Cordash's Mansion – Private Dojo Garden
The heat was heavier today.
Magic thickened the air. Sweat clung to Shiro's body like a second skin as his fists cracked against enchanted stone. He ducked, rolled, pivoted—every movement sharp, primal, efficient.
The three golems weren't just enchanted—they were enhanced. Lena, sipping iced jasmine wine from the shade, had casually mentioned:
"It's Ember. My constructs triple in aggression this month. Hope you're enjoying yourself."
She wasn't joking.
One golem, now wreathed in burning sigils, launched another haymaker that split the tile beside Shiro's leg. A second—its crystal plating reflecting the sunlight—blasted shards from its arms like scattershot magic. The third, lean and fast, vanished mid-sprint and reappeared behind him with a crack of lightning.
Shiro grinned.
"Good," he growled, sliding under a swipe. "Keep pressin' me."
He moved like instinct and violence were dancing.
His claws tore a chunk from the crystal-armored one, but it countered with a tail spike that clipped his shoulder. Sparks flew. Blood hissed as it touched the rune-baked floor.
Zarrah flinched from her viewing seat, biting her lip. Grakka leaned over her shoulder with a meat skewer in hand. "Don't worry. That's foreplay to him."
"Y'all better enjoy the view," Lena added, legs crossed, runes swirling lazily at her fingertips. "I doubled their aggression after lunch."
Shiro ducked a midair slash, slammed the hammer-fisted one into the floor, then kicked it hard enough to send it skidding backward through three stone columns.
Veins glowed up his arms. Every breath pulsed with the relic's rhythm—but now, he was guiding it. Not drowning in it.
He let his claws retract mid-spin, switched to a close-range combo of elbows, knees, and slams—testing control.
Muscle memory and beast instinct wove together.
His foot snapped the crystal golem's leg. He caught its neck, then twisted, lifting it and driving its head into the earth.
Shards and steam exploded.
The others advanced—and he welcomed it.
Fifteen minutes later, the dojo garden was a warzone of broken tiles, scattered magical fragments, and smoldering enchantments.
Shiro stood in the center, panting but smiling. His body was cut, bruised, steaming—but balanced. Focused.
Zarrah sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, amber eyes wide. "You… move like you were born with chaos in your blood."
Shiro cracked his neck and wiped his jaw. "Nah. I just met myself for the first time."
He walked over to the shade, still shirtless, still glowing faint red. Grakka tossed him a cold bottle of water.
He caught it, popped the seal with one claw, and chugged half before wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Not bad for Ember training," he said.
Lena raised a brow. "You're adapting fast."
"You like watchin Luv'?"
"I like the heat," she purred.
Shiro smirked and leaned down behind her, whispering in her ear, "I ain't done warming up yet."
Grakka laughed. "You flirtin' again? I'm tellin' ya—keep runnin' your mouth and I'll drag you back inside."
Shiro turned his grin on her. "You promise?"
Zarrah looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the broken golem pieces.
But Shiro caught her glancing again.
"Zarrah," he called.
She looked up. "Oui?"
"You keep starin' like I owe you somethin'."
She shrugged. "Maybe you do."
He chuckled, then turned as his wristband buzzed.
Incoming Call – Dez Mccoo
"Speak."
"Finally!" Dez's voice crackled through. "Been tryna ping you since last night."
"Had a busy evening."
"I know. Lena's golems caused a magical ripple the size of a city block. Half the Choir's comms went dark after we hit that warehouse. Anyway, I ran that phone I snatched off Big Ugly. The encryption's layered—but guess what?"
"Tell me."
"They were trackin' you through that relic. Not just you—the moment you synced with it, their systems went into an alert cascade."
Shiro's jaw clenched. "How bad?"
"Bad enough there's probably a low-tier bounty on both our heads now. Not official, but… y'know. Private contractor type."
"How much?"
"Not enough to worry us. But enough to make desperate idiots look twice."
Shiro's eyes narrowed.
"What else?"
"I'm startin' to map how the Black Choir works. Think of 'em like a web—central core doesn't touch the dirty work. The outer layers? Contractors, mercs, cursed scholars, whatever. They use relics, spies, and debt to keep control."
"And the relic?"
"It's old. Older than this continent. Beast-coded. Responds to physiological thresholds—not magic. That's why it reacted to you and not me."
"Good."
"Also… I cracked their log server. Got some names. One of 'em's been to Lena's estate before."
Shiro's smile faded. "Say that again."
"Yeah. I'll send you the log trace. You might want to lock down your perimeter."
"I'm listenin'. Come through."
"You still got snacks?"
Grakka shouted, "Plenty!"
Dez laughed. "I'm on my way."
Shiro ended the call, eyes flicking to Lena.
She raised a brow. "You gonna ask?"
"Later," he said. "After Dez drops the logs."
Then he glanced at Zarrah again.
Zarrah stood slowly, brushing crystal dust off her legs as she approached. Her robe hung loose on one shoulder, but her eyes were focused. Intense.
"You said they tracked you," she murmured, stepping into the shade beside Shiro. "But that means they were still watchin'. Still collecting."
He looked her way. "You remember anything else? About the experiments?"
She nodded slowly. "Oui. There was one… scientist. Mad, twisted. Always wore a mask with a gold edge and smelled like rotting herbs. He didn't just test—he enjoyed it. Took notes when I screamed. Laughed when others broke."
Her voice dipped, French lilt thickening with venom. "I want him. The one they called Morrow."
Shiro tilted his head, watching her expression closely.
Then he smiled.
Manic. Sharp.
"You'll get him," he said, voice dark with promise. "You'll get all of it. Revenge. Pain. Slow, drippin' justice. I'll make sure you carve your name into his spine if that's what it takes."
Zarrah's lips curled—not soft, not shy.
But devilish.
"I like how you think, Beast."
"Stick with me," he said, eyes glowing faint red again. "You'll be feeding him his own teeth."
He turned slightly—eyes flicking toward Lena as if remembering something.
"And you," he said, voice calm but biting. "Who the hell from that Organization been in my house?"
Lena's smile froze for just a breath.
She set down her glass. "You already know I move through contracts. I don't always know who's behind the buyers. Not directly."
"But someone connected to the Black Choir stood in this garden."
"Not knowingly," she replied coolly. "And not recently."
Shiro's jaw flexed. "I don't like surprises, Luv."
"Neither do I," she said, stepping closer. "Which is why I checked the logs after Dez sent that file. I'm scrubbin' every client and closing every backdoor. You want me to fix it—let me work."
Grakka leaned in, still licking sauce from her thumb. "You two flirtin' or threatenin' each other again?"
Zarrah smirked faintly.
Shiro let out a slow breath.
"Alright," he said. "Dez gets here—we check those logs. Then we plan who dies next."
Lena raised her glass again. "Now you're speaking my language."
Grakka clinked her bottle to Lena's.
Zarrah?
She didn't speak.
She just smiled.
One fang peeking out.