The riverfront promenade exploded into motion the moment Christna's feet hit the pavement, the last flickers of orange flame dying behind her like embarrassed guests who overstayed their welcome. She sprinted left along the walkway, silver hair streaming like a comet tail, dress whipping against her thighs with every stride. The night air tasted sharp and electric, carrying the distant wail of sirens that grew louder by the second, drawn to her little bonfire like moths to a very angry lightbulb. The Chaos Force thrummed in her chest, giddy and proud, already hungry for round two.
Behind her, boots pounded concrete. Three more scouts had emerged from side streets, faster than the first batch, moving in a tight pincer formation that screamed training and bad intentions. One raised a wrist-mounted launcher; a net of crackling energy webbing shot forward, humming with suppression tech designed to short-circuit Gifted powers. Christna felt the prickle of it before she saw it, the Chaos Force hissing in warning like a cat spotting a vacuum cleaner.
She laughed—bright, breathless, utterly reckless—and twisted mid-stride. Her left hand snapped out, palm flat, and the net froze in midair, violet light wrapping around its edges like curious vines. For one heartbeat it hung there, suspended, then reversed course with a violent snap, wrapping itself around the scout who fired it. He yelped as the webbing tightened, sparks dancing across his armor before he dropped, twitching like a bug in a spider's embrace.
The other two didn't hesitate. One leaped onto a parked delivery scooter, gunning the throttle to close the gap, while the second sprinted parallel along the railing, pulling a stun baton that crackled blue-white. Christna's grin widened. She loved when they made it fun. She pushed off the ground with both feet, letting the Chaos Force lift her in a short, impossible burst of wind that sent her sailing over the scooter's handlebars. The rider swerved, cursing, as she landed lightly behind him and flicked her fingers.
A sudden gust slammed into the scooter's side, tipping it sideways. The scout lost control, the vehicle skidding across the promenade in a shower of sparks before crashing into a bench. Christna didn't wait to admire her work. She spun toward the baton-wielder, who was already lunging, weapon raised for a disabling strike.
Time slowed.
Or maybe the Chaos Force just made everything feel deliciously sharp.
Christna sidestepped, bare feet dancing across pavement, and caught his wrist mid-swing. Violet light raced up his arm like living lightning, not burning, just *interrupting*. His muscles locked, eyes widening in shock as the baton clattered to the ground. She leaned in close, close enough to see the sweat on his brow, close enough for him to see the playful spark in her glowing eyes.
"Tag," she whispered.
"You're it."
She shoved him backward with a pulse of force that sent him flying into the river railing. He hit with a grunt, slid down, and stayed down. Christna straightened, breathing hard, exhilaration buzzing through her veins like champagne bubbles. The promenade was chaos now—people scattering, phones out recording, sirens closing in from three directions. She could feel the city's pulse racing in time with hers.
But she wasn't done.
The first scout—the one she'd netted—had already cut himself free, staggering to his feet with the stubbornness of someone who really hated losing. He raised a second launcher, this one loaded with something nastier: a dart tipped with glowing red suppressant that smelled like burnt ozone even from twenty feet away. Christna's instincts screamed danger. The Chaos Force screamed louder.
She thrust both hands forward.
A wall of violet flame roared up between them, hot and hungry, turning the dart into molten slag before it could reach her. The scout recoiled, shielding his face, but not fast enough. The flames licked toward him, playful and precise, singeing the edges of his tactical vest without quite touching skin. He stumbled back, cursing, while Christna stepped through her own fire like it was a curtain of silk.
She stood in the center of the burning circle, dress untouched, silver hair floating upward in the rising heat, violet eyes blazing like twin suns. The scout stared at her, weapon lowered, face pale beneath his balaclava.
Christna tilted her head, smiling sweetly.
"Run along now," she said, voice light and teasing. "Tell your bosses the Chaosborn says hi."
He didn't need telling twice. He bolted, disappearing into the shadows as the sirens grew deafening. Christna let the flames die down, leaving only smoldering patches and the sharp scent of victory hanging in the air. Her chest rose and fell, adrenaline singing, power humming happily against her ribs.
She looked up at the sky, where stars peeked through the smoke like curious spectators.
Then she ran.
Not away from the chaos.
Straight into it.
Because for the first time in her life, Christna wasn't just surviving.
She was thriving
.