The rain hammered down in relentless sheets. No wind stirred, only a curtain of water obscuring vision, its ceaseless roar drumming upon corrugated rooftops like iron mallets. Streetlamps flickered dimly along the narrow, aged alley, their orange glow wavering over cracked walls and a walkway swollen with rainwater.
Kira Focalors strode deeper into the alley, a black umbrella held overhead, a bag of groceries dangling from his other hand. Droplets slid from the umbrella's edge, pattering rhythmically onto the flooded ground. Each step splashed softly, echoing between the towering walls that hemmed him in on both sides.
At the bend, a tall figure cloaked in black blocked the path, standing motionless in the rain. His face was shrouded in shadow—only his sharp, unblinking eyes glimmered back through the downpour.
A deep, resonant voice cut through the roar of the storm."Kira Focalors… Age twenty. Born in the Eastern District. Highest Prana aptitude test result in the last decade. No family. No criminal record…"
Kira froze mid-step. A chill crawled down his spine, like the press of a blade against his nape. The cloaked man tapped a comms device at his ear; his voice dropped into a measured whisper.
"Target confirmed. Commence elimination."
In the next instant, the assassin surged forward with terrifying speed. The curtain of rain split into a straight line where his body carved through. A longsword whipped free from his back, descending in a vertical arc like a thunderbolt cleaving the night.
Kira barely had time to raise his umbrella by instinct. A tearing shriek split the air as fabric shredded in half, falling uselessly into the water. The blade's edge missed his skull by mere inches, its icy breath slicing the rain-drenched air and numbing his cheek.
Kira flung himself backward, boots skidding across the slick ground, water exploding outward in his wake. He halted only after several meters, heels grinding against the flooded concrete.
Before he could steady himself, a short blade swept from the side, its edge grazing his arm with a hiss—cloth ripped, and the metallic tang of blood mixed with rain at his nose. Twisting his shoulder, he bent his body low, arching away from the strike, then leveled his gaze at the assassin. A thin smile curved his lips beneath the storm.
"You've mistaken your prey."
The words, cold and sharp, had scarcely left his mouth when the cloaked man tightened his grip and launched himself upward, muscles taut beneath the rain. His black silhouette shot skyward, momentarily rising above the rooftops before plunging back down, longsword arcing overhead with manic ferocity.
Kira leapt aside just as the strike landed.
CRASH! The ground erupted in a thunderous blast. Concrete shattered into jagged fissures, spraying shards and water skyward. Arcs of violet lightning burst from the cracks, spreading like glowing roots through the street. For a breathless instant, the entire alley blazed with searing light.
The assassin ripped his blade free, his body blazing with dense Prana. Lightning veins danced across the steel, their glow reflecting off the downpour until the rain itself gleamed purple. With a brutal thrust, he drove the blade into the earth once more
THUD!
Bolts of electricity tore outward, coursing along the water-logged street. The rain became a conduit, weaving a net of crackling death through the alley. Sparks flashed and the hiss of live current filled the air.
Kira's eyes widened, but instinct moved swifter than thought. He lunged sideways, planting a foot against the slick wall with a resounding thud. Water splashed wide as he sprang upward, vaulting through the rain until his body landed atop a nearby rooftop, crouched and steady.
The storm raged on. Distant thunder growled across the night sky. Kira's breaths came slow, deliberate, his gaze locked on the assassin below who now stood cloaked in lightning, a beast wreathed in violet fury.
The Hidden Control Room
Dim light from rows of monitors painted the chamber in cold hues. Operators bent over their consoles, hands racing across keys, alarms wailing in sync with the storm outside.
Reports erupted over the comms, louder than the rain hissing through the microphones."Target has broken distance from Shadow Three! Four meters… ten… fifteen! Altitude eight meters! Rate of positional change… seventeen point eight times the average!"
The room fell silent in a heartbeat. All eyes turned to the stern man seated at the central console. His sharp features were carved in stone, gaze locked on the glowing data before him. When he finally spoke, his words fell heavy as iron.
"Light-body Art… Night-Treading Step."
The control room froze under the weight of his voice.
Faces paled, eyes widened. For what he had uttered was the name of a Prana art long recorded as… extinct.