Chapter 5 - "A Dance With Death"

Disclaimer: This chapter contains intense violence, graphic descriptions, and themes that may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

"In war, mercy is a myth, and survival demands cruelty. The events you are about to witness are not for the weak-hearted. Proceed only if you are prepared to step into a world where death is not the end, but merely the beginning." - Withering Raven

13 years after the fateful night.

Year 2505 | Nation: Veyrasha – The Technological Titan

A solitary figure ran down the neon-lit alleys of Veyrasha, his limbs covered in sweat and blood. The distant buzz of autonomous patrol drones sounded in the air, patrolling the streets for disturbances—but none of them could help him now. His gasps were rough, cybernetic legs aching as he pushed them to their limits.

Behind him, silence. No footsteps. No warning.

But he knew.

Death was pursuing him.

Memories flashed before his eyes.

FEW MOMENTS AGO

A high-tech underground fortress, deep in the heart of Veyrasha.

The five most influential crime lords of Veyrasha sat in a circular room, gripped with fear. A holographic screen glowed in the middle of their table, displaying a single name:

RAVEN.

For three years, he had hunted them relentlessly. A ghost. A myth. A monster. He didn't just kill criminals—he erased them. Now, they were next and the last.

The weapons syndicate leader, Vorshek Kane, slammed his oriachalcum-plated fist onto the table, denting the TOA-99.

"We've lost six entire operations in the last month. This isn't a fucking ghost story—this is real!" he snarled, his mechanical fingers twitching.

Hedrakar, king of the smugglers, sat back, releasing a mass of artificial smoke from his respirator. His cybernetic-armor-plated neck whirred as he faced the others. "If we don't move now, we'll be corpses before morning."

Madame Vasha, the illegal bio-cybernetics dealer, traced a clawed metal finger across the arm of her chair. "The ORDER has granted us unlimited resources just to kill this one man," she thought, voice smooth but venomous. "That in itself speaks to his level of threat."

Orvus Karr, the illegal war-tech enforcer, snorted. "They are so afraid of him that they funded an entire war against him. That should tell you something"

That is also the reason why we have employed top killers from 5 of the 11 countries," muttered Lord Vren, the financier of underground dealings, interlocked his fingers. "If one man is a storm, let's send five hurricanes against him."

A door hissed open.

Five figures stepped into the chamber.

The first was a giant 12-foot figure, his exo-armor shining with neon light, twin plasma swords whirring at his sides. His voice was a growl, each word snapping through his voice modulator."Big or small, I destroy them all."

Brannok, an outlaw war-machine from Veyrasha .

The second was a combat-attired beast tamer, his cybernetic implants throbbing pale blue under his flesh. A Croynex Hyenaris, a monstrous descendant of the hyena, paced at his side, its bioluminescent eyes locking onto the crime lords like prey. He smirked."Get out of the way, metal-head. My Shadrael hasn't eaten fresh meat in weeks."

Rokhan Var, from Fauntheris.

The third was oozing lethal accuracy, a bounty hunter wearing tactical gear. His hand rested on his sidearm, his eyes weighing. His tone was icy, remote."I don't collect bounties. I put holes in people. That's my job."

Kain Striker, from the lawless nation of Zeridell.

The fourth was a fighter with no use for a weapon—since he was the weapon. His genetically conditioned body throbbed with pure strength, each muscle fiber calculated beyond human possibility. His voice was tinged with humor, as if what lay before them was merely a warm-up."There's nothing a blade can do that my body can't do better."

Zyrell, the Augmented Titan of Avalion.

And then, the last figure.

A shadow in human form. His very presence appeared to drain the surrounding light into nothingness. He did not speak as he advanced, his stride smooth, stealthy.

He said nothing.

But the crime lords already knew his name.

Black Ghost.

One of the strongest assassins from Nocthyraa—the land where the sun never rises.

Tension thickened in the chamber.

Vorshek Kane let out a breath, forcing a smile. "Now that we're all here, we can finally put an end to this threat once and for all."

Hedrakar scoffed. "Really? You just had to say something ominous?"

"Yeah, yeah. So, Black Ghost, my man what do you think of your target?" questioned Orvus Karr.

Black ghost was silent.

The assassin finally spoke. His voice was soft. Unnervingly calm.

"You can't."

A beat of silence.

Madame Vasha's eyes flickered with suspicion. "And why, please, are you so sure?"

Black Ghost exhaled slowly. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached on to the table—

And removed his disguise.

A dark hood remained, embroidered with a single Raven insignia. A sleek, black sword rested at his waist.

And then, he spoke again.

"Because I'm already here."

Before anyone could react, he moved.

