Zevros spoke up, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind, ensuring the group behind him, including Rhyven, stayed focused. "We're almost at the docks. Keep your heads in the game and don't jump to conclusions about these people. That's our orders, and I expect everyone to follow them without complaints."
A few of the Desert Fangs members murmured in agreement, their voices muffled by the storm. "Understood," one said, adjusting the straps on his gear. Another added, "Don't worry, Zevros. We'll stay sharp." Rhyven, silent until now, gave a subtle nod, his eyes scanning the swirling sands ahead. "Let's just get this done," he muttered, his tone calm but firm, betraying no hint of fear despite the chaos around them.
The group pressed forward, each step measured, aware that any mistake could cost them both the mission and their lives in the unforgiving desert.
Within mere minutes, the Desert Fangs reached the southern dock. They halted at the sight of the small boat moored nearby, moving cautiously, unwilling to rush forward. From the vessel, Venos finally caught sight of them, and his stomach sank.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, voice rising with panic before he forced himself to quiet down, hoping to remain unseen. "I knew it… too many of them. There's no way I can talk my way out of this. What do I do now?"
He staggered slightly, eyes darting across the deck as his mind raced. "No, no, no… this can't be happening! They'll see me any second! Maybe if I hide… no, too exposed… maybe if I steer away—no fuel… nothing… I'm done for!" His hands flew over the railing, gripping it as his breathing quickened. "I can't let them find Temoshí… I just… what am I supposed to do?!"
Venos swayed as his panic mounted, each second stretching painfully, knowing the hunters were closer than ever. Every possible escape route seemed to vanish in the chaos, leaving him frozen between desperation and dread.
Venos' chest tightened as he watched the Desert Fangs approach. Zevros' raised arm gave a faint signal of peace, but the unease in him didn't fade.
As they drew closer, their calm voices carried across the deck: "We only wish to examine… no harm intended… for now."
Venos took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the Desert Fangs neared. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Hold on! You don't want to inspect this ship—it's… unstable. The hull's weakened, and any movement could, uh… compromise the whole thing. Really, it's dangerous. The rigging's frayed, the deck's slippery, and… well, the cargo inside is extremely delicate. You could accidentally ruin everything."
The hunters didn't stop, stepping closer with calm, measured strides. Venos' mind scrambled for more. "I mean… also, the anchor lines—they're… tricky. One wrong tug, and you might throw us off balance, maybe even capsize the boat. Seriously, it's… it's best just to, uh… leave it be."
His words grew more frantic as he gestured vaguely at every part of the vessel. "Yes! Just… leave it! It's for your own safety. Trust me, touching anything here… it's really not a good idea!"
Even as he tried to sound convincing, the shaky edge in his voice betrayed him—he was running out of legitimate excuses fast.
The hunters slowed, exchanging confused glances among themselves. One of them muttered, "What's his deal? Why's he acting so… frantic?"
Rhyven's sharp voice cut through the murmurs. "This guy's acting strange. Too nervous. Something's off."
Zevros, still calm behind his mask, raised a hand. "Relax. We're not going to swarm the boat. One of us will walk down and inspect alone. Nothing more. No need to provoke him further."
Venos flinched at the words but quickly scrambled for another excuse. "Uh… no, you really shouldn't! The… the decking is slippery! I mean, it's been exposed to the storm… the sandstorm—it's unstable! You could… you could twist an ankle… or worse, fall overboard! It's… really dangerous, I swear!"
He gestured wildly toward the hull, his desperation mounting as Zevros nodded subtly to one of his crew, signaling them to move forward anyway.
Zevros raised a hand calmly, his tone steady behind the mask. "It's fine. We'll be careful. No one's going to cause any harm. Just a quick look—nothing more."
Venos' eyes widened, panic still flickering, but he tried to keep his voice firm. "I… I really don't think that's a good idea! There could be loose boards, ropes… anything! It's not safe!"
Zevros nodded subtly and gestured toward one of the Desert Fangs standing nearby. The soldier stepped forward cautiously, moving toward the boat with measured, silent steps, his eyes scanning every detail as he approached.
Venos' heart sank, his hands trembling slightly on the edge of the railing. "I'm… done for," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely carrying over the wind and sand. Every scenario he could think of ended badly—either the ship would be found to hold something valuable, or worse, the Desert Fangs would find a reason to strike.
He watched helplessly as the inspecting soldier leaned over the side of the boat, carefully observing the hull, ropes, and cargo. Zevros stayed back, his mask tilted slightly toward Venos, his posture calm, almost as if reassuring him without saying a word.
