The blade slid between muscle and bone with a wet snick, metal grinding against cartilage as it lodged into her back shoulder.

The man’s breath hitched in his throat, both disbelieving and exhilarated. His hand clutched the dagger's handle like it was a goddamn lottery ticket. “Holy shit,” he whispered, eyes wild. “I did it. I actually—”

He didn’t get to finish.

With an aggressive, accelerated hitch of her hips, the girl with long, snow-silk hair pivoted. Her boot slammed into his chest. Bone cracked. Air fled his lungs in a strangled wheeze as he flew back and hit the stone ground like a dropped ragdoll.

She reached behind her shoulder, fingers curling around the hilt of the blade still embedded in her body. The dagger came free with a sickening squelch. There was no grunt of pain, no flinch.

Just cold gold eyes, one visible beneath a sweep of pale bangs, the other hidden behind a black leather patch.

Then, before his bulging eyes, the fresh wound he’d inflicted on her back–deep and ragged–glowed. A pulse of warm gold shimmered from the center, and skin stitched itself closed like rewinding time.

“N-no,” he croaked, crawling backward with bloodied hands. “That’s…that’s impossible. You—you can’t be a Healer—!”

She stalked toward him, boots clicking on the Domain stone like the ticking of a clock marking its last seconds.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she murmured, voice smooth and void of pity. Her gold eye gleamed, and the sun behind her wrapped her in a deadly halo. “And the good news is…no one will know you ever were.”

Before he could scream, she was on him.

A whisper of steel. A glint of silver. And the dagger he had once wielded was now pressed to his throat. The blade moved so fast, his brain couldn’t comprehend the blood fountaining in a gurgled rush. He flailed once, then collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

Elara let the body slump. She wiped the blood from her cheek with two fingers, disgusted not by the kill, but by the mess. Sloppy.

A shadow tore open midair behind her with a deafening crack. The tear in space writhed, a hole filled with nothing but pure, roiling black. She stepped through it without looking back. As soon as her boot hit the real-world pavement, the rift sealed itself with a sigh, the street returning to its usual, calm chaos.

Cars honked. Neon signs flickered overhead. It was just past dusk–rush hour. The Domain she’d exited had been hidden in plain sight: a tear behind a shattered billboard in the middle of Grand Avenue.

Elara adjusted her coat and pulled out her phone. Blood still freckled her jaw and neck, but she didn’t seem to care. Her finger swiped up and tapped a name in her contacts.

“Yeah. There was a rat in the Domain,” she said coolly, her gaze sweeping the crowd of gawkers held back by police barricades and uniformed guards. “I’ll need you to handle it before I drop the Core off with the DCA.”

She hung up before the voice on the other end could respond. This hadn’t been the first rat, and it wouldn’t be the last.

To her left, a group of girls huddled near the barricade, whispering behind overly sweet bubble teas.

“That’s her, right?” one gasped. “The Angel of Death?”

“The one who solos raids? Her monster body count is insane.”

“But I heard that if she joins a raid with others, someone always ends up dead.”

Elara caught the words. Smirked. If only they knew about the corpse inside the Domain she’d just cleared.

Three men in dark suits stepped forward like wolves scenting blood. Clean shoes. Cheap cologne. Recruiters.

The tallest of the trio adjusted his tie and handed her a cream-white business card. The gold embossing practically screamed elitist dickwad.

“Elara Max, your stats are impressive as always,” he said with a greasy smile. “The Crystal Guild would be honored to—”

Crystal Guild recruiters. Again. How many times do I have to swat these dung flies away before they get the picture?

Without a word, she held the card between two fingers and raised her hand in front of the man’s face.

Confused, he hesitated. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

Her ring finger dropped. “One. I clear raids solo. Two. I don’t profit-share with anyone.” When the index finger followed, the card slipped and fluttered to the ground.

The last finger–her middle–wagged ever so slightly. “And three…well, I think you can figure that one out.”

The recruiter blinked. Twice. His two colleagues exchanged awkward glances, but neither dared to speak. His mouth opened like he was about to object, but whatever retort he’d had remained choked in his throat.

Going solo meant no Guild to siphon a cut. No Guild to report to. And easier “rodent” clean-ups without anyone watching her back.

It had been decades since the first Domain entrance appeared–a swirling gateway that connected Earth to monster-filled dimensions. The first one had been a low-level Domain, but within two months, it had destabilized and unleashed hell.

The moment Domains had turned volatile, there was a catastrophic backlash that allowed monsters to escape into the human world, wreaking bloody havoc.

It wasn’t until later that the government discovered a select few could enter these portals. These individuals were called Raiders.

Every Raider possessed unique abilities that enhanced their combat skills, making them invaluable for clearing Domains and destroying the Cores that stabilized the rifts.

Another group awakened as well–Healers. Their role was purely supportive; they were the only ones capable of neutralizing the injuries sustained from monster attacks.

But Elara Max was special in a way no one could even imagine. And she could never reveal it.

That was the one thing Kass had made her swear never to do–branding it into her as an unshakable law.

Save and heal no one but yourself. A cruel but absolute mantra. Kass trained her to kill, not to heal.

For the past ten years, Elara had been the single S-Class Raider unaffiliated with one of the three major Guilds–Pearl, Diamond, and Crystal. She couldn’t risk being reclassified during the ranking tests Guilds required for registration.

Ping.

Her phone buzzed.

She flicked her screen open and grinned.

[Payment received: $3,000. Contractor: DCA Operations HQ]

Money. Clean. Fast.

She shoved her phone into her coat, stretched her neck with a satisfying pop, and let out a small, satisfied breath.

Whoever said money can’t buy happiness clearly didn’t make enough.