36

Twelve figures burst through the arena's main entrance like ravens diving from storm clouds. Blood-red masks caught the emergency lighting that flickered to life—angular beaks jutted forward, crowned with three glowing eyes that pierced the gloom. Feathered patterns cascaded down the masks ending at their dark streetwear, transforming fabric into something predatory. The masks merged corvid hunger with demonic fury, each one unique yet unified in menace.

Guards shouted commands, boots pounding across obsidian as thirty black uniforms converged on the intruders. The masked figures moved with fluid precision, spreading through the arena like spilled ink.

Hidden against the eastern wall, one of the invaders pressed a metallic orb against the reinforced glass. The device hummed, its surface rippling with digital static before projecting a clear transmission feed.

No more than fifty feet away, Fūregen leaned forward in his chair, dark brown hair catching laptop's light as the gala materialized before him. His dark eyes absorbed every detail—the scattered guests, emerging security forces, his team's calculated positioning.

"Beautiful chaos," he murmured.

Beside him, Kamo's fingers fidgeted in an overflow of adrenaline. Blood rushed through his veins as Team B engaged the first wave of guards. Masks flashed crimson as bodies collided, the sound of impact echoing through the transmission. Nagitsu remained silent beside the two of them

Emergency lighting blazed to full illumination, revealing the arena's transformation. Few elegant tables lay scattered against the nearby walls. Guests huddled in terrified clusters while security formed defensive lines. The masked figures moved between shadows and light, their red faces burning like embers against the chaos.

Marcus pressed himself against an overturned buffet table, heart hammering as he watched the nightmare unfold. The silver-haired man he'd noticed earlier had vanished completely—swallowed by darkness or design.

In the kitchen, Team A had dragged two lifeless guards behind industrial ovens, blood pooling beneath steel countertops. Cooks had long since scattered through the garbage exit, white uniforms disappearing into the night as masked figures secured the rear entrance.

Meanwhile, bullets sparked off Team B's skin like raindrops against stone. The guards' standard ammunition cracked ribs, raised welts, drew blood—but failed to drop targets. One masked figure stumbled backward from a center-mass shot, crimson spreading across his shirt, yet continued advancing. 

Security forces pressed their advantage through superior numbers, but the lack in takton reinforcements tilted the battle slightly in favor of the raven masked men.

Team B disengaged from the guards with practiced efficiency, their raven masks scanning the terrified crowd still clustered against the arena's walls. They moved with purpose now, searching faces, checking corners—hunting for someone who clearly wasn't there.

Kamo watched through the transmission feed as his teammates spread across the obsidian floor. One masked figure grabbed a cowering businessman by his silk tie, yanked him close, then shoved him aside after a brief inspection. Their movements carried desperate urgency.

"Where are they?" Fūregen muttered, dark eyes fixed on the laptop screen. His fingers drummed against the table's surface, the only sign of his mounting frustration.

The silver-haired man seemingly materialized from behind an overturned buffet table like smoke given form. He made no dramatic entrance—and for someone who wasn't paying attention, all they would have saw was that one moment the space was empty, the next he stood there with casual indifference. His pristine deep blue suit remained immaculate despite the chaos, not a thread out of place.

He raised his arm with fluid precision. Only lifting a finger in the direction of one of Kamo's teammates.

The shot made no sound louder than a whisper.

Nagitsu's breath caught as one of the raven masks exploded in a spray of crimson and bone fragments. The masked figure crumpled mid-stride, his body hitting the obsidian floor with a wet thud that echoed through the arena's sudden silence.

Kamo's eyes widened as he watched his teammate's lifeless body crumple to the polished obsidian floor. The silver-haired man's movements had been so fluid, so precise, that the kill seemed almost effortless. Beside him, Fūregen leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing at the laptop screen.

"Is that— Haruto?" Fūre muttered, his voice a mix of recognition and irritation. "Of course they'd send the royal guard."

Kamo glanced at his mentor, confusion etched on his face. "You know him?"

Fūre nodded grimly. "Hardly, but I remember that he's one of the previous winners of The Eclipse. All victors serve in the Royal Guard for a time. He's their senior member now."

Nagitsu's fingers clenched into fists, his eyes never leaving the screen. The grim realization settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. Their enemy was a mere security force; while a battle-hardened elite, a warrior whose skills had been honed in the crucible of The Eclipse itself. It wasn't the political ammunition they needed to even justify this attack.

On the screen, the nine or so remaining members of Team B scrambled for cover as Haruto's gaze swept across the arena. Two more raven masks fell in quick succession, their bodies jerking like marionettes with cut strings as whisper-quiet shots found their marks.

Fūregen's jaw locked, his words clipped with contempt. "If Celaris sent the guards in their place, then they're more cowardly than I thought. Fine. Killing the Royal Guard might be our only route forward."

He took a breath to think, and to calm himself. "But hold on a bit. Celaris might just be lurking, watching, let them see how easily our dogs fall. If we rush in now, we might scare them back into the shadows. I want them desperate. I want them to believe their little trap is working."

Kamo nodded, but his mind racing. This was exactly what he feared. The mission teetered on the brink of failure, and every second would mayyer.

Nagitsu's eyes widened as he watched two more of their comrades engage Haruto directly. The silver-haired guard moved with preternatural grace, his body flowing like quicksilver as he evaded their attacks, or maybe the attacks finished excessively slow. Punches and kicks met empty air as Haruto danced between them, his movements a blur of perceived excellence.

A sickening crunch echoed through the transmission as Haruto's fist connected with the first attacker's jaw, sending him sprawling. The second managed to land a glancing blow, but Haruto merely smiled, his eyes glinting with cold amusement.

Nagitsu shot to his feet, panic etched on his face. "I have to help them!"

Fūre's hand clamped down on Nagitsu's arm, his grip unyielding. "No. Wait it out."

Nagitsu's eyes blazed with desperate anger. "I can't just watch!"

He wrenched free of Fūre's grasp and sprinted for the door, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence. 

On the screen, Nagitsu burst into the arena, his own raven mask gleaming under the emergency lights. He charged towards Haruto, a wordless cry of rage and grief tearing from his throat.

Haruto turned, his movements languid, almost bored. He sidestepped Nagitsu's first punch with contemptuous ease, then countered with a lightning-fast strike to the solar plexus. Nagitsu doubled over, gasping for air, but managed to roll away from the follow-up kick.

The two remaining members of Team B rallied to Nagitsu's side, their stances wary. Haruto regarded them with a cold smile, his eyes glittering with predatory anticipation.

"Foolish," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the transmission. 

Nagitsu spat blood onto the obsidian floor, his eyes blazing behind his mask. Nonetheless he stood as if preparing to reengage.

Haruto laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. "Such spirit."

He moved, a blur of speed and power, and the battle erupted once more. Nagitsu and his companions fought with desperate ferocity, but Haruto's skill was simply too great. Each blow they landed seemed to merely glance off him, while his own strikes sent them reeling.

"Shit!" Fūre roared from his seat. "Go help him. That damn fool."