The night was calm—publicly.
Zima City moved as always, a neon pulse wrapped in glass and concrete. Highways buzzed with traffic, civilians wove through their lives without pause, lulled by the white noise of engines and streetlights. But in the shadows—beneath the lull—something hunted.
A group of cloaked figures bolted through back alleys and over ruined scaffoldings, boots slamming against the concrete like drums of desperation. Their uniforms were urban camouflage—loose gray and black layered with white-accent trims. A white spade adorned their backs: the insignia of a splinter faction operating in secrecy.
Minutes ago, they'd been in a vehicle. An armored transport disguised as a cash ferry used by banks. Inconspicuous. Clever.
But it hadn't mattered.
The machine had died without warning—ripped apart from within by electrified tendrils of dark silver-gray metal. Systems overloaded. Power shorted. Comms silenced. Their gear turned inert.
Their pursuer didn't waste time with theatrics. It struck like a system crash—cold, precise, absolute.
Now they ran, burdened by stolen prototypes—experimental reactors laced with unstable Ura-fusion tech, smuggled from deep within Knight Association labs. It was supposed to be a silent job. Quick in, quick out. But crossing into Zima Valley had changed everything.
The thing that hunted them didn't hesitate.It moved like a phantom, faster than their eyes could track.And it hadn't lost them for a second.
They ran with desperation forged into every motion, augmented limbs propelling them across rooftops and abandoned structures. Most took to the air—leaping, gliding, burning energy to stay one step ahead of death.
Their leader remained grounded.
Horus.A-Rank.A veteran of covert strikes, his presence was as heavy as the steel case slung over his shoulder—the cargo. Bulky. Shielded. Humming faintly with unstable power. Inside it: stolen prototypes containing Knight Association reactor schematics—Ura-fusion based. Dangerous tech.
His mask gleamed under the flickering city lights, the cowl hiding most of his features save for the eyes—sharp, golden, scanning constantly. His augment, allowed him to see what others couldn't.And he saw it.
A figure.Perched.Still. Watching.
Predator.
They were cloaked by one of their own—an obscurement augment blurring their presence from casual scans and low-grade surveillance drones. But that didn't help against this. It was already too late.
Horus barked out in low comms:"Keep moving. Break pattern. Don't stop."
Then it came.Flash.Heat.Detonation.
The explosion tore through the air with surgical intent, engulfing the rear guard in flame. One of the stragglers—a tank-class augment—grunted as the shockwave struck him mid-leap, his reinforced frame flipping through the air.
He barely recovered, coughing as he staggered back to his feet in the alley—disoriented.
Too slow.
Dark metal tendrils shot from the shadows and snatched him, dragging him into the concrete like a collapsing marionette. A sickening crack followed—bone against wall.
Then silence.
A sharp crack echoed next.A single bullet.Loud. Final.
The Desert Eagle's shell clinked against the alley floor, still warm. Its owner unseen.
The shot had punched through the tank's skull clean—enhanced, not by conventional means, but by infused Uratsu.Electrified.Augmented.An incendiary execution—meant to kill beyond regeneration.
The scent of ionized blood and gunpowder filled the air.
And Horus knew:This wasn't an ambush.It was a hunt.And they were already prey in its crosshairs.
The next actions were sudden—too sudden for even a seasoned A-Rank.
Horus dove left, instincts screaming, arms hooking under the vests of two teammates as he pulled them out of the kill zone just in time.
A blur tore through the air behind him.Then—impact.
One of the team didn't make it.
A fist collided with his skull mid-turn, the sickening crunch of bone shattering echoing louder than the scream that never came. Blood splashed like paint across black and dark grey armor, the splatter catching against white slivers glowing faintly, laced with cold undertones of cyan.
The body dropped instantly—neck twisted, skull fractured inwards.
No words. No warning.
Only silence and power.
The other two screamed, but it didn't matter.
Tendrils of dark, reactive metal erupted from the blur's back—Alkanite forged and weaponized—spearing through torsos with surgical cruelty before they could even activate countermeasures.
Their bodies convulsed as arcs of electricity surged, crawling through muscle and neural wiring—a full shutdown. Smoke rose from their mouths as their augments fried from the inside.
And the figure stood still.
Arc.No introductions.No drama.Only execution.
The glowing lines on his armor flickered again—pulsing slowly, in sync with the dying heartbeat of the last impaled body sliding off the blade.
He moved again.
Fast. Hunting the next.
The clash was sudden—violent.
The collision of power sent out a shockwave, a burst of searing flame and concussive force that rocked the alley, shattering windows and peeling metal from nearby cars.
Electricity arced off Arc's frame, blue-white sparks crackling violently around his limbs.The palms of his suit glowed molten red, friction-reactive plating venting excess heat as he held contact with Horus—locked mid-charge, energy bleeding from every point of impact.
Then—Horus moved.
The phoenix-borne warrior gripped Arc's torso with clawed gauntlets, lifting him with brute force, propulsion igniting with a violent whoosh as twin jets of orange fire erupted from his back. His body—a 250-kilogram tank of reinforced flesh and alloy—was blasted skyward, carried into the air by sheer augment-fueled wrath.
In the air, Horus didn't pause.
