The city never slept. Especially not tonight.
High above the neon haze of the city's eastern district, Jayden sprinted across rooftops, his breath sharp, limbs fueled by chi and desperation. Sirens wailed far below. Gunshots echoed two streets over. But up here—on the concrete spines of forgotten buildings—it was war without witnesses.
Three shadows moved ahead of him. Fast. Trained. Killers.
Jayden could feel their murderous intent bleeding through the night. They were from the Crimson Ash Syndicate—one of the hidden martial clans, known for merging ancient swordsmanship with modern bloodlust. They were hunting someone.
And Jayden was hunting them.
It had started with a scream.
An hour earlier, he'd been meditating in Isla's safehouse, channeling chi through his lower dantian when the message came through the talisman bell—a coded distress pulse from a scout named Lian.
A junior disciple.
One of his now.
She'd been tailing a suspected Syndicate arms deal near the Skyrail station. Something had gone wrong. The pulse was frantic, broken mid-transmission.
Jayden hadn't hesitated. He'd grabbed his cloak, strapped the curved dagger Isla gave him on his thigh, and leapt into the night like he was born for it.
He landed lightly on the edge of a warehouse rooftop and immediately pressed two fingers to the tiles.
Chi ripple—three moving signatures. Fast. One fading. Bleeding.
Lian.
He dashed forward. His breathing aligned with his steps—In. Two. Exhale. Four. Just as Master Quill had taught during body movement drills. Each stride was almost soundless now. Chi-enhanced agility, combined with his natural instincts, turned him into a ghost among steel.
One of the Syndicate assassins paused ahead, sensing him.
Jayden didn't wait.
He hurled a small pill capsule from his belt. It cracked mid-air, releasing a flash of red smoke laced with hallucinogenic herbs.
The assassin recoiled, stumbling—
Jayden struck.
A flying knee to the face, followed by a twist of the man's wrist and a needle jab between two pressure points at the collarbone.
The Syndicate killer went limp, paralyzed.
Jayden didn't stop to watch him fall.
The next rooftop was wide, rusted with old metal vents and forgotten water tanks.
He found Lian there, cornered and wounded—her shoulder sliced open, her breathing ragged. Two assassins circled her, blades out, their footwork echoing classical styles—Tiger Step and Shadow Coil, brutal and direct.
She locked eyes with Jayden for a heartbeat. He saw it then.
She'd held them off. Alone. Buying time.
Now it was his turn.
"Step back," Jayden said.
Lian collapsed to her knees, gasping, "They killed Dorian."
Jayden's pulse sharpened.
Dorian had been another disciple. Calm. Loyal.
Now gone.
Something in Jayden snapped.
The first assassin lunged—blade low, slashing upward. Jayden ducked and countered with a rising elbow, chi-focused, that cracked the man's jaw. He followed up with a mid-spin kick that launched him into a vent.
The second was faster. He struck with twin knives, aiming for vital chi points.
Jayden blocked one, let the other graze him.
Then he did something new.
He channeled chi into his fingers, shaping it into a thread-thin needle, invisible to the naked eye.
He jabbed it into the assassin's wrist—activating a meridian lock he'd learned from Quill.
The man froze.
Jayden twisted behind him and whispered, "This is for Dorian."
The knife reversed. One silent cut. One lifeless fall.
Blood stained the rooftop tiles.
Jayden stood over the two bodies, chest heaving, the city wind tousling his dark hair. He glanced back at Lian, who was barely conscious. He ran to her side, ripped open his pouch, and withdrew two silver acupuncture needles.
He inserted one near her collarbone, the other behind her ear.
Chi flowed.
She gasped.
"I've got you," he whispered. "You're not dying tonight."
Fifteen minutes later, Isla arrived, flanked by two senior disciples.
She took one look at the carnage and nodded.
"You're evolving."
Jayden didn't answer. He just stared out over the city. Below them, the world moved on. The gangs kept fighting. The clans kept hiding.
But up here…
He was starting to understand what his father meant when he said, "The Dragon doesn't roar—it waits. Then it burns everything."
Tonight, he'd spilled blood.
But not for revenge.
For the ones under his care. For the memory of a friend.
And the path to the Dragon Form grew clearer with each drop.