The night was alive, its blackness thick and pulsating, torn by ragged flashes of red and violet that raced overhead, clinging to the edges of the darkness as if ripping its shreds apart. A low hum trembled in the air, too deep to be fully heard, more a vibration settling into the bones. Near the ground spread a semi-transparent fog, writhing and alive, its edges shimmering as if caught between states—liquid and gas, real and unreal. Shadows within it stretched and bent, full of secrets that light had not touched.
Amidst this chaos stood Cyne and Rain, their laughter cutting the silence. It was sharp and bright, a sound that sparkled like shattered glass, but beneath it lurked something else—something cold, something not belonging to the warmth of their voices. They tossed words back and forth, light and biting, each syllable laced with a sharpness that could wound if listened to too closely. Cyne's lips curved into a smile, not soft but crooked, teeth catching a faint glimmer from the pulsating light, and the shadow from her face fell onto the fog, bending like a living thing. Rain answered, own grin wide and reckless, though fingers idly played with the edge of a sleeve, where a dark, wet spot gleamed, unnoticed, its surface catching the light, shimmering like a shard of night.
Fog swirled at their feet, parting when Cyne moved, movements fluid and deliberate. Eyes—sharp, faintly glowing like embers in the darkness—locked onto Rain's eyes, and for a moment the air thickened. Then, with a sudden, graceful lunge, she darted forward, body becoming a blur of motion. Rain's laughter broke off in a short intake of breath when Cyne knocked her to the ground, pinning her with swift precision. Cyne's hands drove into the surface on both sides of Rain's torso, holding her down, and long hair—two large strands reaching the waist and several thin ones framing the face—surged forward, touching Rain's cheeks. Thin strands fell to the neck and swayed in a faint breeze, tips like feathers caressing Rain's skin, and the light of the flashes played on them, creating an illusion of living flame that flickered in time with their breath, until Cyne leaned closer with a predatory grin, promising more than she revealed. Breath slid across Rain's face, cold yet burning, like ice pressed to a wound.
The world around them exploded in colors, as if their collision set it ablaze: red and violet mingled with black, swirling into a kaleidoscope that painted their skin with fleeting shades, and thickening fog rose, enveloping them in translucent threads weaving a fragile cocoon, shimmering with each movement of light. Shadows played on Cyne's face, accentuating the sharp angles of the jaw and the curve of the lips, and eyes seemed to blaze brighter, two points of fire in the gloom. Rain lay beneath, gaze steady, dark pools where the colors above reflected in jagged glints—alive, restless, hiding depths shimmering just out of reach.
Cyne's hand moved, slowly and deliberately, fingers—cold, precise—slid along Rain's jawline with a touch that was icy but measured, like a blade testing its mark. The gesture was almost tender, but behind it lay a weight, like a silent question hanging in the air. Rain's breath faltered, chest rising sharply, but she did not pull away. Instead, in a sudden surge, she lunged upward, arms wrapping around Cyne, pulling her into a fierce embrace. Their bodies collided, warmth crashing into the cold of the night, and for a split second the colors around seemed to flare brighter—red deepened to blood, violet shimmered like a bruised sky—before settling into a pulsing rhythm matching their entwined forms.
In this fleeting moment, something flickered at the edge of vision—a thin black thread, its surface gleaming with a sickly yellow sheen, gliding through the fog before dissolving into the darkness, unnoticed. Their attention was riveted to each other, but the air grew heavier, as if the world itself inhaled and held its breath.