Venos' attempts to distract or stall had failed, and he felt the tight grip of dread settle over him like the storm still raging around them.
The Desert Fangs waited tensely as the investigator moved around the boat, disappearing behind the cabin for what felt like an eternity. The wind whipped sand across the dunes, carrying a sharp edge that mirrored the tension in the air.
Finally, he reappeared, leaning decisively around the cabin's door, eyes scanning the group as he spoke, voice firm but with an edge of worry: "There's someone aboard—an unconscious man, lying in the ship!"
The words landed heavily. The Desert Fangs stiffened, exchanging quick, suspicious glances, hands instinctively moving closer to their weapons.
"Did he do this?" one whispered sharply.
"Looks like a criminal to me," another muttered, eyes narrowing at Venos.
Venos' heart sank. He opened his mouth to explain, but the confidence in the investigator's tone, paired with the silent readiness of the hunters, made it impossible. Every second stretched longer, and panic clawed at him as he realized they were already drawing their own conclusions.
Zevros' sharp gaze cut through the tension, his expression darkening beneath the mask. "Tie him up," he commanded, voice low but commanding enough to leave no room for argument.
The Desert Fangs immediately moved, ropes in hand, closing in on Venos. He raised his arms, stammering, trying to explain himself. "Wait, no, I—I can explain! It's not what it looks—"
But the words faltered, the excuses crumbling under Zevros' unyielding stare and the hunters' swift, practiced movements. There was no convincing them, no quick way to prove his innocence. Venos' panic deepened as the ropes were fastened around his wrists, leaving him completely at their mercy.
Zevros barely blinked, voice sharp and decisive. "Take another one with you. Bring him out."
Two of the Desert Fangs moved with quick precision, lifting the limp, unconscious man from the cabin. The sand shifted beneath their boots as they carefully carried him toward the dock, keeping their grip firm but measured. When they set him down on the sun-baked sand, the group circled, tense and watchful, eyes narrowing at Venos.
Venos took a step forward, hands still bound, trying to make sense of the situation. "Look, I swear! He's not—he's not a threat! I didn't—don't make assumptions!"
The Desert Fangs exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, but Zevros' presence kept them rooted in discipline. Venos' attempts to plead only seemed to heighten their wariness.
Once the Desert Fangs laid eyes on the unconscious Temoshí, their gazes lingered on his still form, searching for any signs of injury.
Rhyven crouched beside him, carefully inspecting each part. "He doesn't seem to have any visible wounds," he noted calmly.
Venos stepped forward, panic in his voice. "I-I didn't do this! You have to believe me! I didn't touch him, I swear!"
Rhyven's eyes narrowed, cutting him off. "Calm down. That doesn't mean he's safe. Could be poison… some hidden strike… or another cause entirely. We can't just assume everything's fine because there are no visible injuries."
Venos swallowed hard, anxiety rippling through him as the group fell silent, all eyes on the unconscious warrior.
One of the members who had carried the unconscious young man glanced at Zevros, concern clear in his expression. "What should we do with him… and with the old man? We can't just leave them here like this."
Zevros' gaze hardened, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority. "The young man must be secured and monitored immediately. No one approaches him without strict caution. As for the old man, he stays with us. He will answer for any wrongdoing if it comes to that, but right now, our priority is ensuring the young man's safety. Nothing else matters until he's stable."
Venos' hands trembled as he sat, voice cracking with desperation. "I-I didn't do anything! Please… you have to believe me!"
Zevros' eyes narrowed, unwavering. "Calm yourself. That doesn't change the situation. He could be hurt in ways we can't see. Your explanation comes later—first, we secure him and make sure he survives this."
Zevros' eyes glinted with menace, his tone sharp and unforgiving. "Shut your mouth, old man, and obey the command—do it, or I'll make sure the king hears of your disobedience, you'll rot in a cell, or… maybe even lose your head. Right now, your only concern is staying alive yourself."
A shadow cut across the sandstorm. In a single fluid motion, a figure landed between Venos and the Desert Fangs, dust and sand swirling around her like a veil. She stood tall, posture unshakable, one boot resting lightly on the edge of the dock, cloak fluttering dramatically in the wind. With precise rhythm, she tapped her toes against the sand behind her, a subtle beat that matched her calm composure.
A slow, confident grin spread across her face. "Dragging him off already?" Her voice carried clearly over the roar of the storm, calm yet teasing, daring them to challenge her. "I'd step back if I were you. Really think about it."
