The city held its breath that night. In the labyrinth of alleys and neon-lit ruins, whispers ran like rivers—the wolves will be hunted, the wolves will be crushed. But in the heart of the shadows, Luv and Ayu sharpened their silence into blades.
They didn't wait for the trap. They built their own.
A warehouse by the eastern docks was the council's meeting ground—a fortress of steel shutters, armed guards, and the stink of blood money. Inside, the lieutenants of rival gangs drank, plotted, and waited for Moraku's orders. Outside, a mist rolled from the sea, cloaking the streets in white.
Luv and Ayu emerged from that mist like phantoms.
Ayu's blade whispered first. A guard never saw her face—only the glint of silver across his throat before he collapsed in silence, his blood darkening the fog. She moved like water, her body bending with an elegance that turned murder into art.
Luv was different. He didn't strike quickly. He struck heavy. His fists broke ribs with the sound of snapping branches. His knuckles shattered skulls as if they were glass. Each breath he exhaled was cold, measured, and final.
Inside the warehouse, laughter and the clink of bottles were cut short when the steel shutters slammed shut. A blade embedded itself into the wooden table, vibrating with deadly intent.
Ayu stepped into the room, her emerald eyes gleaming under the faint lamplight. Behind her, Luv dragged a body and let it fall with a dull thud.
"You speak of wolves," Ayu said softly, her voice dripping with venom, "but you forgot what happens when wolves bite first."
One man lunged with a pistol, but before his finger touched the trigger, Luv's hand cracked across his jaw—bone tore through skin, his body falling limp to the ground.
The others froze, staring. These weren't prey. These were predators.
Blood painted the warehouse walls. Some begged, some fought, some tried to flee. None succeeded. Ayu's blade traced red arcs through the smoke while Luv moved like a storm, his fists breaking men faster than their screams could rise.
When it was done, silence pressed heavy. The mist outside slipped into the cracks, mingling with the copper tang of death.
Ayu wiped her blade with a strip of silk torn from a victim's coat. "That should be enough of a message."
Luv, still breathing slow, whispered:
"No. This is just the first bite. Let the city smell blood. Let them know—the wolves don't hide. They hunt."
As they vanished into the mist, the survivors—few, broken, trembling—crawled toward the door. Word would spread. Fear would spread faster.
The first strike had landed.
The war had begun.