The Nornir Theocracy

Nova couldn't evade the fireball; it slammed into his chest, a molten hammer that drove the breath from his lungs. He collapsed to his knees, face inches from the scorched pavement, blood spilling from his mouth in thick, crimson streams. His chest heaved, each ragged gasp a battle against the agony searing his ribs. Yet, with a will forged in defiance, he rose, trembling but resolute, his body screaming while his spirit roared. I'm not done.

His daggers flickered and dissolved, his magical reserves too depleted to sustain them. Doomwrithe Apex was a force of cataclysmic might—overpowered, broken, an otherworldly gift his mortal frame could scarcely contain. Though his body faltered, the miracle of its power pulsed within him, a defiant spark against the encroaching dark.

The fireballs had ceased, the rooftop assailant's mana seemingly exhausted. Nova dragged his battered legs forward, each step a grinding defiance, toward the final foe. The leader stood, cigarette glowing, his grin a jagged slash of arrogance in the flickering light.

His blue eyes gleamed with venomous contempt. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath polished leather boots, and strode toward Nova, who swayed, exhaustion carving hollows in his bones, yet his gaze burned with unyielding fire.

In a blur, the man closed the distance, his speed startling Nova's frayed senses. An uppercut snapped Nova's head back, sending him sprawling to the dirt, vision swimming. He glared up, disgust curling his bloodied lips, his face a mask of raw defiance.

"Keep glaring," the man scoffed, his Welsh lilt dripping with mockery, as if he held Nova's soul in his grasp. "We both know you die here."

Nova spat blood, his voice hoarse but steady. "What do you want from us? Why attack two random foreigners? I'm F-rank, same as her. We're useless to you."

The man's laugh was unhinged, a jagged cackle that echoed through the alley's ruins. "And yet, you aren't." His eyes glinted with cruel knowledge as he leaned closer. "Isn't that right, Supreme God of Destruction?"

Nova's heart lurched, shock freezing his blood. "How do you know who I am?" A cold realization struck, sharp as a blade. Apollo. "Did he order this?"

The man's grin widened, predatory and feral. "Of course. Apollo promised me anything I desire if you die. Being from TNT, I seized the chance to meet our savior: the Nornir."

Nova's mind churned, rage and exhaustion warring within. His body was a wreck, each movement a defiance of his limits, but Apollo's betrayal ignited a molten fury. You want me dead? You'll bleed for it. He staggered to his feet, fists clenched, eyes blazing with a vow to endure.

The leader chuckled, a guttural sound, cracking his knuckles as his tailored tuxedo shifted with each deliberate step. "Barely standing, God of Destruction? Let's end this." He lunged, fist arcing toward Nova's jaw.

Nova ducked, reflexes sluggish but stubborn, and drove his shoulder into the man's gut, shoving him back. The impact jolted his own battered frame, pain lancing through his ribs, but he ignored it, fueled by vengeance. He swung a wild punch, splitting the man's cheek, blood trickling down his polished facade. The leader's grin twisted into a snarl.

"You little shit," he spat, his Welsh accent sharpening with rage. He seized Nova's arm, twisting with bone-crushing force. Nova grunted, knees buckling, but hooked his leg behind the man's ankle, yanking hard. The leader stumbled, releasing Nova, who rolled away, gasping, his body screaming for respite.

The man recovered, his speed uncanny, and tackled Nova, pinning him to the ground. A fist slammed into Nova's ribs, cracking bone. Nova choked, blood spraying, but he clawed at the man's face, nails raking flesh, drawing a hiss of pain. Not yet, he thought, kicking upward, catching the man's thigh, forcing him back.

Nova scrambled up, his vision blurring, each breath a knife in his chest. The leader circled, his tuxedo now stained with blood and dust, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. "You're tenacious," he sneered, "but it won't save you."

Nova spat, his voice a raw growl. "Fuck you and your Nornir." He charged, fueled by rage, and tackled the man, their bodies crashing into a pile of debris. Wood splintered, and Nova drove his knee into the man's gut, eliciting a grunt. He grabbed a jagged plank, swinging it at the leader's head, but the man blocked, his forearm absorbing the blow, blood seeping from the gash.

