While Anita danced through blood and bodies with a crooked grin, somewhere near the opposite end of the lot, the ground split.
A clean slash.
Straight through asphalt, bones, and burning metal.
Then silence.
Ruka stood at the center of it.
Eyes half-lidded. Shirt torn at the shoulder. Left hand gripping the hilt of his Spirit Blade—a long, translucent weapon, glowing faintly like moonlight caught in ice.
Around him, ten bodies dropped. Half-vamps. Half-wolves. They didn't even get a scream out. One slash. Gone.
A slight wind passed, and the last trace of motion faded.
Ruka exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Controlled.
But his eyes glowed. Dim at first. Then brighter.
Something heavy slammed behind him—another werewolf, big like a truck, eyes foaming white.
Ruka didn't turn.
The wolf leapt.
Too slow.
The Spirit Blade shimmered—and extended.
In one blink, it curved behind Ruka's back and sliced upward like a guillotine.
SHNK.