He raised his right leg and his foot slammed down, shattering the reinforced table, launching him skyward. When his feet touched the ground again something warm fell on face of Brannok.

It was blood.

It was raining blood and black fuel of cybernetics.

All of the minions in the room were already dead.

Limbs severed. Necks broken. Bodies falling before they even knew they had been killed.

The crime lords froze in horror.

And then, Raven turned his masked gaze toward the killers.

"I hate assassins." He gestured toward the lifeless body of Black Ghost, the supposed strongest of them all. "That's why I killed him first."

A moment of disbelief. Of sheer, unfiltered terror.

Chills ran through the spines of the killers.

And then, the real battle began.

One against four.

The moment Raven's words settled, the air itself seemed to thicken. Fear, raw and primal, gripped the crime lords. The hired killers didn't hesitate—years of instinct kicked in.

Brannok, the giant war-machine, reacted first. His twin plasma blades screamed to life, carving blue arcs through the air as he charged like a walking apocalypse. The sheer force of his steps cracked the reinforced flooring beneath him.

Raven didn't move.

Not until Brannok swung.

Then—a blur.

Raven was gone.

Brannok's blow crashed into empty air, carving molten scars into the ground. His sensors wailed warning—too late. A shadow darted at his flank.

S L I C E.

One leg—gone.

Brannok crashed to the ground with an earthquake roar, metal shrieking. Before he could react—

S L I C E.

His arms—gone.

The giant fell to the ground, sparking, his plasma core beating wildly. His whole body convulsed wildly, but he couldn't even shout. A heavy, black blade now lay against his throat.

Raven whispered. "Big or small, I kill them all."

The blade drove through metal, cybernetics, and flesh, cutting Brannok's head clean from his body. His lights dimmed forever.

One down.

Kain Striker stepped forward. The bounty hunter snapped his wrist—five hyper-velocity rounds fired at point-blank range. Rounds meant to shatter through tanks.

Raven tilted his head.

A heartbeat later—he caught all five rounds between his fingers.

Kain hardly had time to blink.

"You're fast."

Raven crushed the bullets into dust.

"But I'm faster."

A single step.

In the next moment, Kain's whole right arm was gone. The bounty hunter stumbled, screaming. Blood spattered against the neon walls, but Raven wasn't finished.

Another step.

Kain tried to draw a blade.

His left arm—gone.

His body hit the floor in convulsions, gasping like a dying fish.

Raven crouched beside him, voice deathly soft. "You put holes in people?"

He plunged his hand into Kain's chest.

Ripped out his heart.

The organ pulsed weakly in Raven's grasp—then he crushed it to pulp.

Two down.

Zyrell.

The enhanced titan roared, bones hardening, muscles expanding, veins straining as raw energy surged through him. A warrior's body.

"I AM STRENGTH ITSELF!"

He charged at Raven with unnatural force, the ground beneath him tearing up into craters. His punch could crumble a mountain.

He swung.

And hit nothing.

And then came the agony.

Raven's punch plunged into his ribs—and shattered them like twigs.

CRACK.

Zyrell's whole chest collapsed inwards, pieces of bone thrust into his lungs. His gasp caught in his throat, his body seizing from the mere horror.

But Raven wasn't yet finished.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

His arms.

His spine.

His legs.

All limbs snapped like jagged glass, twisted into shapes the human form was not intended to fold. Every nerve screamed. Every joint imploded. His form folded upon itself, a puppet with its strings cut.

Still, he breathed.

Still sensed.

Still pained.

And then—Raven grabbed his arms.

A fleeting silence.

And pulled.

Zyrell's body tore apart.

Ligaments tore. Flesh ripped. His arms were severed at the shoulders, followed instantly by his legs. The enhanced titan—who once boasted about being unbreakable—was now nothing more than shredded meat.

His mouth opened to scream—but no sound came out.

The pain was beyond screaming. Beyond human comprehension.

As the world faded, his last thoughts weren't of vengeance.

Only regret.

Three down.

Only Rokhan Var and Shadrael remained.

Rokhan backed up, his breathing ragged. His Hyenaris beast growled at his side, claws sunk deep in the floor.

But the beast… didn't want to fight.

It knew.

It could sense what Raven was.

It had fought battles. It had ripped through men, felt the last tremors of life before consuming them whole.

But this?

This wasn't prey.

This was the predator.

Something unnatural.

Even so, Rokhan barked the order.

"Shadrael... rip his fuc*ing throat out!"

The beast lunged.

Raven caught it mid-air.

One hand.

A 500-pound apex predator, caught like a toy.

The creature yelped—the first time in its life.

Raven whispered in its ear, "Rest in peace."