He thrust his arms forward, and from his palms erupted a beam of flame, wild and incandescent, like the focused breath of a dragon—meant to incinerate anything in its path.
But Arc had already moved.
Mid-air, his body twisted—kicking off the atmosphere itself, raw Ura energy coursing down his legs as he projected force through the air. The maneuver was unnatural—like physics folding to his will.
He disappeared from the flame's path, slipping out with barely a whisper of motion, leaving only a sonic pop and the afterimage of white-cyan streaks in the sky.
Horus snarled, scanning quickly—too quickly—
A fist crashed into his side.
A fist crashed into Horus's side.
It folded his flight path instantly—bones cracked, fire trailing behind him like a comet as he crashed into a spire, tearing through reinforced plating and slamming into concrete with an echoing crunch.
Before the debris settled, Arc was there—a streak of dark and lightning, landing with force that spiderwebbed the rooftop. No hesitation.
He stepped forward, palm glowing.
Then the other hand moved.
A blade formed—short, brutal, a high-frequency edge lined with voltage nodes.
He didn't pause to gloat.
Didn't monologue.
He drove it straight into Horus's abdomen.
It pierced easily through armor, muscle, and fiber—sliding in with a crunch and a scream of sparks. Horus's body convulsed, the blade's voltage discharging with a thunderclap, raw Ura coursing through his nerves and setting fire to his synapses.
Arc twisted the blade—gutting him cleanly.
Horus's body went still. Smoke rose. The light in his eyes died.
Silence.
Then—A flicker.A whisper of blue.
Arc stepped back, eyes narrowing.
From the open wound, royal blue flame erupted, engulfing Horus's form. It wasn't just heat—it was something else, something sacred and wrong, like resurrection stolen from a higher order.
Bones snapped back into place.
Organs regrew in glowing bursts.
The wings ignited, not orange—but royal, burning like the throne fire of gods.
Horus opened his eyes.
No pupils.
Just light.
"Second Ascension," he whispered.
One Hour Later
The skyline was broken.
Flames danced on rooftops. Rain sizzled on molten steel.
The battle had turned into a war of attrition—not between men, but between two anomalies shaped by war and forged for ruin.
They fought in silence.Fists. Flame. Electricity. Blades.
Horus burned brighter with every death and rebirth.Arc adapted faster with every clash, his mods auto-tuning in real time, pushing his suit and body past standard limits.
Each blow sent tremors.Each dodge tore wind trails in the night.Every movement was too fast to follow. Every impact was final... and then it wasn't.
But in the end, Horus hesitated.
His final dive came with arrogance—wings fully extended, flame-augments peaking.
And Arc slid under him.
Not dodging—baiting.
A sudden pivot.The blade back in hand.Crackling.
Arc stabbed upward, straight through the liver—clean, precise, brutal.The voltage surged, amplified to its max setting.
"Burn through this," Arc muttered.
The scream that followed wasn't human.
The flames didn't rise again.
Arc huffed, chest rising and falling as faint trails of steam rolled off his back. His body ached—muscle torn, energy spent, heat bleeding through his suit's seams. The scent of ozone and burning oil choked the night air.
Beneath him, Horus coughed blood, thick and dark, spattering against the broken rooftop as his wings faltered—one melting, the other twitching in reflex. His torso was cored open, the high-voltage blade still embedded deep in his side, sizzling where it kissed the liver.
But he was still… grinning.
"Congrats," Horus rasped, blood flecking his lips. "You killed me… like a warrior. Not many get that."
His hand weakly tapped Arc's wrist—whether in defiance or gratitude, it didn't matter.
Arc stared down at him, breathing shallowly.
Then he smiled.
A small, mechanical twitch of the mouth—one that didn't reach his eyes.
Silver. Cold. Dead.
"I hope the fire's hotter down there," Arc murmured.
Then the Alkanite reacted—slithering pulses along his arm, veins lighting with that distinctive dull-cyan sheen. Horus's Uratsu bled into Arc's system, siphoned like a fading heartbeat, stolen to fuel the thing that ended him.
The fire-wings burned to ash.
Horus's eyes dimmed.
And the rooftop fell quiet once more.
Red eyes gleaming, hair the colour of
Arc exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from his frame. He turned from Horus's corpse and sat down briefly on a broken support beam, letting the night settle—thick with smoke, blood, and scorched ozone.
Then she appeared—a silhouette in motion, stepping out from a shattered alleyway.
Red eyes gleaming, hair the colour of autumn leaves under moonlight. She moved with effortless poise, dragging two unconscious, bloodied operatives—the last remnants of Horus' squad. Their bodies were limp, already stripped of weapons and gear.
"Time to head out, Arc," she said, her voice cool, clipped, unbothered by the gore on her gloves.
Arc looked up at her with that same deadpan stare, then pushed himself to his feet with a quiet grunt. "Alright," he muttered.
He tapped a sequence into his gauntlet, and a low chime answered. The metallic click-thrum of energy igniting formed into a spiralling portal behind him, its edge lined with thin white filaments that hummed like razor wire.
He turned to her, eyes narrowing.
"Get in, Kai," he ordered simply, then stooped to pick up the payload—the heavy containment case glowing faintly from internal heat.
No more words were needed.The mission was complete.The Wraith moved on.