The Blood Stained Path

The city of Veytross had begun whispering Prastha's name in fear and awe. But whispers were dangerous in a city ruled by shadows. The powerful did not like their control being threatened. And tonight, they would send a message.

### **A New Target**

The morning after the alleyway incident, the crime lords of Veytross gathered in a luxurious high-rise, sitting in a room filled with cigar smoke and the scent of expensive whiskey. These were not ordinary men—they were the true rulers of the city, hidden behind the masks of businessmen, government officials, and law enforcement.

At the head of the table sat Victor Solano, a man whose presence demanded silence. Dressed in an immaculate suit, his silver hair slicked back, he tapped his fingers on the table as his cold blue eyes studied the reports in front of him.

"Prastha," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of authority. "She is not a random vigilante. She is precise. Trained. Dangerous."

A burly man, Dimitri Volkov, smirked. "She's just a woman with a knife. A street rat trying to act like a ghost."

Victor's gaze snapped to him. "Then explain why three of our men were left in a gutter, humiliated, and alive only because she chose it."

Dimitri fell silent. The room tensed.

Victor continued. "We do not tolerate disruptions to our business. We find her. We kill her. We send a message."

He turned to a shadow in the corner. "Talon. Handle it."

The shadow moved forward—silent, deadly. Talon was an assassin known only by reputation. No one had ever seen his face and lived.

"Understood," Talon whispered before disappearing into the darkness.

 The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

Prastha was never one to stay in one place for long. She moved like the wind—never leaving a trace, never forming attachments. But tonight, she made an exception.

The girl from the alley, Mira, had been followed home after the attack. Someone wanted her dead. And Prastha was not going to let that happen.

From the rooftop of a crumbling apartment complex, she watched Mira's window. The girl sat inside, hugging her knees, unaware of the death that lurked outside.

Prastha's instincts screamed. Something was wrong.

She turned sharply. A movement. A shadow where there shouldn't be one.

She reacted instantly, rolling to the side as a throwing knife embedded itself into the rooftop where she had been standing.

Another knife followed. She dodged again, but this time, her attacker was faster. A hand closed around her wrist, twisting it brutally. She gritted her teeth against the pain and countered, using her momentum to slam her elbow into his ribs.

Talon barely flinched.

Their fight was brutal, silent. No wasted movements. No unnecessary strikes. They were both warriors trained in the art of death.

But Talon was stronger. Faster.

Prastha blocked a kick but felt her ribs crack under the force. She gasped, stumbling backward. Talon pressed the advantage, a blade flashing toward her throat.

Then she did something unexpected.

She let herself fall.

The rooftop edge rushed up to meet her, and at the last second, she grabbed the ledge, flipping her body downward, using her momentum to kick Talon square in the chest. He staggered, giving her the opening she needed.

She disappeared into the darkness.

Talon stood still, watching the empty space where she had been. Then, he touched his lip. Blood.

He smiled.

### **The Game of Death**

For the first time in a long time, Prastha felt something close to fear.

Talon was not like the common thugs she dealt with. He was something else entirely.

She needed information. She needed a plan.

And she knew exactly where to start.

The Black Lantern.

It was the city's most dangerous underground club, a place where criminals, mercenaries, and assassins drank together, bound by an unspoken code of violence. If anyone knew about Talon, it would be someone here.

Prastha walked in, her hood low over her face, her presence unnoticed in the sea of sinners.

She found her target quickly—a man named Felix Kane, a weapons dealer and information broker. He liked to talk. Especially when he was scared.

She grabbed him by the collar, dragging him into a dark corner. "Talon. Who hired him?"

Felix paled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Prastha pressed a knife against his ribs. "Try again."

Felix swallowed hard. "Solano. He sent out the order last night. Said you were a problem. And Talon… he never fails."

"Where can I find him?"

Felix hesitated. She pressed the knife deeper.

"Warehouse district," he gasped. "Abandoned docks. But if you go after him, you won't come back."

Prastha smiled coldly. "We'll see."

She disappeared into the night, leaving Felix trembling in fear.

### **The Showdown**

The docks were quiet. Too quiet.

Prastha moved like a shadow, her every step calculated. The air smelled of salt, rust, and something darker—blood.

A whisper of movement. A flicker of steel.

She spun just in time, blocking Talon's blade with her own. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal.

"You should have stayed hidden," Talon murmured.

"And let you kill an innocent girl?" Prastha countered.

Talon smirked. "There are no innocents in this city."

Their fight was poetry in motion. Strikes met with counterstrikes. Feints met with deadly precision. Talon was relentless, his attacks sharper, more refined. But Prastha had something he didn't.

Desperation.

She waited for an opening—just one. And when it came, she took it.

With a sudden, unexpected move, she dropped to the ground, sweeping his legs out from under him. As he fell, she lunged, driving her knife toward his throat.

Talon twisted at the last moment, the blade sinking into his shoulder instead. He grunted but didn't scream. He merely looked at her with something close to admiration.

"Not bad," he murmured.

She yanked the knife free, but before she could finish him, sirens echoed through the night. Police. Someone had tipped them off.

Prastha looked at Talon. He looked at her.

Then, without another word, they both disappeared into the darkness.

### **The War Has Begun**

Veytross was changing. The shadows were shifting.

Prastha had made her move, and now the city knew she was more than just a myth.

Victor Solano sat in his high-rise, listening to the reports. He smiled, sipping his whiskey.

"So the game has begun," he whispered.

And in the depths of the city, Prastha sharpened her blade, knowing this was only the beginning.

The war for Veytross had begun.

To be continued…