Zevros' masked eyes narrowed. "And you are?"
She straightened fully, letting her cloak fall into place as she brushed a strand of hair from her face with a deliberate flick. "Someone who doesn't deal in unnecessary violence," she said, each word measured, sharp, and playful. "And someone who knows exactly when to show up."
The Desert Fangs faltered, caught between duty and the undeniable aura of control radiating from her. Venos could only stare, stunned, as her calm presence cut through the chaos of the storm.
Her eyes locked on Zevros, piercing and commanding, yet playful. "Now, let's not make this uglier than it has to be," she said, voice soft but carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.
Venos blinked, struggling to catch his breath. "W-Wait… who… who are you?" His eyes darted between her and the Desert Fangs.
Rynelle smirked, shifting with dancer-like ease, toes tapping the sand in a crisp, rhythmic beat. "Name's Rynelle," she said, voice smooth, effortless. "And yeah… I'm the one gettin' sure nobody drags you off without thinkin' twice."
She spun lightly, cloak whipping around her, and landed like she owned the ground, toes tapping in perfect rhythm. "Calm down. I don't usually babysit, but this… was gettin' way too messy," she added, eyes flashing with sharp amusement. "Hands off the guy, capiche?"
Venos swallowed hard. "S-She's… serious…"
Zevros' tone darkened, a hint of menace slipping through his confusion. "You better hope you know what you're doing… or I won't be responsible for what happens next."
Rynelle chuckled, tilting her head, cloak swinging casually. "Steppin' in? Nah… I slide in when the scene starts gettin' stale," she said, cool as ice. "Think of me as the wildcard. And right now? You're the star of the show."
Venos' pulse raced—relieved, impressed, and a little awed. She had his back, and she made it look effortless.
The Desert Fangs members glanced at each other, brows furrowed in confusion. One of them spoke up, voice tight with irritation. "Uh… what's her problem? Why's she messing with us like this?"
Zevros, still trying to regain control over the situation, barked out a crisp command. "Enough chatter. Take her down—capture her, now."
Rynelle's grin only widened, her posture unshaken as she tapped her toes lightly against the sand in rhythm. "Bad idea, fellas," she said smoothly, eyes glinting with playful menace. "You gettin' mixed up with me? You'll regret it real quick."
The Desert Fangs hesitated, shifting uneasily under her calm, teasing confidence, while Venos watched, heart racing, unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.
The Desert Fangs tightened their circle around her, weapons raised and eyes sharp. One of the members stepped forward, voice cautious but firm. "You're outnumbered," he said directly. Another added, glaring, "And outmatched. Don't think you can take all of us at once."
Rynelle didn't flinch. She shifted her weight, toes tapping the sand in a rhythmic beat, her stance casual yet coiled like a spring. "Heh… gettin' fancy with the numbers, huh?" she said smoothly, a teasing grin on her face. "Don't go rushin' in… wouldn't wanna make things messy for yourselves."
The hunters froze for a moment, realizing their confidence wasn't going to intimidate her.
Rynelle paused mid-step, letting the wind whip her cloak around her as she took a slow, deliberate spin. Her eyes flicked over each of the Desert Fangs, sharp and gleaming with amusement and focus. She leaned slightly back on one leg, toes tapping rhythmically against the sand, then pivoted smoothly on the ball of her foot, letting her gaze sweep across the surrounding members.
Every flick of her head, every subtle shift of her shoulders, radiated confidence. Her smirk widened as she observed their stances and weapons, already calculating how each of them would move. Her body was alive with energy, almost like she was dancing around the tension, teasing the hunters with the certainty that she wasn't intimidated.
"You think you got me outnumbered?" she said, voice light but edged with challenge, letting her eyes lock on each one in turn. Her stance was playful yet commanding, and the way she moved made it clear she wasn't just confident—she owned the moment.
Even as the Desert Fangs tightened their circle, the rhythm of her toes on the sand and the casual tilt of her head conveyed one thing: she was fully aware of the odds, and she didn't care. She was ready.
The sandstorm whipped around the dock, blowing grit and debris across the area. Rynelle crossed her arms, letting the wind pull her cloak aside to reveal her real outfit beneath. She planted her feet firmly in the sand, legs slightly apart, and closed her eyes with a wide, confident grin. The fiery glow of her orange eyes seemed to pulse even behind her shut lids, as if daring anyone to challenge her.
