The Dance of Death

The city lay silent in the dead of night, cloaked in an eerie mist. Streetlights flickered, casting long shadows against crumbling walls. This was no ordinary mist—it was a shroud of malice, creeping through the empty alleys like a phantom whisper.

And within that suffocating silence, something moved.

Dead Master had chosen her first prey.

Lucian Orsova adjusted the collar of his coat as he strolled through the ruins, his golden eyes half-lidded. Beside him, Lancer—Black Gold Saw—walked in measured silence, her massive greatsword resting against her shoulder.

"The air feels wrong," she murmured.

Lucian smirked. "That's because someone wants us to think we're safe."

Lancer's red eyes gleamed.

"Assassin?"

Lucian exhaled smoke, letting it coil in the air.

"Most likely. They've finally made their move."

Lancer came to a halt, her fingers tightening around her blade. She didn't need to say anything.

They weren't alone anymore.

A whisper slithered through the air. A rattling, unnatural sound—like chains dragged across stone. The mist thickened, swallowing the stars above.

Then, out of the darkness, emerald lights ignited.

Lancer turned just in time to see them—two burning green eyes, floating in the abyss.

Dead Master had arrived.

"You should feel honored," Assassin purred, stepping into view. Her skeletal claws gleamed under the dim streetlights, her twin skull familiars hovering at her sides. "You'll be the first to die in this war."

Lancer let out a quiet breath, shifting into a combat stance.

"Assassins shouldn't announce their presence," she said coldly.

Dead Master smirked. "Who said I was alone?"

The moment she spoke, the mist erupted.

Chains lashed out from all directions—spiked, black, and covered in eerie green light. The ground cracked as they struck, twisting through the battlefield like living serpents.

Lucian cursed, leaping back just as the chains tore through the spot where he stood. "Figures she'd fight like this."

Lancer was already moving. With a single step, she vanished—her speed breaking the sound barrier.

A metallic clang rang out as her greatsword met Dead Master's chains, sparks flying in all directions. Lancer swung again, her monstrous strength splitting the pavement beneath her.

But Dead Master was faster.

She danced through the air, her body weightless as she twirled around Lancer's strikes, her chains moving like limbs of their own.

"Tsk, tsk," she giggled, dodging another blow. "You're strong, but strength alone—"

Lancer adjusted.

Without hesitation, Lancer reversed her grip mid-swing, slamming her elbow into Dead Master's ribs.

The impact cracked bone.

Dead Master gasped, eyes widening as she was launched through a concrete wall.

Lucian whistled. "Damn. Remind me not to piss you off."

Lancer exhaled, gripping her blade tighter.

"She's not dead."

As if on cue, the rubble exploded outward.

Dead Master emerged, her lips curling into a wide grin.

"That's more like it."

The ground trembled.

Dozens—hundreds—of skeletal hands erupted from the ground, grasping, pulling, forming a writhing army of the dead. Their hollow sockets glowed with green fire as they charged.

Lucian cursed.

"We're surrounded."

Lancer spun her sword, her expression calm. "Then we cut them down."

Dead Master laughed as she spread her arms, her chains forming a massive web in the sky.

"Let's see how long you last, Lancer."

The True Battle Begins.

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To Be Continued…