The world blurred into streaks of black and yellow, a canvas smeared by unseen hands. From this haze Rain's gaze sharpened, senses clinging to fragments. The air was thick, humming with a low buzz settling in the skull, and fog clung to the skin, cold and damp, translucent fingers coiling around. Cyne was here—everywhere—figure flickering, appearing and disappearing. She emerged on the right, silhouette leaning forward, fluid like liquid metal, eyes burning into Rain with an intensity that seemed too real. Then she vanished, only to surface on the left, movements a graceful arc, hair catching faint light, casting long, dancing shadows.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Colors pulsed—black swallowed yellow, yellow flowed back into black—and fog wove between them, a shimmering veil distorting the edges of their figures. Cyne's face was close, features sharp and luminous, the play of shadows and light carving her into something unearthly. Lips parted slightly, and laughter escaped—soft, melodic, but with a sharpness that pricked Rain's skin. They moved together, steps almost a dance, shadows stretching and intertwining across the ground in perfect synchrony. Rain reached out, fingers trembling, seeking Cyne's hand, but closed on emptiness, passing through air that seemed too thin, too hollow.
The rhythm faltered. Cyne's laughter grew distant, an echo as if trapped in a vast, empty space, and the world slammed shut. Darkness flooded in, sudden and absolute, leaving Rain alone with a sharp pang in the chest—brief and fleeting, settling into her as a shadow of a feeling slipping away. The edges of memory frayed, escaping her grasp, but something deep within whispered that this was more than it seemed.
Light ripped through the darkness—ragged and furious, as if the air itself had been slashed. Sparks rained down, hissing where they struck the ground, their glow swallowed by pools of slick, glassy residue gleaming underfoot. The space came alive with movement—blades of energy crackling and humming, edges alive with a force defying form, clashing with the sleek, hybrid weapons in Cyne and Rain's hands. They stood back to back, the sole point of stillness amidst the storm, silhouettes carved from chaos like statues animated in fire.
Enemies circled—figures cloaked in shadow, movements jagged yet precise, gripping those blazing Blades that sang with each strike. The air was thick with a faint scent of ozone and scorched metal, a metallic taste settling on the tongue, while a deep, resonant pulse throbbed from an unseen source, shaking the ground beneath. Cyne swayed to the left, weapon—a fusion of gun and blade—flashing, deflecting a blow with fluid grace, hair sweeping aside to reveal eyes burning with cold light. Smile was thin, barely there, but sharp as a blade.
Rain moved in counterpoint, blade slicing the air to the right, leaving a silver arc fading into blue. Steps were sharp, calculated, each strike a burst of power flowing into the next with predatory precision. They did not waver—bodies spun in a single rhythm, drawing closer then apart, as the battlefield bent to their will. Cyne slid forward, parrying a thrust, weapon retaliating with a flash that tore through an enemy's shadow. Rain darted aside, blade whipping through the air, cleaving another foe with the sound of shattering glass, and shards of light scattered, fading into the fog. Their movements seemed to follow a shared pulse, shadows intertwining as if echoing a dance.
The battle raged, a symphony of light and shadow, until the last enemy fell, weapons dimming as they touched the ground. The pulse beneath grew louder, a heartbeat refusing to fade, and the air quivered under its weight.
The world was tilted, edges warped as if crushed by an unseen force. Shadows reigned, thick and impenetrable, swallowing all but the faintest glimmers—black and yellow flickers dancing like dying stars. Cyne stood at the center, figure half-hidden, a silhouette wrapped in an aura that felt alive, cold, and inevitable. Invisible threads with a yellow sheen stretched from her, barely visible in the dimness, their presence a whisper on the skin, a pressure coiling around everything. They wound tightest toward Rain, who stood a few steps away, face caught in a strip of light—half in shadow, half illuminated, eyes wide and searching.
Cyne's smile was no longer playful. It stretched across her face, sharp and cruel, a curve gleaming with intent as eyes blazed, two beacons in the abyss. The threads tightened, imperceptible yet suffocating, and the air grew denser, laden with a silent promise of something vast and terrible. Rain stepped forward, hand rising as if by instinct, but froze midair, fingers trembling against the pull of those unseen bonds. Shadows pulsed, alive with the same rhythm that haunted the battle, and suddenly Cyne's head snapped toward Rain—gaze locking with such force that time seemed to fracture. Smile flashed, predatory and ecstatic, and darkness surged in, severing everything...
