Part G – Blood Interrupted
The hall had settled into a fragile calm.
Kuangren remained at the center, tall and commanding, crimson eyes scanning every corner. Zhu Zhuqing crouched on the balcony, tail twitching, watching every subtle movement of his body. The Master leaned back, mask glinting in torchlight, seemingly satisfied.
And then the first warning came.
A soft clink, almost imperceptible above the murmurs of the crowd. A dagger sliding across stone. Not from the guests at the table, but from the shadowed corners where observers and mercenaries lurked.
Kuangren's head tilted slightly. Recognition came not with surprise, but with the precision of a man who had smelled blood a thousand times before it hit the air.
Intrusion, he thought. Not planned by the Master.
The hall did not yet see. The murmurs continued. The nobles sipped wine, gamblers adjusted their wagers, and killers in the corners whispered to one another.
Kuangren's lips curved faintly. Not a smile. A challenge.
The first wave of chaos erupted moments later.
A group of masked assailants burst from the side doors, black cloaks billowing, weapons flashing under torchlight. Steel sang against steel, knives whispered death, and the hall erupted into screams. Guests ducked, tables overturned, coins and goblets scattering like startled birds.
The Master's eyes narrowed, but he remained still, almost enjoying the spectacle he had not orchestrated.
Kuangren moved.
Slow. Deliberate. Calculated.
The first assailant lunged at a fleeing noble. Kuangren sidestepped, hand brushing the man's chest with such precision that the attacker stumbled, blade sliding uselessly along the polished floor. With a single pivot, Kuangren used the momentum to hurl the man into another, a chain reaction that sent two more crashing into the long tables.
No blood spilled. Not yet. Only restraint and control.
Zhu Zhuqing's eyes widened. From her balcony perch, she flexed claws silently, tail twitching with tension. She had expected danger. She had expected the storm to strike, to dominate, to kill. But she had not expected restraint so precise, so deliberate.
Kuangren moved like water—shifting, flowing, absorbing, and redirecting. Each assailant met his presence and faltered, not from fear alone, but from the sheer inevitability of his actions.
And then she saw it. The faintest glimmer in his eyes—not rage, not cruelty, but something else entirely.
Enjoyment.
He relished the dance, the control, the orchestration of chaos without spilling blood. And that, she realized, was far more terrifying than any blade.
The second wave came more deliberately.
From the opposite side of the hall, a taller figure leapt onto the table, scattering goblets and silver. Two more followed, their weapons drawn. They were trained, clearly. Not ordinary killers, but mercenaries accustomed to coordinated strikes.
Kuangren did not flinch.
He stepped forward, blade now drawn, glinting faintly under the torchlight. Not yet striking, but present. Each movement was a statement of intent. A promise.
The first attacker struck. Kuangren's body moved like a shadow. He caught the weapon under his arm, twisted the wrist, and sent the mercenary tumbling into a wall with a controlled force that left the man conscious but incapacitated.
The second attacker hesitated, recognizing the futility.
Zhu Zhuqing's claws extended silently from her sleeves. Her tail lashed. Her muscles coiled, ready to leap. She had remained an observer for hours, yet now, with chaos erupting, she could act.
And she did.
From her perch, she launched a controlled descent, landing between two fleeing nobles and a third attacker. Her claws flashed, precise and deadly, not aiming to kill, but to disable. Limbs were twisted, weapons knocked away, bodies redirected. Each movement was mirrored by Kuangren's orchestration of the larger battlefield.
Together, they became a silent duet, moving with deadly harmony, chaos folding around them, bending to their control.
The hall was in uproar. Tables overturned, goblets shattered, coin clattering. The guests screamed, cowered, or scrambled for the exits. But the two predators—storm and cat—were everywhere, yet nowhere, silent and precise.
Kuangren's crimson eyes swept the room. He caught her gaze mid-movement, faint acknowledgment. No words. None were necessary. She understood him, just as he understood her.
The Master's chuckle echoed softly across the hall. "Yes… yes," he murmured. "The storm and the cat. See how they move together? Observe, all of you. This… is power."
The third wave of attackers came—heavier, more deliberate, not masked but armored. Steel clashed against steel in the center of the hall.
Kuangren's blade moved like liquid fire. Each strike was measured, lethal in potential but restrained in execution. He disarmed, incapacitated, redirected. The air around him became a field of inevitability, every movement precise, every action calculated.
Zhu Zhuqing was a shadow alongside him. Her claws flicked with deadly grace. Each strike aimed to control, not kill. Every leap, every motion, was synchronized with the storm's rhythm.
No words passed between them. None were needed.
They are predators, the Master whispered to the lieutenants. And together, they are unstoppable.
A moment of stillness.
The hall, previously chaos incarnate, paused for an instant. Even the attackers froze, recognizing the futility.
Kuangren's eyes met Zhu Zhuqing's across the space. Her tail flicked once, sharply. A silent acknowledgment. Respect. Understanding. Connection.
The Master leaned forward slightly. "Observe this. Do not underestimate them. The storm bends no man, yet it recognizes the cat. And the cat… watches, waits, learns."
The final group of attackers, seeing the precision, the inevitability, faltered. Some fled. Some surrendered. The hall's tension broke like a snapped string.
Kuangren sheathed his blade slowly, deliberately, and turned his attention to the balcony.
Zhu Zhuqing's claws retracted, her body still tense. She had seen enough. And yet, she had seen everything.
They moved through the aftermath together, silent, the only witnesses fully aware of the storm and the cat that had passed through the banquet.
The Master's voice cut softly. "The storm has passed, but the night is not yet done. The cat has shown herself… but will she follow, or will she flee?"
Neither answered. Neither needed to.
The silent pact had been forged. Chaos had revealed them, sharpened them, and aligned them, even if only for the moment.
And in that silence, the room, the Master, and even the city above understood: two predators had emerged. And their storm was just beginning.