back to White World's hideout, buried deep beneath the old city ruins.
The dim lights flickered softly across the cracked walls. Everyone was just beginning to wake up. The air smelled faintly of iron and medicine.
Diana rubbed her eyes, still sore from her bandages. "Where's Emma?" she muttered, sitting up slowly on the couch.
Celeste glanced up from the medical table, blinking sleep from her eyes. "I thought she was with you last night."
Diana frowned. "No."
Mostang, sitting nearby with a cigarette half-lit, froze. "She didn't come back?"
Everyone exchanged looks.
Valeria crossed her arms. "That's not like her. She doesn't vanish without saying anything."
Kane stood, uneasy. "Maybe she's scouting? Or—"
Diana cut him off sharply, her tone colder now. "Emma always reports before scouting. If she didn't… something's wrong."
A tense silence filled the hideout. The only sound was the faint hum of Carlo's computer still running.
Mostang put out his cigarette, stood up, and grabbed his jacket. "I'll go look for her."
Diana shook her head. "No. We move together this time. We're not splitting again."
Kane clenched his fists. "Then let's go. She could be hurt—"
But before anyone could move, Carlo swiveled around in his chair.
"Wait."
Everyone turned.
On his monitor—grainy CCTV footage from one of the city cameras—Emma could be seen walking down a quiet street…
Then a blur of movement.
A strike.
And Emma was gone from the frame.
Celeste's hand covered her mouth. "That was—"
Diana's eyes went wide, her voice trembling with anger.
"…Shadow."
She slammed her hand on the table. "That bastard's still alive."
Valeria narrowed her eyes, already strapping her gloves.
"Then we go now."
Diana grabbed her jacket, her voice low and burning with rage.
"Emma bought us time when we needed it. This time—"
She turned toward the door.
"—we bring her back."
And with that, White World moved out, the sound of their footsteps echoing like thunder through the hideout halls.
-----
as Shadow sprinted through the narrow alleyways without reason, boots splashing against puddles left by the earlier rain.
Emma chased close behind — silent, eyes locked on him, every movement sharp and predatory.
"Why the fuck are you running?" she muttered under her breath, dodging a trash bin as he turned another corner.
Shadow didn't answer. He just kept running. His movements were erratic — not retreating, not fleeing — leading.
Emma's instincts sharpened. He's not escaping… he's luring me.
She followed anyway.
They cut through the dark street, up the hill, past flickering street lamps — until Shadow stopped.
He turned suddenly, eyes cold, and slammed open a door, rushing inside a small, dimly lit house.
Emma slowed down, heart pounding. The moment she recognized the place, her breath caught.
No…
Is this house.
Means. Shadow was spying on her.
It was the same house of that little girl — the one who had smiled at her, shared candy with her, asked why she was sad.
Emma's jaw tightened as she stepped inside. The door creaked behind her.
The air smelled of dust and old fabric. Toys scattered across the floor.
And there — in the corner — the little girl, holding her mother's arm, confused and scared.
The mother's face froze when she saw Emma.
"You…"
Shadow stood between them, arms crossed, voice low and bitter.
"Touching reunion, huh, Emma?"
Emma's tone dropped like ice. "Why bring them into this?"
Shadow smirked faintly. "Because why not"
Emma's eyes narrowed, fury rising. "You're just another coward hiding behind others."
Shadow took a slow step toward the mother and child. "Maybe. But I wonder… how does it feel, Emma, knowing that everywhere you go—death follows?"
Emma didn't speak.
Her fists clenched.
Then, in one explosive motion — she dashed forward.
The two clashed again — fists meeting with bone-shaking force, echoing through the small house. Furniture broke. The table shattered. The girl screamed as her mother shielded her.
Shadow kicked Emma through a wall; she rolled, blood trailing from her lip.
But she got back up instantly, eyes burning. "You're not taking them."
Shadow smirked. "Then stop me."
They collided once more — in a blur of fists, fury, and debris.
The little girl cried out as Emma and Shadow fought violently, breaking through the hallway, tearing through walls — their battle no longer just personal, but a storm tearing through innocence.
And all Emma could think was one thought:
Not again.
Not another child.
Shadow feeling overwhelmed. Grabbed a nearby knife.
Emma's eyes widened the instant she saw the glint of metal.
Time slowed — the sound of the knife slicing through the air was sharp, horrifyingly clear.
"NO—!"
She leapt forward, adrenaline flooding her veins. Her body moved on instinct, pure reflex.
The knife spun end over end — and Emma's arm shot out, wrapping around the little girl and pulling her close.
The blade slashed through Emma's side, lodging halfway into her ribs.
The girl screamed.
Emma's knees buckled from the impact, but she didn't let go. She turned her body, shielding the child completely, blood dripping down her shirt.
