Chapter 8: Giant Threat
Yuki’s sword clanged against Red’s bronze-coated fists. Though she parried the blow, the sheer force behind it sent her skidding backward across the cracked marble floor, leaving a screeching trail in her wake.
Red’s eyes narrowed. "What are you?" he muttered, voice low, uncertain. He stared into the ghostly pale orbs that glowed faintly behind the vertical slits of her helm. No face. No breath. Only hollow blackness. The figure before him didn’t breathe, didn’t flinch. It didn’t move like a person.
His skill, [Bronze Fist], wasn’t a trivial one. His punches could dent concrete, rupture ribs, punch through steel sheets. But even with everything he had, he hadn’t even scratched that armor.
"I do not speak with my food."
The words echoed like they were spoken from the bottom of a well.
Before he could react, Yuki sprang forward. Her sword screamed downward with crushing intent. Red gritted his teeth, bracing—arms crossed, veins bulging across his neck. The impact sent vibrations down his spine, but he held.
She didn’t give him space to recover. A horizontal slash followed, precise and merciless. He blocked again, but the force drove him backward. His boots scraped desperately for footing.
Red’s eyes darted to the wall at his right. Something was wrong there. A presence. Heavy and still. His instincts flared, warning of something waiting—something evil. But why hadn’t it struck?
Yuki didn’t give him time to think.
In a blink, she vanished—only to reappear in a ghosting blur, leaving behind afterimages that bled light like echoes of a soul.
And then—she was right in front of him.