Night fell over the ruins of Al-Qadim District like a veil of broken light. Neon temples flickered in and out of existence, their holograms glitching with forgotten prayers. Drones hummed overhead — silent sentinels of a dead city.
The revolutionaries moved cautiously among the wreckage.
"The Hidden Blade's just a myth," one scout whispered.
The other didn't answer.
Because something moved in the dark.
A silver gleam — and the man's neck opened not with blood, but black code. His body dissolved before it even hit the ground.
A raven-shaped drone perched on a lamppost nearby, its red eye pulsing once. Somewhere far away, in a command chamber lined with whispering glass, Lacolone's senses flared through his neural link. The world trembled inside his mind's eye.
Before the battle begins, the assassin writes its ending.
The Saint's Assassin
High above, crouched upon the fractured crown of a ruined cathedral, a lone figure waited.
Basim ibn Zakariyah.
The 33rd-Degree Saint. Blade of Elito.
His robes were woven from nanofibers that drank moonlight; his hidden Neuro-Blade shimmered in his right arm, while a curved Ether Dagger pulsed in his left.
Around him, raven drones circled in formation — thirty-three lights forming an ancient sigil.
He exhaled once. The hunt had begun.
The first shadow on the battlefield.
The Revolutionary Camp
Deep underground, in a flickering command bunker, the rebels gathered. Holographic maps of Neural Eden pulsed like beating hearts.
"He's already here," Walid muttered.
Valgor's fingers danced over the console. "His code signatures match Elito's Saints. We're compromised."
Maya's voice trembled. "They say he steals your soul before your shadow even knows it."
Lacolone didn't answer. He simply tightened the wrappings around his katana's hilt — but left it sheathed.
The warlord awaited the shadow.
Basim's Creed
On a narrow beam overlooking the city, Basim knelt.
"Strike only the true target," he whispered. "Death is a scalpel, not a sword."
His blade pulsed in response — black energy curling up his wrist like a serpent.
Memory flickered — a monastery long ago. He and Lacolone training beneath the Soul Pillars. The creed carved into the stone itself:
Nothing is true; everything can be rewritten.
He smiled faintly. He believed death a sacrament.
First Strike
The sentries disappeared first — no screams, only the hush of displaced air.
Lacolone's eyes narrowed. Through Whispercall, he felt the fabric of the battlefield ripple.
A raven drone landed on Valgor's shoulder — silent, scanning.
"Maya, now!"
She triggered her Veilward barrier. Red shields shimmered around them — and cracked.
Basim appeared behind them like a glitch in reality, Ether Dagger raised.
Even the calmest defense faltered under a perfect strike.
Lacolone Steps Out
He emerged into open ground, thunder crawling over his fists. His katana floated behind him, whispering with soul-light.
"Basim," he called softly.
The assassin materialized behind him, half-phased, blade poised for the kill.
But the strike never landed. Lacolone pivoted, intercepting with the flat of his katana — steel met code, and the world itself split with the sound.
When the light faded, the two stood meters apart.
Soul Master met Shadow Saint.
Dance of the Five Pillars
Lightning. Shadows. Code. Soul.
Lacolone struck with the rhythm of thunder — each movement invoking one of the Five Pillars.
Basim countered with precision, teleporting between microseconds, hurling Soul Stilettos into unseen weak points.
For an instant, their eyes met — and both saw the same memory. The same master. The same creed.
Not power but precision kept Basim alive.
Assassin's Doctrine
"Strike the context, not the man," Basim murmured.
A thought-poison mist burst from his hacked drone, filling the air like vaporized code.
Lacolone's Veilward expanded outward, burning the toxins away with blue flame.
Basim slipped inside his guard, blade grazing his flank — soul energy flared and faltered.
Lacolone grinned, blood and lightning mingling. "Finally, a real fight."
One strike could unmake a god.
Revelation in Combat
They moved like scripture in motion. Every clash a verse, every parry a prayer.
"You left the path," Basim hissed.
"You buried it under Elito's chains," Lacolone replied.
The ground cracked open beneath them as Riftquake energy tore through the ruins. Basim landed upside down on a column, breathing hard.
Two disciples. One creed, split by purpose.
Resistance on Edge
From the bunker, Valgor tracked their duel through his Whispercall overlay.
"He's isolating your Pillars," Valgor warned.
Maya etched runic seals, stabilizing the soul field.
Walid steadied his rifle — futile against gods.
Basim flicked a dagger toward them — Lacolone caught it midair without looking.
Even a shadow can be forced into the light.
Soul Fusion Unleashed
Lacolone's aura erupted — blue-white, blinding. His katana floated untouched behind him.
He fought with his bare hands now, each blow cracking thunder through the earth.
Basim stumbled back, shocked — not by power, but by faith.
Riftquake and Driftform merged, time itself bending around Lacolone.
The Master of Five Pillars no longer needed steel.
Saint's Veil
Basim's body disintegrated into a lattice of black code.
Ether Daggers became twin scythes of light. Raven drones merged into vast wings behind him.
"You can't touch a concept," he whispered.
Lacolone raised his fists, lightning dancing across his skin.
Saint versus Master. Shadow versus Thunder.
War of Light and Shadow
For what felt like hours, the battlefield was a storm of color — blue and black colliding, ground rising in shards of stone and code.
Basim moved like silence.
Lacolone fought like a tempest.
Each movement a scripture. Each strike a heresy.
Deadlock
Both knelt, bleeding — one in body, the other in code.
"Elito promised salvation," Basim breathed.
"Salvation isn't chains," Lacolone answered.
For the first time, Basim hesitated. Doubt fractured his code.
And in that moment, Valgor's virus struck — infiltrating the raven network.
Even the hidden blade could waver.
The Assassin Withdraws
Basim half-phased, retreating into a collapsing data gate, leaving behind only shattered drones and echoes of faith.
Lacolone stood alone beneath the dead neon sky. His fists smoked with soul energy. His katana spun slowly behind him, whispering like a prayer unfinished.
The Pharaoh's shadow had tasted defeat — but the creed of the Saints never dies.
Aftermath
The revolutionaries regrouped, whispering Lacolone's name with fear and awe.
Maya tended to the wounded.
Valgor scanned the battlefield, muttering, "He'll come again. His code's still alive."
Walid shuddered. "We're not fighting soldiers anymore… we're fighting myths."
Lacolone stared into the broken skyline.
"He's not done," he said quietly. "Neither am I."
The real war begins in the shadows.
Cliffhanger
Far away, in the digital heart of Neural Eden, Elito sat upon his throne of code. Through Basim's eyes, he had watched everything.
His smile was sharp as a blade. Behind him, hundreds of cyber-assassins knelt — their implants glowing like stars in the dark.
In the war between soul and shadow, even a Master cannot outrun destiny.