Shadow stood frozen for a second, his smirk fading. "…You're still doing this?"
Emma slowly looked up — her expression unreadable, calm, yet filled with that old familiar rage.
Her voice was cold.
"You really thought I'd let a child die in front of me again?"
She gently set the little girl behind a toppled couch.
"Stay there," she whispered, her tone soft — almost motherly for the first time in years.
Then she stood.
She pulled the knife out, blood flowing from the wound.
Her grip tightened around the handle — and she pointed it back at Shadow.
"You threw it…" she said quietly.
"Now I'll return it."
And with a flick of her wrist — Emma hurled the knife back, slicing across Shadow's shoulder.
He grunted, stumbling back, clutching the wound.
Emma took a step forward, blood soaking her side but her presence towering — unshaken, unstoppable.
"You're done hiding behind threats," she said, voice trembling not from fear, but fury.
And she charged again — despite the pain, despite the bleeding.
Emma stumbled back, blinking rapidly — the sting of sand burning her eyes.
Her vision blurred white, her instincts screaming danger.
She could hear it — the terrified scream of the mother, Shadow's low, cruel chuckle.
"You protect one," Shadow taunted, his voice echoing in the small house,
"and another suffers. You can't save them all, Emma."
Emma's hands trembled, trying to wipe the grit from her eyes.
The sound of a struggle — a chair clattering, the mother crying, the child sobbing behind the couch.
Her breath quickened. Her vision started to return in faint shapes — light, shadows, movement.
She caught sight of Shadow holding the mother by the hair, a knife to her throat.
"Don't take another step," Shadow said, smirking. "Or this one dies first."
Emma froze — her eyes, still reddened, narrowed slowly.
Even half-blind, she could feel every movement, every breath, every vibration in the room.
That calm, predator-like awareness returned.
"…You think I can't fight blind?" she said quietly.
Shadow blinked. "What?"
Emma's body tensed — and she dashed forward.
He tried to react — slashing the knife toward her — but Emma sidestepped, ducked low, and snatched his wrist mid-swing.
Her knee slammed into his ribs, then her elbow cracked against his jaw.
The mother stumbled away, gasping for air, collapsing near her child.
Emma's sight returned fully now — just in time to see Shadow falling against the wall, wiping blood from his mouth.
She didn't chase. She simply stood there — her breathing steady, her eyes cold.
"You should've killed me when I couldn't see."
Shadow grinned through the pain, voice ragged.
"You're bleeding, Phantom. You won't last long."
Emma took a slow step forward, her shadow stretching across the broken floor.
"I've lasted longer than you think."
The little girl and her mother huddled together, whispering Emma's name as if she were something more than human.
Outside, faint sirens began to echo in the distance — but inside that house, only Emma and Shadow remained locked in silence, both realizing this wasn't over.
The door bursted open–––
Emma turned her head toward the sound of the door bursting open—
the faint creak of boots, the rush of cold air from outside.
"Kane!" Diana's voice cut through the heavy tension, her tone sharp, urgent.
Behind her came Mostang, gun raised, Valeria, fists ready, and Kane, who froze when he saw the shattered glass and blood on Emma's face.
"Emma— what the hell happened here!?" Kane yelled, running forward.
Emma didn't answer at first. Her breathing was uneven, her hair slightly disheveled from the fight. She pointed toward the window—
and in that exact instant, a figure darted out into the streets
Shadow.
"HE'S ESCAPING!" Mostang shouted, bolting toward the door.
Valeria followed instantly, but Emma raised her arm weakly.
"No. Don't," she said, voice low but commanding.
"He'll lead you to a trap. That's what he wants."
Mostang halted, still panting, eyes sharp.
Kane clenched his fists. "Then what— we just let him go!?"
Emma turned her head toward the window, watching the dark silhouette vanish into the distance beneath the dim streetlights.
Her tone, cold and flat, carried quiet fury:
"No… I'll deal with him when the time is right."
Valeria glanced around at the wrecked room—the broken furniture, the knife embedded in the wall, the trembling mother clutching her daughter.
Diana walked to Emma, laying a hand gently on her shoulder.
"You saved them," she murmured.
Emma's gaze softened for a second as she looked at the girl hiding behind her mother. The child's small voice whispered,
"You're hurt…"
Emma crouched slightly, forcing a faint smile despite the pain.
"Don't worry about me. Just go home with your mom. Stay safe."
The mother nodded shakily, tears in her eyes, whispering thanks before leaving.
As the door closed, silence filled the room again.
Kane muttered, still glaring at the broken window,
"He got away…"
Emma wiped the blood from her lip with her thumb.
Her eyes—calm, black, and unreadable—shifted toward the team.
"He won't next time," she said quietly.
"He just declared war."
The White World stood behind her, each of them silent.
The tension in the air was heavy—something dark had begun.
Chapter end