Pacifist

THUD.

Unknown hit the concrete hard, his body rolling from the impact. He let out a quiet grunt, barely catching himself before his face met the floor.

Mariko didn't even look at him.

Her gaze was locked onto Kairi's still body.

A smirk curled at her lips.

"Tsk, tsk…" She took a slow step forward. "What a pitiful sight. I expected so much more from the 'Pacifist.'"

Jin immediately stepped in her path, his sword raised.

Celeste, Aiko, and Kasumi followed suit—each of them positioning themselves in front of Kairi, their weapons drawn, their bodies tense.

Mariko stopped.

Her golden eyes flickered with amusement.

"Oh?" she tilted her head. "Are you protecting her? How cute."

Then, in a heartbeat—

She moved.

Mariko rushed at them like a ghost in the wind, her blade whistling through the air.

Jin barely blocked in time, his sword clashing against hers in a burst of sparks. The sheer force of her strike sent him staggering back.

Celeste fired—but Mariko weaved through the bullets like water, closing the distance instantly.

Aiko lunged from the side, daggers aiming for Mariko's ribs—but Mariko turned, caught Aiko's wrist mid-strike, and twisted.

CRACK.

Aiko let out a sharp gasp, her knee buckling.

Mariko knee-struck her in the stomach and sent her flying back.

Kasumi struck next—her katana slicing through the air, aiming to take Mariko's head.

But Mariko ducked under the blade and delivered a brutal palm strike to Kasumi's chest.

BOOM.

Kasumi's body lurched backward, ribs nearly caving in from the sheer impact. She spat blood, stumbling.

Mariko's movements were flawless. Calculated. Perfect.

She barely broke a sweat.

Mariko took a step forward, her blade gleaming under the moonlight, eyes set on Kairi's unconscious body.

Then—

A gust of wind swept through the battlefield.

And with it—a presence.

A shadow.

A ghost.

Mariko's body froze as an unnatural chill crawled up her spine.

A voice, smooth yet venomous, echoed from the darkness.

"Step away from the Pacifist."

Mariko's golden eyes snapped to the rooftop above.

There, perched like a specter from the underworld, stood a figure draped in black.

A sleek, jet-black bodysuit hugged her form, reinforced with shadow-like armor plates. A long, flowing coat of midnight silk trailed behind her, embroidered with patterns resembling fractured glass. Her face was concealed beneath a sleek, onyx mask, its eye slits glowing a cold, merciless violet.

At her hip—a crimson blade, resting in an intricate sheath.

The air shifted.

Mariko's hand tightened on her sword's hilt, her instincts screaming at her.

Who the hell…?

Jin, Celeste, Aiko, Kasumi, and Unknown all felt it too.

The overwhelming, suffocating pressure.

Mariko exhaled sharply. "And you are?"

The woman stepped off the rooftop—and landed without a sound.

Silent. Calculated. Absolute.

She tilted her head, her glowing eyes narrowing beneath her mask.

"I go by many names."

Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, slow and deliberate.

"But for tonight… you can call me 'Shatterwraith.'"

Mariko's fingers twitched.

A professional.

Not some reckless thug.

Not some mercenary.

This was something else.

Something far more dangerous.

And for the first time in a long time—Mariko stepped back.