Her short, messy silver-gray hair swirled in the wind, the bold red headphones perched over her ears adding a striking contrast to the chaotic scene. The black cropped jacket with red accents, white shirt, layered skirt with red frills, and black leggings all came together into a sharp, battle-ready silhouette. Fingerless gloves gripped the small weapon at her side, completing the aura of someone entirely in control.
Even standing still, every line of her body—crossed arms, firm stance, and subtle shift of her weight—radiated confidence and danger, as if she was both playing with and daring the Desert Fangs surrounding her. Her grin hinted she knew exactly what she was doing and fully expected them to react.
With a playful tilt of her head, Rynelle opened one eye and smirked. "Looks like y'all came lookin' for trouble… well, get ready to find it."
The Desert Fangs lunged, but Rynelle was already a step ahead. She slipped her headphones on, and instantly the air filled with a pulsing, electrifying beat—thunderous drums, sharp synths, and rising strings that made the sand vibrate beneath her feet.
Rynelle let herself sink into the rhythm, eyes closing briefly as the music flowed through her. Her movements became fluid, almost effortless, a perfect mix of control and freedom. She swayed, her shoulders rolling and hips shifting naturally to the beat. Arms extended and retracted like brushstrokes in the air, fingers snapping in subtle accents that seemed to bend the rhythm around her.
Her feet tapped, spun, and pivoted lightly, each step in perfect sync with the storm of sound, while her cloak and skirt flared in harmony, making her look like the storm itself had taken human form. She tilted her head, grinning, letting the music guide her as she twirled and dipped with an almost playful intensity. Every movement radiated confidence and joy—she wasn't just fighting; she was living in the music, vibing with it fully.
The Desert Fangs froze, eyes wide, caught between confusion and the irresistible pull of her rhythm.
"Gettin' into the groove, huh?" Rynelle said, snapping her fingers, the sound sharp and playful. She spun once more, landing lightly, toes tapping the sand in rhythm, cloak swirling, eyes gleaming. "Thought I'd give you a taste of the real energy out here."
Her body moved like water, like wind, every gesture alive with music, drawing the hunters' attention and subtly forcing them into sync, their own movements unconsciously echoing the beat. She wasn't just commanding the space—she was flowing with it, vibing with it, letting the storm and the rhythm merge into one unstoppable performance.
The Desert Fangs stumbled back, their confident attack faltering as their limbs suddenly seemed to betray them. "W-what's happening?!" one of them shouted, eyes wide, struggling against an invisible pull. "My arms… my legs… I can't… move right!"
Another tried to step forward, but his foot tapped involuntarily in time with Rynelle's rhythm. "This… this isn't me! I can't stop moving!" he cried, panic spreading across his face as he spun awkwardly without meaning to.
Rynelle's grin widened, still moving fluidly to the music, her headphones glowing faintly as the beat surged. "Relax… just go with it," she teased, snapping her fingers sharply. Every subtle motion of hers seemed to infect the air, and the Desert Fangs found their bodies responding without consent, perfectly in sync with the rhythm she controlled.
"They're… dancing?!" a third muttered in disbelief, glancing at the others as they twisted and pivoted against their will. "I can't stop it… why can't I stop it?!"
Rynelle twirled lightly, cloak flaring, toes tapping the sand like a metronome. "See? Told ya, gettin' swept up is way more fun than fightin' it," she said, her tone playful, almost teasing, as she owned the storm and the rhythm at the same time.
The Desert Fangs' panic escalated, their disciplined formation collapsing into chaotic, unwilling movement. Hands flailed, feet spun, and heads snapped to the beat, their bodies completely under her sway. They were trapped, controlled not by ropes or weapons, but by the pure force of her music, her presence, and her effortless command of the rhythm.
Even Rhyven and Zevros, standing a step back, could feel the impossible energy radiating from her, the way she bent the battlefield into her own flow.
"They… they're just… moving!" one muttered again, voice cracking. "Our own legs… they won't listen!"
Rynelle chuckled, eyes gleaming, still dancing lightly across the sand, every tap of her toes sending subtle waves through the frenzied hunters. "See? Ain't nothin' wrong with gettin' a little carried away," she said, her grin daring and confident, the storm of music and motion bending the Desert Fangs to her will.
Rhyven's eyes widened at the sight, jaw tight. "What… what's happening to them?!" he muttered, trying to process the Desert Fangs' movements, each step forced and yet uncannily precise.
Zevros, mask hiding most of his expression, narrowed his eyes. "They… their bodies… aren't following their own will. How is this possible?"