Raven's fingers tightened around its skull.

But… it felt no pain.

No suffering. No broken bones. No shattered nerves.

Just—nothing.

The world just ceased to be for it.

Before it could even understand what happened, it was dead.

Raven dropped the lifeless beast at Rokhan's feet.

For the first time ever, Rokhan felt something he never knew.

Fear.

He backed away, stumbling, gasping for breath.

Raven towered above him, tilting his head.

The blood-drenched floor reflected his shadow.

Rokhan's voice trembled. "W-What the hell are you?"

Raven's mask was dripping red. His blade shone under neon lights.

His voice was soft. Almost a human voice.

"There is still time for you, run before I tell you what you want to know."

Raven turned towards the five crime lords.

The five crime lords stood before him, their faces masks of shock, horror, and disbelief. They had built empires on fear, on violence—yet now, they were the prey.

Raven stood in the middle of the carnage, his black suit already soaked in crimson. The bodies of their finest killers lay scattered around him.

And then—

They ran.

Tried to.

But they never made it.

In a single fluid motion-

S L I C E.

Their right arms were gone.

But he was generous. He had returned something to them.

Their own cut-off body parts.

But he pierced their chest with their own arms and their heart in the grasp of their own arms.

Raven sat in a high-tech chair, the metallic surface shining beneath the dim red light. His hood was dripping—drenched in the blood rain he had caused, a crimson painting stretched across the chamber. His masked eyes towered over them like a specter from the void.

Raven smiled softly, shaking his head. "You should be thankful. I'm allowing you to hold your own hearts. Most people never have that privilege."

The terror in their eyes was priceless.

The crime lords wheezed, their bodies jerking in shock, trying to make sense of the horror that had become reality. Raven pushed forward, elbow on the armrest, gloved hands weaving across the digital console on his wrist. One command, and their arms jerked—not by their will, but by his. TThe cybernetic implants in their limbs, which had once represented power, were now nothing more than puppets to his whim.

Their fingers clenched. Their grip on their own hearts tightened.

Their own hands were executioners now.

Raven watched in silence, tilting his head slightly.

Then, he released them.

The death grip loosened, and air flooded their lungs once more. Their chests rose and fell in desperate, wild gasps, as though they'd been pulled back from the edge of oblivion.

A pause.

Then he repeated it.

Their bodies froze. Their screams were throttled in their throats as their fingers clamped their own hearts again. Their nerves screamed with fire, their eyes protruding, their minds wracked between dying agony and simple terror of realizing they had no power to prevent it.

And again.

And again.

Each cycle of suffocation and relief was not just torture—it was a lesson.

Raven leaned back into the chair, his voice low, nearly introspective. "Tell me... how does it feel?"

No reply. Only shuddering gasps.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "No, really. How is it? To be the victim? To have no control? To watch your life getting away from you, second by second, knowing that someone else has your fate between their fingers?" His voice was cold, detached, as if he were simply commenting on the weather.

He rose, looming over them, his boots splashing in their accumulated blood. "You people exercised power over life and death for so long. You considered yourselves gods." He pointed to the dead bodies scattered on the floor—the mercenaries, the bodyguards, the assassins who had been sent to kill him. "And look at you now. Robbed of all. Hanging on to your own fragile life like a street beggar in the rain."

A beat of silence.

And then he moved past them, his boots clanking through the room.

"But don't fret. I'll ensure the world never forgets you."

He paused at the doorway, tilting his head slightly. "At least for a while."

And then—

Darkness swallowed the room as he left.

The sound of slow, struggling heartbeats followed him into the void.

The neon-lit streets of Veyrasha pulsed with synthetic life, but for one man, there was no escape. Rokhan Var stumbled down the alleys, his gasps unsteady, his cybernetic enhancements malfunctioning. Blood oozed from the wounds, marking a red pathway behind him. He was the sole survivor..

His hands shook as he struggled to find his communicator. He hit the emergency frequency, his voice a mere whisper. "It's me... send help."

A click. A connection.

A voice on the other end. "Report."

And then—

Raven whispered,"I am not a human, I am a monster."

A blur of movement. A whisper of steel.

Rokhan's world went upside down then he realised that his head was sliced.

Then his head struck the pavement.

The rest of his body collapsed a moment later.

A slow, deliberate step echoed through the alley. Raven crouched over Rokhan's lifeless body, lifting the communicator to his masked lips. His voice was calm. Inevitable.

"Your minions are done. Now it's your turn."

Then slowly crushed Rokhan's skull and made sure that the crackling noise was heard by the ORDER.

"You hearing that? Same would be done to you. I am coming"

The communicator crushed between his fingers.

Then, silence.