Valhalla was never short on predators, but Seraphine Veyra was a different breed entirely.
At eighteen, she was the youngest in the top ten. Beauty, brains, and a frightening level of physical skill were only surface details; beneath that silver hair and those crimson eyes lay something sharper than a blade—an ambition that cut through anyone in her way.
Even before she wore the badge of Rank 9, her name floated in whispers in Sirris Academy's streets. She wasn't just "good" at fighting—she was surgical. Every movement, every blow, every feint felt like it had been honed in blood.
Her roots weren't in any formal Valhalla school program. No—Seraphine was forged in Capoeira. Not the watered-down, crowd-pleasing dance-fighting most people thought of, but the brutal, bone-breaking style reserved for those who understood it wasn't sport, it was survival. She had learned it early, twisting and flipping through street fights with a rhythm that made her look untouchable.
But somewhere along the way, she'd realised sport was a leash. Tournaments, rules, referees—they were all shackles dressed up as discipline.
Her personality didn't allow that. So she cut the cord.
From that day, she abandoned the idea of performing for crowds and focused only on dismantling her enemies. She fought on rooftops, in alleys, in abandoned warehouses where the smell of oil and rust lingered. Street fighting didn't need permission—it just happened, and the one who walked away decided the rules.
That path carried her far, but not far enough. By the time she reached Rank 9 in Valhalla, her progress stalled—not because she lacked skill, but because the peak was guarded by a single golden wall.
Kael Windrake. Rank 1. The kind of man who could silence an entire street by just walking into it.
When she'd challenged him, she hadn't expected an easy fight—she had expected a war. What she got instead was humiliation. Kael moved like the wind he was named for, and her every strike was swallowed by his speed. He didn't even knock her out—he simply stopped her mid-attack, his hand on her shoulder, as if telling a child to stand down.
"Why don't you come under me?" he'd said.
Seraphine had been ready to spit in his face. But then his next words made her pause:
"I'll raise your potential to heights you can't imagine. Maybe even… Legend Breaker, if it's in you."
Legend Breaker. The title every fighter in Valhalla whispered about. The stage where your body broke past its mortal limits, where your name was etched into history. No rules, no limits, no ceiling.
Her answer came without hesitation. "Fine. I'll take your offer."
From that moment, Kael's shadow fell over her. Under his guidance, she jumped from beginner Ascendant to peak Ascendant in less than a year. She learned how to control her power, when to hold back, and when to go for the throat. But Kael's influence wasn't soft—he sharpened her like a weapon, and she was happy to be one.
Now, Valhalla knew her as Rank 9, the Silver Serpent. The one who could knock you out with a single spinning heel strike, who could turn a friendly spar into a street execution.
And unlike some in the top ten, she didn't waste her time with petty politics. If she wanted someone under her heel, she didn't ask. She took.
That was why Daniel had her attention now.
Rumor had it the newcomer had ripped through the lower ranks in a matter of days, cutting down names that had been stable for months, even years. Rank 17 to Rank 12 without a scratch worth mentioning. It was unheard of.
Worse—he'd done it like Zeke was nothing. And Zeke wasn't nothing.
When Seraphine heard, she didn't ask for the details. She didn't need them. She only knew one thing: this Daniel would kneel. Whether it was pride, habit, or simply the urge to break something beautiful, she didn't question. She just acted.
Her boots clicked against the cracked concrete as she left the meeting in Kael's building. The afternoon sun hit the silver of her hair, but the eyes beneath it were cold.
In her past, she would have toyed with prey like Daniel. Made him sweat before the choke. But this time? No. She'd go straight for the throat.
Because unlike before, this wasn't just about dominance.
It was about making sure everyone in Valhalla—Daniel included—remembered exactly who they were dealing with.