The city skyline glowed dimly through the morning fog, jagged towers cutting through the haze. Somewhere in the industrial district, a wealthy man's daughter had been taken, and the price on this contract was higher than usual. Coins weren't the reward—discretion and survival were.
The gauntlet pulsed at his wrist, alive and aware.
"This isn't a simple job," it whispered. "They're professionals. Be ready."
He moved along the rooftops, every step silent, eyes scanning. Below, a dozen silhouettes moved with perfect coordination, magical wards shimmering faintly in the dim light.
"First strike?" the gauntlet asked.
"We go in fast," he replied.
He leapt into the fog-shrouded alley. The gauntlet rippled instantly: a gun formed, silent pulses cutting down perimeter guards before they even realized he was there. No hesitation—he spun midair, and the metal along his forearm elongated into twin blades, slicing through two attackers charging from opposite directions.
A spear of magical energy whistled past him. With a sharp pivot, the blades snapped back, morphing into tonfas. He deflected the strike and slammed one assailant against a wall, momentum carrying him into another enemy.
Crates and debris blocked the next wave. The gauntlet expanded into a massive hammer, smashing both obstacles and two attackers behind them. Before the dust could settle, it reformed into a heavy mace, battering a reinforced door open to reveal the inner courtyard.
From the shadows above, snipers fired. Instantly, the gauntlet shifted into a bow, arrows glowing with subtle mana guidance, striking with pinpoint accuracy. Another pulse of the gauntlet's energy converted it into a crossbow for rapid shots at reinforcements pouring through side entrances.
Every morph of the gauntlet was seamless, each weapon an extension of his will. He moved like a storm, striking, dodging, and countering with the precision of a master craftsman who had forgotten his own name but remembered every rhythm of motion.
One of the terrorists tried to flank him with a surge of raw mana. He twisted midair, blades snapping back into a dual-wield form, slashing at the attacker while a pulse from the gauntlet gun knocked another back. He rolled, leapt, and slammed the gauntlet-hammer into the ground, sending a shockwave that staggered the remaining foes.
Amid the chaos, he reached the room where the girl was held. Her eyes were wide with fear. He lowered a hand. "I've got you."
The final wave of terrorists surged. Without pause, the gauntlet morphed into a combination of dual blades, a compact gun, and a shimmering forearm shield. He struck with a flurry so fast it blurred: slashes, pulses, and blocks intertwined into one fluid motion. When the dust cleared, the room was empty of threats.
The girl ran to him, trembling. He kept the gauntlet ready, scanning for stragglers. None remained. The contract was complete.
"Not bad," the gauntlet said, almost playful.
"Don't start enjoying this too much," he muttered, flexing the glove back into its simple form.
Above the city, life continued, unaware of the storm that had passed through. Somewhere deep inside, a spark of memory flickered—the feel of metal under his hands, the rhythm of hammer on steel, echoes of a past life waiting to be reclaimed.