SHIRO LEAPT DOWN—
Boots cracking against the marble floor, chest bare and grinning like a devil with nothing to lose.
He tilted his head, eyes locked on the twin sisters standing shoulder to shoulder on the elevated catwalk. "Damn," he drawled, voice rich with sarcasm. "The resemblance is uncanny. Y'all… related or nah?"
The Sable Wings rolled their eyes in perfect unison, unimpressed.
With a synchronized snap of their fingers, four elite guards stepped forward—faces masked, armor trimmed in obsidian etchings, each one drawing a katana thrumming with arcane light.
One of the twins hissed, "Dispose of him."
The other followed, voice overlapping hers, "Quickly."
Shiro burst out laughing. "Oh wow. Sending out the small fries first?" He stretched his arms, muscles flexing under inked tattoos. "I was hopin' for the main course. But hey—two of y'all? Guess I'll take that double-decker combo later."
"SHUT UP!" the twins screamed in perfect harmony, their anger crackling in the air like a spell ready to detonate.
The guards surged forward like silent predators.
The first came in fast—blade slicing straight for Shiro's face in a shimmering crescent of blue flame.
CLINK!
Shiro didn't flinch.
Didn't dodge.
He bit down on the blade—with his gold-fanged teeth—and snapped it clean like it was a breadstick.
Metal shards clattered to the floor.
The guard froze—eyes wide behind his helm.
Shiro spat the blade piece at his chest, then twisted his hips into a brutal spin-kick, cracking the man across the ribs. The elite flew back, smashing into a column hard enough to dent it.
Before the next could blink, Shiro had already moved.
The broken katana fragment was still in his grip. He flipped it, reversed his stance, and jammed it into the second guard's thigh just as he lunged. The man howled, collapsing forward.
Shiro leaned down beside him, voice playful and cold.
"Y'all really should've sent more than four."
The last two guards didn't wait for orders—they came in tandem, one low, one high, blades glowing with volatile runes.
Shiro's grin widened—fangs gleaming, dreads swaying.
"C'mon. Dance with me."
He cracked his neck and darted forward with that beast-like gait—fluid, uncoiled, untamed.
The first slashed horizontally, aiming to cleave his side.
Shiro slid under the blow on one knee, grabbed the guard's ankle, and yanked him mid-stride. The man faceplanted, and Shiro stomped him in the helmet so hard the visor snapped off and sparks flew.
The last one hesitated.
Too slow.
Shiro was already in his face—elbowing him in the throat, then ripping the guard's own blade from his grip and flipping it in the air like a toy.
"Catch."
The sword spun once.
The guard instinctively reached—
—and Shiro punched through his chestplate before he could grab it.
The blade clanged beside him as he crumpled, groaning.
Shiro turned, chest heaving, dripping sweat and blood, that wild grin still cut across his face.
"Damn. That all y'all had?" He licked a trickle from his lip, then locked eyes with the twins still standing on the balcony.
They didn't speak.
They moved.
In perfect sync, the Sable Wings leapt down—graceful as shadows, deadly as sin. Cloaks unfurling, boots landing light, and twin blades drawn from mirrored sheaths.
Shiro's eyes glimmered with primal thrill.
"Now this what I been waitin' for."
The twins didn't rush.
They circled him—silent, smooth, calculating. Each step measured. Each blink recording every twitch, muscle shift, and exhale.
But Shiro didn't fight like a soldier.
Didn't follow rhythm.
Didn't repeat motions.
He fought like something older.
Wilder.
Every time they thought they saw a pattern—he broke it.
They slashed left—he weaved right and laughed.
They feinted high—he dropped low, smirking like it was a dance.
The blades never touched him clean. Every strike skimmed just shy, dodged by inches—his reflexes too damn sharp, too damn alive.
He whispered through clenched teeth, feral and amused, "You two keep movin' like that, I might get the wrong idea…"
A pause in the flurry—just long enough for him to grin deeper and murmur, voice low and teasing:
"A threesome with twin sisters? Pfft. Always been on my bucket list."
The twins scowled in sync.
One snarled, "You're disgusting."
The other snapped, "We're going to carve out your tongue."
Shiro raised his brows, then blew them a kiss.
"Better do it before I use it on both of y'all."
Shiro's tongue clicked behind his gold fangs. The Sable Wings weren't just pretty blades and synced sass—they were sharp. Fast. Feral. He was loving every second.
Until the air shifted.
One of the twins twirled her sword and whispered a phrase in ancient elven. Her eyes glowed red.
Bloodbinding.
Veins lit up along her arms like crimson rivers. Shiro felt a pull—a tug at the blood in his muscles.
The other stepped backward, blade reversed. Her form flickered—twice, then three times. The air warped around her.
Time alteration.
She vanished for a blink—then reappeared behind him.
Shiro ducked just as a blade whizzed past his ear. He flipped backward, landing on all fours like a beast—panting, smiling, drenched in sweat.
"Ohh… you dirty little witches," he growled, eyes gleaming wild. "That's how y'all wanna play?"
He charged, zigzagging erratically, too fast and crooked to track. He vanished behind a pillar—
Only to leap out sideways mid-flip, clawing at the bloodbinding twin's shoulder with his direwolf gauntlet.
She screamed and retaliated with a blood-spike that ripped from her forearm. Shiro twisted, took a graze across the ribs, but powered through and headbutted her in the nose.
She reeled back, dazed.
The time mage dashed in—everything slowing. Shiro felt her pull reality around her like a veil.
But his instincts were primal now—half-beast, half-rhythm, all violence.
He let her get close, then screamed in her face, a roar that wasn't human. The vibration knocked her timing off for just a second—and he elbowed her across the jaw.
Meanwhile…
ZARRAH crouched behind a fallen guard near the facility wall, heart hammering in her chest.
She clutched a dagger in both hands, watching Shiro move like a demon possessed.
His grin… his power… the way he toyed with two master-class warriors at once—
It made her thighs clench.
Made her blood race.
She bit her lip and whispered, "Mon dieu… he's not even fully serious yet…"
Her eyes darted toward the hallway—a mage tried to escape.
But a warhorn never sounded.
Because LENA was already there.
The hallway was a wreck—sigils shattered, distress runes cut at the stem, blood dripping off her gloves.
Her eyes glowed with cold enchantment. Her business coat was torn at the sleeves, revealing inked forearms and fading pulse-glyphs.
A straggler limped toward a blinking alarm crystal—desperate, wounded.
She stepped into view and snapped her fingers.
The man's legs buckled—arcane paralysis folding him like a marionette.
"You don't get to scream," Lena said flatly, walking over and twisting his neck with one hand.
GRAKKA, meanwhile, was deep in a brawl of her own.
Two juggernauts—orc-blooded brutes in cyber-enhanced armor—swung massive warhammers at her.
She wasn't dodging.
She was absorbing. Each hit that glanced her skin lit up glowing runes in her tattoos—power surging through her veins, her muscles bulking mid-fight.
She snarled and cracked open one of their helmets with a headbutt, then slipped under the second's swing and plunged her Warfang knife into his gut, twisting it slow.
"Too slow, pig," she grinned, blood running down her neck.
Back to Shiro—
He licked blood from his lips, his body steaming with heat and primal force.
Both twins stood again—cut, breathing hard, and now dead serious.
The time mage circled wide.
The bloodbinding twin whispered a chant, preparing something heavy.
Shiro dragged his thumb across his mouth and chuckled.
"Aww… y'all look mad now."
He flexed his fingers and whispered low—
"Let's make this intimate."