Jarek stood still.

  The assassin was stronger. Faster. More skilled. If they fought on equal terms, Jarek would lose.

  So he wouldn’t fight fair.

  He wasn’t trying to win. Not yet.

  He just needed one thing.

  Blood.

  Jarek shifted his footing, just enough to draw attention. The assassin’s sharp eyes flicked to the movement. His body coiled, his weight shifting forward.

  He saw an opening.

  And he took it.

  A blur of steel—too fast.

  Jarek twisted, moving with the attack, guiding it instead of avoiding it.

  Pain ripped through his shoulder, the blade carving into flesh. The burn of a fresh wound flared in his nerves—shallow, but real. A cost he’d already accepted.

  The assassin smirked, already twisting for the next strike—but something was wrong.

  His expression flickered. A fraction of hesitation.

  Jarek saw it—felt it.

  The assassin had overcommitted. His blade had cut through Jarek’s flesh—but Jarek’s pivot had shifted the angle of the strike just enough.

  Just enough to make the assassin’s blade graze his own arm on the recoil.

  A shallow cut, but enough to spill blood.

  Jarek’s eyes locked onto the red droplets arcing through the air.

  There it is.

  Burst.

  A flicker of shadow—Jarek vanished into the mist.

  The assassin’s blade cut through empty air. His stance shifted, recalibrating—but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Because Jarek wasn’t dodging.

  He was moving through the mist—straight into the assassin’s blood.

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  A fine red mist had sprayed from the wound, caught in the air for just a moment.

  Jarek moved through it.

  His skin drank it in.

  A shiver tore through Jarek. Heat burned through his veins, fast and violent.

  His muscles clenched—then loosened. His breath sharpened, the world around him slowing—not truly slowing, but his body was processing faster.

  The hunger inside him curled, momentarily satisfied. For now.

  Then came the voice.

  [GENETIC INTEGRATION COMPLETE.]

  NEW MUTATION ACQUIRED: "PREDATOR’S GAIT"

  Enhanced Movement Efficiency (+25%)

  Reaction Speed Boost (+15%)

  Stability During High-Speed Combat

  Jarek exhaled.

  The power settled into him, not like a foreign addition, but as if it had always been there—as if it belonged.

  The assassin wiped at his arm, frowning at the blood. He hadn’t even felt the cut at first.

  Then his eyes flicked up.

  They widened—just slightly.

  Because he had seen it.

  The blood on Jarek’s skin.

  Not dripping, not staining. Absorbing.

  His expression didn’t twist in annoyance this time, but in true, visceral revulsion.

  The assassin took a slow step back. His grip on his sword shifted—not in preparation for an attack.

  He was reassessing.

  “…What the hell is wrong with you?”

  His voice was different this time. Not just mocking—genuine. Like he was looking at something that shouldn’t exist.

  Jarek rolled his shoulders, feeling the shift in his stance. It was effortless. Like he’d been fighting in this body for years instead of seconds.

  "You're looking at me different now," Jarek said. "That Zero talk starting to feel a little stupid?"

  The assassin’s lips curled, but the mockery was forced.

  "You are a Zero." His tone was sharper now, less playful. "That's what makes this even more disgusting."

  Jarek didn’t respond.

  He moved.

  A single step—too smooth, too precise.

  The assassin reacted instantly, slashing horizontally—but Jarek wasn’t there.

  He slid under the strike, his body shifting like a second thought. No wasted effort. No hesitation.

  His foot hit the stone, and he launched forward, blade flashing toward the assassin’s ribs.

  The assassin snarled, pivoting to block. Steel met steel—but Jarek was already moving again.

  His weight shifted mid-exchange, adjusting before the assassin could recover. His blade turned, skimming past the block, carving a thin line across the assassin’s side.

  The assassin hissed, stepping back. Not from pain—from realization.

  Jarek wasn’t just faster.

  He was reacting before the fight even happened.

  Jarek exhaled, keeping his stance loose. He could feel the assassin watching him now. Studying.

  Jarek was doing the same.

  Looking for the cracks.

  He had already found one.

  The assassin relied on perfect control. Every attack was measured, every movement fluid—but he didn’t adjust fast. Not when things broke rhythm.

  That hesitation a moment ago—when Jarek shifted mid-strike?

  That was it.

  The assassin’s balance was too perfect. Too rigid.

  If Jarek broke the rhythm again—he could force another mistake.

  The assassin exhaled through his nose, flexing his fingers against the hilt of his blade. His golden insignia glinted under the city’s dim light.

  Then—he smiled.

  It was the wrong smile.

  Jarek barely had time to react.

  A flicker of movement—the assassin vanished.

  Not into the mist. Not like Jarek.

  He just moved.

  One second, he was standing five paces away. The next—

  Steel whistled toward Jarek’s throat.

  Jarek twisted, instincts screaming—but not fast enough.

  A flash of pain—white-hot, slicing deep.

  Blood splattered against the stone.

  Jarek’s blood.

  His feet barely touched the ground before the next attack came—ruthless, unrelenting.

  Jarek’s mind snapped into focus. He had seconds. Less than seconds.

  He needed a counter.

  Now.