The leader roared, seizing Nova's throat with a grip like iron, hoisting him off the ground. Nova's feet dangled, his lungs screaming for air, but he drove his thumb into the man's eye, feeling the soft, sickening yield of flesh. The leader howled, his grip faltering, and Nova crashed to the pavement, gasping, only to surge forward, tackling the man with a desperate, bone-jarring lunge.

"I've had enough," the leader snarled, his Welsh lilt thick with contempt. He kicked Nova hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling. Nova, barely able to rise, clawed his way to one knee, his body a tapestry of pain. Another kick came, swift and brutal, slamming into his shoulder, flattening him again. The leader loomed, his polished boots gleaming in the dim light, and raised his hands, summoning three monstrous creatures from the ether.

To the left, a lion of jagged stone materialized, its granite maw snarling. In the center, a wolf bristled with crackling electricity, arcs of lightning dancing across its fur. To the right, a wind serpent coiled, its translucent form shimmering with currents of air that sliced the ground beneath.

"What the fu—" Nova choked, but the words died as the beasts lunged, a trifecta of death. The lion's stone claws raked his arm, shredding flesh; the wolf's electric jaws snapped, searing his side with a jolt that burned through nerve and bone; the serpent's winds lashed, cutting shallow gashes across his chest. Pain gnawed, a relentless beast of its own, tearing at his fading strength. Not like this, he thought, blood pooling beneath him.

A blinding light erupted from the sky, a radiant cascade that engulfed the three creatures. They vanished, their forms unraveling into nothingness, leaving only scorched air. The leader's eyes narrowed, recognition flickering as he adopted a wary stance.

"The Saint," he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "How wonderful to join us."

As dusk settled, painting the alley in hues of ash and shadow, a woman emerged, her presence incongruously serene. Clad in casual attire, a simple sweater and jeans, like a mother tending to her children, she bore no makeup, her face plain yet resolute. Blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders, her brown eyes sharp with purpose. A half-eaten sushi roll rested in her hand, the mundane act of munching it stark against the carnage. She was Japanese, her steps deliberate as she navigated the alley, drawn by Nova's anguished cries.

With a gentle gesture, she summoned a shield of shimmering light, enveloping Nova and Elesch in a protective cocoon. The radiance pulsed softly, knitting their wounds with a slow, warm glow, easing the raw edges of their pain. Nova's gaze met hers, his vision blurring as unconsciousness beckoned. She offered a quiet smile, serene yet fierce, as he drifted into the recesses of his mind.

His ears, though, remained sharp, catching every sound in the blood-soaked alley. The leader's boots scuffed the pavement, his voice a low growl. "You think you can stop me, Saint? The Nornir's will is greater than your parlor tricks."

The woman's laugh was soft, almost maternal, but edged with steel. "Nornir's will? He's a puppeteer with broken strings. You're just his latest toy." Her Japanese accent was subtle, her words precise, each syllable a deliberate cut.

The leader snarled, his hands weaving arcane gestures. The air thickened, charged with a dark energy that made the ground tremble. "You'll regret that," he spat, summoning a vortex of shadow that lashed toward her.

"Oh my, have you lost your edge, Cain?" the Saint taunted, her laugh a sharp, melodic jab, her Japanese accent threading through each word like silk over steel.

Cain's face twisted, annoyance flaring in his ice-blue eyes. With a guttural snarl, he launched himself at her, fists flying in a relentless barrage, left and right, denying her a moment's respite. His punches were wild yet precise, each one a testament to his lethal prowess.

The Saint's brown eyes gazed down at him, her expression hardening with disdain. A killer, she thought, her lip curling. Cain was no ordinary thug; he was a notorious butcher of The Nornir Theocracy, the world's most formidable underground syndicate. Their shadow stretched across the globe, orchestrating every major vice, every dark deed sanctioned by their unseen capital, its location a whispered myth.

Cain broke off, stepping back with a predator's grace, his torn tuxedo clinging to his frame, blood and dust marring its opulence. The Saint's brow furrowed, her guard unwavering, perplexed by his sudden retreat.

Then he spoke, his Welsh lilt dripping with condescension: "It's futile to clash now. But mark my words, Saint: the next time we meet, you're dead."

The Saint's smile was cold, unyielding. "Bold words for a man bleeding out in an alley." Her voice carried a quiet menace. He pat on the ground, then in another second, he wasn't there.