"The Midnight Ambush"

The East Dock loomed ahead, its towering cranes casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. The rhythmic crashing of waves against the pier filled the silence as Riven and Veylan crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, observing the scene before them.

Dozens of armed men were gathered near a rusted cargo ship, the scent of salt and oil thick in the air. At the center of it all stood a figure that radiated authority—Velst.

The man was built like a tank, his dark coat barely concealing the heavy armor beneath. A massive broadsword rested against his shoulder, its blade reflecting the dim glow of the dock's floodlights. He spoke in low, measured tones to another man, a nervous-looking dealer dressed in a suit. Several crates lined the dock beside them—undoubtedly weapons.

"Looks like Torsen wasn't lying," Veylan muttered, peering over the edge of the container. "That's a lot of muscle for just a trade."

Riven's green eyes narrowed. "They're expecting trouble."

Veylan smirked. "Good. Would've been boring otherwise."

Riven ignored the comment and scanned the area. Snipers were perched on shipping containers, their scopes occasionally sweeping the docks. Several guards patrolled the perimeter, their hands resting on their guns. This wasn't going to be easy.

"We need a plan," Riven whispered.

Veylan flexed his fingers. "Plans are for people who don't trust their instincts."

Riven shot him a look. "We're outnumbered."

Veylan grinned. "And they're outmatched."

Before Riven could argue, the deal seemed to reach its climax. Velst stepped forward, lifting the lid of one of the crates. The metallic gleam of high-tech rifles and explosives shone under the lights. The dealer nodded in approval, signaling to his men to bring over a large duffel bag—probably filled with money.

They were running out of time.

Riven took a deep breath. "Fine. We go in fast. You take the left flank; I'll handle the right. Disable the snipers first."

Veylan grinned wider. "Now you're speaking my language."

Without another word, they moved.

Riven sprinted along the shadows, keeping low. He scaled a nearby stack of containers, using the cover of darkness to reach one of the snipers. The man barely had time to react before Riven grabbed him from behind, pressing a hand over his mouth and knocking him out with a precise strike to the neck.

Across the dock, Veylan was already causing chaos. He launched himself at the second sniper, grabbing his rifle and slamming the butt of it into the man's gut before kicking him off the container. The sniper crashed onto a pile of crates below, unconscious.

The commotion alerted the guards.

"Someone's here!" one of them shouted, drawing his weapon.

Velst's head snapped up, his gaze cutting through the dark. "Find them."

The docks exploded into motion.

Riven leaped down, landing between two guards. He ducked under a swinging baton and drove his elbow into the man's ribs before kicking him aside. The second guard raised his pistol, but Riven was faster—he twisted the man's wrist, forcing the gun away before striking him with a sharp jab to the throat.

Gunfire erupted.

Veylan was already in the thick of it, weaving through enemies with an almost playful ease. He disarmed one man, using his own rifle to club another before tossing the weapon aside. His movements were fluid, calculated—like he was enjoying the fight.

But Velst was done watching.

The massive man took a step forward, unsheathing his broadsword with a slow, deliberate motion. The blade hummed with energy as he rested it on his shoulder.

"Whoever you are," Velst growled, "you just made a mistake."

The remaining guards stepped back, forming a perimeter as their leader took center stage.

Riven exhaled, tightening his grip on his dagger. Veylan cracked his knuckles, still grinning.

This was the real fight.

And there was no turning back now.