The night cracked open with a scream.
Not human — something ancient, something that made the very stones beneath Fred's boots tremble.
Zara tightened her grip on Fred's sleeve, her green eyes wide with fear and determination. She was trembling, but she didn't run. None of them could.
The silver-masked figures fanned out across the riverbank, robes swirling like tendrils of living smoke. Each step they took sent ripples through the air, their boots not quite touching the ground, as if they hovered between worlds.
Fred clenched his fists. His knuckles whitened as he stepped forward, shielding Elias and Zara behind him. The raw rage boiling inside him demanded action — demanded answers.
"Who are you?" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
The lead figure — taller than the rest, his silver mask etched with intricate vines and stars — stepped forward. Beneath the mask, his voice was distorted, metallic.
"You," it hissed. "You are the beginning and the end. Tonight, the chains are broken."
Fred's heart hammered in his chest, but he stood firm.
The October wind howled around them, whipping Zara's braid into the air, sending fallen leaves spiraling like dying birds. Lanterns hanging from the bridges flickered violently, casting the world in stuttering shadows.
Suddenly, a movement to the side —
Leon and Tessa burst from the shadows, blades drawn. Leon's dagger gleamed under the fractured moonlight, while Tessa's twin short swords sang as she spun them effortlessly.
"Fred!" Leon shouted. "Move!"
The moment shattered.
The masked figures lunged forward.
A clash of steel rang out as Leon met one head-on, their blades locking in a shower of sparks. Tessa moved like liquid night, her weapons a blur as she fought two at once, her sharp features twisted in concentration.
Fred grabbed Zara's hand and pulled her toward Elias. The broken man staggered, coughing up blood, but managed to stand with Fred's support.
"We need to get out!" Zara cried.
"No," Fred said coldly, his gaze fixed on the leader. "We end this here."
Suddenly, a sharp crack —
Elena dropped from the rooftop like a falling star, landing gracefully between Fred and the masked leader. Her crimson cloak billowed behind her, her violet eyes glowing with unnatural light.
"You picked the wrong night," she said softly, almost sadly.
Without warning, she attacked.
She moved faster than any human — a blur of silver hair and red cloak — striking at the masked figures with precise, lethal force. Her dagger, curved and black as a raven's wing, found flesh under their robes. One mask shattered under her blow, revealing a twisted, snarling face underneath — not quite human, not quite monster.
Fred watched, heart racing, as the world erupted around him.
Leon fought with brutal efficiency, his every move a testament to years of surviving dirty fights. Tessa was a whirlwind, dodging and striking with terrifying grace. Zara was pulling Elias to safety behind an old stone wall, her hands trembling but sure.
And Fred —
Fred was changing.
He felt it deep within him — a power he had long kept buried, a roaring storm behind the dam of his willpower. Tonight, the dam cracked.
He moved.
The world slowed.
Fred ducked a sword swing aimed at his head, grabbed the attacker's wrist, and snapped it with a sickening crack. He spun, using the momentum to drive his knee into another masked figure's chest, sending them sprawling into the mud.
Another came at him — a knife flashing — but Fred caught the blade with his bare hand, feeling the cold steel bite into his skin. He didn't flinch. Instead, he yanked the masked attacker forward and drove his forehead into the mask, shattering it like glass.
The ground trembled with the force of the battle.
Above them, storm clouds rolled in, hiding the stars, as thunder rumbled like the growl of an awakening beast. The river churned angrily, and the bridges groaned under the weight of the brewing storm.
The leader of the masked figures raised his arms.
A low chant began, deep and bone-chilling, reverberating through the stones, the water, the very blood in their veins.
Elena froze, her violet eyes narrowing.
Leon cursed under his breath.
Tessa paused, swords dripping crimson.
Even Fred felt the power thickening the air, making it hard to breathe.
"Stop him!" Elena shouted.
Fred charged.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the scene for one horrifying instant:
The leader's mask cracking, revealing a face that was both ancient and young, beautiful and hideous, shifting like smoke.
Fred threw himself forward —
— but he was too late.
The ground under the bridge erupted, sending shards of stone and water into the air. A massive chasm tore open, swallowing the old pathway whole. Fred caught Zara just as she slipped, pulling her back from the edge.
From the pit below, something stirred.
A hand.
No — claws.
The masked leader laughed, the sound wrong, too many voices speaking at once.
"This city will kneel," he whispered.
Fred stood tall, blood dripping from his fingers, rain beginning to pour in sheets around him. His soaked leather jacket clung to his powerful frame, and his breath came out in visible puffs in the cold air. His blue eyes burned with defiance.
"Not while I'm alive," he growled.
The leader pointed at Fred, and the remaining masked figures turned to face him, their movements jerky, unnatural.
Fred tightened his grip on Zara's hand, feeling her pulse hammer against his skin.
Leon and Tessa regrouped behind him, bloodied but unbroken.
Elena stood slightly ahead, dagger ready, hair plastered against her pale skin by the rain.
For one heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then Fred spoke, his voice steady and sure, slicing through the storm:
"Come, then."
And the final battle of the night began.
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