Venos, still bound, wiped sweat from his brow and muttered under his breath, incredulous. "Oh, come on… they're actually dancing! And not like, 'oh, we feel like grooving' dancing… like… hypnotized, coordinated, full-on musical number dancing!" He flailed his arms slightly, voice rising. "What is this? Some kind of desert rave?!"
The Desert Fangs spun and stepped in perfect rhythm, frustration and bewilderment flickering across their faces as they tried to resist but failed.
Rhyven's tone was low, incredulous. "It's like they're puppets… every movement in sync with her."
Venos groaned, leaning back. "Puppets? Yeah, right… puppets that look like they just auditioned for a desert-themed boy band! Somebody pinch me… am I seeing this?!" He gestured at the Desert Fangs, sweat dripping down his face. "I… I can't… I… seriously… dancing? Really?!"
Zevros' voice cut in, calm but alert. "Focus. Observe carefully… if this is her doing, we don't know the limits. Don't underestimate it."
Meanwhile, Rynelle tapped her toes to the rhythm, smirking with absolute confidence. The Desert Fangs, caught in her beat, moved as if choreographed, leaving Venos both horrified and helplessly entertained. "I… I can't even… this is ridiculous… I'm gonna lose it if they do a pirouette next!" he muttered, eyes wide, hands on his head.
Rynelle tapped her headphones, and the music pulsed through the air. With a fluid spin, she vaulted over the first attacker, her feet barely touching the sand as she flowed into a graceful arabesque, extending her leg in a high arc to strike another approaching Desert Fang. Each motion was precise, her body moving like water—flexible, unpredictable, and sharp.
As two hunters lunged from the sides, she twirled in midair, flipping into a low sweep, her leg striking at their knees while her arms gracefully deflected their grabs. Landing on her toes, she pivoted into a series of rhythmic pirouettes, each spin sending shockwaves into the sand that made the attackers stumble, their footing disrupted.
A pair of soldiers tried to encircle her, but Rynelle responded with a spinning chasse leap, a fluid forward glide on the balls of her feet, closing the distance while delivering a swift elbow and kick combo. She flowed immediately into a contemporary-style floor roll, sliding under another lunging strike before springing up in a fluid jeté, landing behind the next attacker and striking with her fists in perfect rhythm with the music.
Every move had purpose: an elegant tap-like shuffle allowed her to adjust her balance instantly, a sweeping lunge from a dance pose kept enemies at bay, spins and leaps served as both attacks and evasions. Her motion was a continuous flow, impossible to predict, each step an interplay of offense and defense.
The Desert Fangs faltered, confused by the combination of grace and power. Venos, sweating bullets and clutching the railing, muttered under his breath, "She… she's fighting like she's performing… what the hell is even happening?!"
Rynelle's eyes glowed, and she let out a low chuckle, spinning elegantly in a full circle, her legs sweeping, arms slicing through the air like ribbons, leaving faint afterimages. Every soldier who tried to approach was forced back, their attacks thwarted by her uncanny timing and rhythm.
She flowed into a series of quick, skipping side steps and bounding leaps, evading multiple attacks in one smooth motion, then vaulted into a high, twisting flip, landing into a crouch that seamlessly transitioned into a powerful spinning kick, knocking back two more attackers.
The desert winds whipped around her, but she remained perfectly balanced, her cloak gone, revealing her black and red uniform as she moved. Her dance-fighting was unlike any combat anyone had ever seen: lethal, elegant, acrobatic, and impossibly fast.
The Desert Fangs found themselves literally dancing to her rhythm, unable to land a single strike as her movements dictated the battlefield. Venos could only gape, wide-eyed and sweat-soaked: "She… she's… making them look like amateurs… dancing around them."
Rynelle paused mid-spin, toes barely grazing the sand, then snapped her fingers with a wide, confident grin. The music cut off instantly, and in a sudden wave of controlled force, every Desert Fang still standing around her crumpled to the ground, unconscious. She straightened, hands on her hips, eyes glinting with playful danger, and murmured coolly, "Guess the show's over, folks."
Zevros, Venos, and Rhyven stood frozen, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, each trying to process the whirlwind they'd just witnessed. Zevros tilted his head beneath his mask, utterly thrown, "What… did I just watch?" while Rhyven's brow furrowed in a mix of awe and disbelief. Venos, on the other hand, wiped sweat from his brow, muttering under his breath. Their minds struggled to reconcile the elegance, chaos, and sheer impossible skill Rynelle had just displayed.
To be continued...