Massacre Beneath the Moon

I watched her execute a backward leap, landing with one hand on the ground with the perfect grace and lethal precision of a born predator. The guards attempting to intercept her movement froze completely upon beholding her, as if they had seen death itself materialize before them. At that moment, another figure landed beside her with an impact that shook the earth. By the time the bodyguards finally reacted and raised their weapons toward her, Anastasia was already standing, observing them with a furrowed brow as the night wind playfully toyed with her long lavender hair.

Grey stood beside Anastasia like an implacable sentinel. He was a tall, muscular young man who appeared at least sixteen, standing with a confident and defiant posture that projected an imposing presence over the entire scene. His hair, a deep, glossy black like polished onyx, rose in sleek, pointed strands extending backward, giving him a fierce and intrepid air that intimidated even from a distance. Some longer strands fell elegantly on either side of his face, swaying gently with the wind blowing across the battlefield like a breeze laden with omens.

His eyes, with dark, slit pupils like those of a wild feline, stood out on a face devoid of visible eyebrows. This absence was offset by a unique and striking adornment: pairs of simple, dark red circular earrings lining his skin, adding a rebellious and distinctive touch that set him apart from any other warrior I had seen. The most striking ones aligned perfectly across his face: three above each eyebrow, acting as makeshift metallic brows, two on either side of his nose forming perfect symmetry, and a pair further down on his chin, just below his lips, like acupuncture points turned into war marks. His ears, meanwhile, were adorned with two sets of five earrings each, gleaming faintly under the moon's silver light like tiny constellations.

His face, sculpted with sharp, defined features that seemed carved by a master artisan, reflected a serene intensity contrasting with his wild exterior. He wore a sleeveless black jacket with white accents, elegantly highlighting the collar and edges, falling over his shoulders in an asymmetrical cut that exposed his muscular physique as a display of raw power. The garment, designed with a functional and robust style that spoke of past battles, fitted his torso snugly with genuine leather straps crossing his chest in a pattern both practical and striking.

Beneath the jacket, a tight-fitting dark gray shirt clung to his form like a second skin, accentuating every line of his athletic build with a single white stripe running down the center of his sternum like a captured ray of light. On his right arm, a prominent tattoo stood proudly: a black, stylized symbol reminiscent of an ancestral emblem whose meaning was lost in the mists of time, standing out against his skin as a mark of distinction and adding an enigmatic aura to his presence. His arms, defined and strong like those of a blacksmith honed over decades, showed subtle veins snaking beneath the surface, testifying to physical strength forged in the harshest adversity and tempered in the fire of countless conflicts.

I watched, mesmerized, as Anastasia and Grey approached the group of ten guards with the confidence of predators identifying their prey. At the center of the enemy group, a figure stood out with an imposing and enigmatic presence, projecting a calm that dominated the entire scene like a conductor leading a deadly symphony. He was no ordinary guard—that was evident even to my inexperienced eyes; he was on an entirely different level from me, and the energy emanating from his body, visible through my innate ability as heat waves in a desert, revealed his true nature: an Illuminated.

—As expected, their way of working is remarkably efficient. I'm impressed —declared the man, speaking with a casual familiarity that suggested he knew Anastasia and her group intimately.

The leader wore a long, grayish-blue coat, visibly worn by the relentless passage of time and the rigors of countless battles, draping over his body like a heavy curtain laden with history. The coat's edges swayed gently. The garment was adorned with subtle but significant details: reinforced stitching on the shoulders speaking of frequent repairs, and a genuine leather strap crossing his chest, securing a silver sword hanging at his side like an extension of his being.

On his head, he wore a wide-brimmed hat, faded blue from years of use, casting a deep shadow that completely hid his face, enveloping him in stifling anonymity. Strands of silver-white hair, like moonlit threads woven by time, escaped from beneath the hat, falling in a disheveled yet seemingly deliberate manner. A thick, goatee-style beard framed the visible portion of his face, while round glasses rested over his eyes, adding an air of intellectual mystery to his already enigmatic figure.

The guards flanking the central leader like elite soldiers were cloaked in dark black capes. The fabric, cut wide and flowing like the wings of a giant bat, enveloped their bodies entirely in a shroud of mystery, making them appear more spectral than human. Their hoods, raised with a somber elegance that spoke of rigorous training, cast impenetrable shadows over their faces, revealing only a faint white glimmer that might have been a fine porcelain mask or an enigmatic bandage.

Their hands, barely visible beneath sleeves falling like curtains of shadow, were clad in dark gloves of unknown material. A short sword hung from their waists, sheathed, suggesting these men were consummate warriors or professional assassins in absolute service to the central leader. Among them, two individuals, excluding the main leader, stood out as Illuminated.

—Still, she's a really attractive girl, leader —commented one of the hooded figures with a tone teetering dangerously between genuine admiration and derisive mockery, laden with insinuations.

—Looks like we'll have plenty of fun after killing her —added another guard, accompanying his words with a low, guttural laugh that sliced through the night air like a poisoned blade.

Suddenly, like a bolt splitting the sky in a storm, one of the guards closed the distance to Anastasia in a fraction of a second, lunging at her with a speed that tore through the nocturnal silence and left pressure waves in the air.

Anastasia gripped her colossal sword with both hands and, before my eyes could even fully track her movements, took a single step and slit the guard's throat in an instant that seemed suspended in time.

Blood gushed like a scarlet river, painting the night air with droplets that gleamed like rubies under the moonlight, and the man collapsed to the ground with a dull thud that echoed clearly to my distant position in the heights.

—Impossible… —murmured someone among the remaining guards, their voice laden with disbelief bordering on fear.