Sparks spat like fireflies, the floor screeched like ice under skates, and the whole classroom shuddered like a drum.
“So strong—like a wave hitting a cliff.”
A lanky boy hefted a massive black blade like a crescent of night; he was barely muscled, his features plain as a streetlamp, yet his expression sat on his face like winter frost.
After their clash, Yun Shi stood cool as still water, the silver muzzle aimed at him like a cold moon.
A bead of sweat slid from his brow like dew, his smile cracked like porcelain, and his grip on the giant blade dug in like roots.
“Your name?” Her voice cut clean, like a tempered edge.
“Donghai Shu.”
“I’ll remember it,” she said, carving it like a mark in stone, and her gun barked like lightning.
Donghai Shu raised the giant blade like a shield of midnight, roared like thunder, and leapt; his blade fell from above like a guillotine, and Yun Shi bent aside like a reed in wind.
The strike missed; the giant blade punched the floor and rooted there like a stake, and Yun Shi fired a few close shots like a sudden hail.
Donghai Shu twisted his waist like a turning wheel; the blade followed his spin like a storm arc and chopped straight toward her.
Yun Shi dropped low like a coiled spring, stowed the gun with a snap like closing a fan, and sank her body; the giant blade whooshed over her head like a hawk, stealing a few hairs.
A perfect opening, his heartbeat thudding like a drum.
His weapon whirled a few more times like a windmill, every cut angling for her vitals like a hunter’s arrow. Yun Shi slid sideways like water, lowered her waist like a willow, and fell back like a leaf; after a swift sequence, she slipped past cut after cut like a fish through reeds.
Brutal strikes—ice pricked her spine—if she were a breath late, he’d cleave her waist like splitting firewood.
This one isn’t to be underestimated—like a sleeping tiger under brush.
Beneath the hood, her brows knit like tightening string; her hands clenched the weapon like a talisman, stealing a thread of calm.
“So, what will you do?” His half-smile, half-sneer sat like a cat watching a sparrow.
Caution flickered like a candle; Yun Shi’s foot slid back like a leaf drawn by tide.
His path is that giant blade—steady like a pendulum—but the unknown still lurks like fog.
No point overthinking—resolve struck like flint—test him myself.
She drew a black metal tube from her cloak like plucking a thorn; her pale, slender hand pressed the switch like a lull in rain; blue-violet light bloomed like a lotus, the hum rising like bees.
“A Light Blade?”
“My turn,” she said, voice cool as frost.
She sank her hips and lunged like an arrow loosed.
Donghai Shu slipped past that Light Blade like a shadow; no fool, he brought his giant blade down hard like a falling star. Yun Shi raised her Light Blade to meet him, the clash crashing like a thunderclap.
Her Light Blade seethed with heat like a sun shard; when it kissed cold steel, smoke curled from his weapon like morning mist. The giant blade was destructive, but pure metal—its slick face now smoking like iron thrown back into a forge, a skin of molten brightness bleeding like liquid fire.
Damn—panic sparked like oil catching.
He jerked the blade back like a whip; Yun Shi seized the moment and drove in, her Light Blade carving a path like a comet.
He dodged like a stag in brambles, yet still had to wheel that heavy blade like an anchor to meet her.
“Don’t underestimate me!” His shout rolled like thunder over hills.
His swing sped up like a drumbeat, his footwork followed the path like notes on a stave.
“Manifest!” he cried, and Mystic Power coiled along the blade like storm serpents, power erupting like a bursting dam; the chop came straight down like a falling gate. Yun Shi’s heart jolted like a struck bell; the spot she’d stood on split open like a yawning crack.
“Not good…” The chill raced up her back like a north wind.
She flipped and sprang like a cat; a heartbeat later, the place beneath her became a bottomless maw like a black well.
“Take this!” The cry cut the air like a hawk’s scream.
The giant blade swept at her like a scythe; instinct flared like needles under skin, warning of the edge.
Whoosh.
At the instant before impact, she vanished like smoke blown by wind, and his attack bit empty air like a dog snapping at a ghost.
“What?!” His shock exploded like a startled crow; impossible—here one breath, gone the next like a thread cut.
His answer came the next second—she bloomed behind him like a shadow at dusk, and the Light Blade chopped down like falling lightning.
He ducked, a desperate drop like a stone, barely avoiding the stroke; his clothes split like torn silk and blackened like burnt paper.
“Teleportation?” His voice was a rasp like sand.
“No,” she answered, calm as rain; “close enough, but different. It’s a spatial jump.” Her tone floated like a skylark, tender with the raw edge of youth.
“Unlucky,” he muttered, frustration coiling like mist. “Never heard of a trick that weird.”
“Right. You’re losing to lack of intel,” she said, words cutting like a hidden blade in paper.
“I never said I lost,” he snapped, stubborn as a stone in a stream.
“Do you know? What kills isn’t weapon or man, but information,” she said, a truth laid down like frost.
…
Yun Shi vanished again like a lantern snuffed; Donghai Shu braced like a tree in wind, and bullets whipped in from nowhere like wasps in the dark.
He slanted his body like a reed and caught them on the giant blade like a midnight shield.
She skipped across the room like starlight, jumping from point to point like stepping stones; her quick feet tapped the floor like rain. He wanted to strike, but he couldn’t seize the real shadow—every glimpse slipped like fish scales.
In the dim, she flicked on the infrared in her Goggles like embers glowing; Donghai Shu’s position lit up clear as a red thread, and she eased out her loaded Beretta like a coiled viper ready to bite.
Anger edged his face like a crack in ice; toyed again and again, his temper ran dry like a drained reservoir.
The hum rose like bees; her Light Blade arced with a dancer’s grace like silk in wind, the thrust shooting in like a comet.
Yun Shi’s speed split the air like lightning; only a trailing afterimage lingered like smoke, giving him no time to set a guard like a shield.
Donghai Shu set the giant blade to her strike like a gate, and at close range he even snapped a counter like a trap, chopping straight across like a falling bar.
“What can you do now? Aside from die by my hand, you’re helpless!” Pride lifted his voice like a cresting wave.
He never saw the danger—hubris veiled him like fog.
In a blink, the girl before his blade vanished like a candle snuffed, and his swing cut empty again like wind through reeds.
A cold metal muzzle pressed his rear skull like winter iron; his heart hammered like a trapped bird, and his face drained to ash like snow.
“Checkmate.”
She spoke as calmly as placing a piece on a board, like Go stones clicking.
“Vanishing in an instant… a beam weapon… slippery tricks… a black cloak… face masked by Goggles…” His mutter was a broken chain, links flashing like dull steel.
He seemed to remember, his pallor bleaching like paper, despair showing like bruise-shadow in his eyes.
“Witch ‘Night Phantom.’”
The bullet left the chamber like a spark, blood jetted like a crimson spring, and the boy pitched to the floor like a felled sapling, fresh red pooling under his head like a spreading lake.
A fleck of blood spotted her Goggles like rain; Yun Shi wiped it away with a soft motion like brushing dust, the iron scent heavy as storm clouds, and lowered the gun like laying down a burden.
She was used to killing—disgust crawled up like bile—yet she still hated that smell like rot.
In her previous life, blood and blades were distant as stars; this life had tally marks she couldn’t count, and the reek of blood was foul like stagnant marsh.
Forget it—the thought closed like a door—none of it matters now.
“Let’s go.” Her voice moved on like a compass needle, and she walked alone toward the place where Mystic Power rippled like heat over stone.
