The smoke lingered heavily in the air, swirling around broken bottles and the deep red reflections pooling on the floor. Mischa stood at the heart of the room, her umbrella casually resting against her shoulder, as if she hadn't just taken down twenty men.
Her golden eyes flickered through the haze. "You're not one of them," she said softly, her calm demeanor only amplifying her menacing presence. "So, tell me who sent you?"
Taura tilted her head, intrigued. "And why would I share that with you?"
Mischa offered a polite, almost sweet smile. "Because I'm giving you a chance to leave here alive. That… doesn't come around often."
Taura let out a short, sharp laugh, fearless. "You really think I'm afraid of some crazy maid with a gun-umbrella?"
Mischa's expression remained unchanged. "You think this is about fear? It's about necessity." She lowered her umbrella just a bit, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Do you even know what's in those cases you're guarding?"
For a brief moment, Taura hesitated. Her brow furrowed, but she quickly masked it with another grin. "Not my concern. My job is to keep my mouth shut."
Mischa sighed, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "What a pity. You seem strong… but blind loyalty has always been humanity's downfall."
That struck a nerve. Taura's grin faded, her tone turning sharp. "Funny coming from someone who calls another person 'master.'"
For the first time, Mischa's eyes flickered with emotion.
The silence that hung in the air was almost unbearable. You could feel the tension thickening, vibrating all around.
Then—
BANG.
The umbrella erupted in a burst of golden light, unleashing a storm of bullets that rained down like a torrential downpour. Taura dove behind a battered table, splinters flying as she slid to the side. The bullets tore through glass, ripping the bar apart in mere moments.
"Looks like I hit a nerve!" Taura shouted, gliding across the slick floor.
Mischa spun her umbrella with a flourish, smoke curling from its barrels. "You'll soon learn when to keep your mouth shut."
Crouching low, Taura gripped her curved blade, and that's when it happened. Her eyes flickered with a faint orange glow. The knife began to hum, the air around it shimmering.
Mischa caught on right away. "Oh my."
Taura grinned. "Looks like you're starting to understand."
"Indeed, you're a K1LAA. How intriguing." Mischa replied with a smirk.
Orange energy surged down Taura's arm, crawling over the knife like molten lightning. The blade began to transform, the metal bending and expanding, the handle searing against her palm. The dull steel morphed into a massive cleaver, its edge etched with the fierce face of a roaring lion.
The very air quivered.
"I call it Lion's Fang."
Mischa's eyes widened in awe. "Fascinating."
Taura slammed her foot down, cracking the floor beneath her. "Yeah?" She raised the blade, energy swirling around it like a tempest. "Then pay attention, maid."
With a powerful swing, Taura sliced through the air, and the world seemed to split apart. A shockwave burst from her blade, ripping through tables, chairs, and walls as if they were made of paper. The entire left side of the bar exploded outward, sending glass and debris flying into the stormy night.
Zemin, racing toward the backdoor, turned just in time to witness the explosion behind him. The force of the blast nearly knocked him off his feet.
"Holy shit!" he gasped, gripping the briefcases tighter. He leaped over a counter, shielding his face as burning wood and shattered liquor bottles rained down around him.
In the midst of the chaos, Taura landed in a crouch, her blade still buzzing with leftover energy. Mischa stood across the wrecked floor, a faint cut along her cheek the first indication she'd taken a hit. Her expression had shifted from anger to something colder.
"You shouldn't have done that," Mischa said in a low voice.
Taura flashed a grin, sweat beading on her forehead. "Why? Did I ruin your uniform?"
The maid twirled her umbrella again, and this time, a halo of golden magic rings appeared around her.
"No," Mischa whispered. "You just made me take this seriously."
Outside, the air was thick with dust and smoke. Splinters of wood fell like ash as Zemin burst through the cracked doorway, stumbling into the alley. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his jacket torn, and he clutched the two metal briefcases as if his life depended on them.
Behind him, the bar was nothing but a crater of flames and shattered glass. The sounds of grinding metal and distant gunfire still echoed inside.
He doubled over, panting, his eyes wide. "Holy hell…" he muttered, glancing back at the chaos. "Why… why the hell did I even agree to this?"
He dropped the briefcases to the ground, wiping sweat from his brow. "Taura said it was just a pickup job! Simple! In and out!" His voice wavered between frustration and disbelief.
He pointed toward the smoking hole that used to be a building. "Does that look simple to you!?"
He started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. "Did Shuren know she could do that? Did Pixia?! Like hell, does she even know what she's capable of!?"
He laughed nervously, almost hysterically. "No way am I going on a job with her next time."
Clink.
He froze.
The sound came from behind him. Before he could even turn around, the briefcases vanished. Snatched right out of his hands. Zemin spun around, his heart racing, and caught sight of them.
The two female guards Mischa had let go earlier stood at the mouth of the alley. Bloodied and bruised, but very much alive. Their uniforms were torn, and their eyes burned with determination.
One of them, trembling or maybe just scared, held up the cases like they were trophies. "Thanks for holding this, good sir."
Zemin's jaw dropped. "How the hell are you still—"
"Alive?" the other one cut in, flicking a drop of blood from her cheek. "Guess she wasn't in the mood to kill everyone. Lucky us."
Zemin took a step back, raising his hands defensively. "Look, I don't want any—"
"D—Don't be scared," the first one said. "We're not gonna kill you."
They turned and started walking toward the street.
Zemin clenched his fists. His pride urged him to do something anything but every instinct told him to stay put.
Then one of them glanced back over her shoulder. "If your little friend makes it out of that mess in there… tell her the shipment's ours now."
The alley fell silent again as they melted into the night, their silhouettes swallowed by the flickering neon lights. Zemin stood there, shoulders slumped, staring at the smoke still rising from the wreckage.
He groaned. "...Shuren's gonna kill me."