Zairon and the four S-rank women sat around a circular table in the dimly lit war room of the inn. A crude map of the Crimson Fang's hideout was spread before them—a walled compound tucked in the slums, heavily guarded.
"We strike at midnight," Zairon said. "Assassin—take out the lookouts. Lightning—disrupt their comms and security with EMP bursts. You two"—he pointed to the original pair—"cause havoc at the eastern gate. I'll take the front. When the chaos erupts, we converge on the inner chamber. Varn Drask dies before dawn."**
The Execution:
Everything moved like a blade through silk. The assassin melted into shadows, eliminating the lookouts one by one. No alarms. The storm mage raised her palm—crackling arcs of energy surged through the compound, frying enchantments and magical barriers in one blast.
At the eastern gate, explosions rocked the walls—fire and illusions lured dozens of guards into ambushes. Screams echoed, and the compound began to collapse into chaos.
Then came Zairon.
He walked through the front gate with his crimson blade humming and his aura flaring wildly.
"Time for your judgment, Varn."
Guards charged—he cut them down in sweeping arcs. A bloodstained whirlwind. Then, inside the main hall, the five reunited and cornered the S-rank leader.
Varn Drask fought like a beast, dual axes glowing with dark energy—but he was overwhelmed by seamless teamwork. The assassin severed his tendons, the mage locked him in chains of lightning, and Zairon ended it with a flaming crescent slash that split the hall in two.
Mission: Complete.
By dawn, the Crimson Fang was no more. The team stood atop the wrecked headquarters, bathed in moonlight and victory.
"Well," Zairon grinned, looking at the four women, "how about breakfast after a night of violence?"
They laughed—and just like that, the legend of Zairon's new squad began.