They all froze for an instant, not understanding. Then, as one, their gazes turned toward the entrance of the cave.
Footsteps echoed, deliberately slow, as if they belonged to a dancer stepping onto the stage of a theater where only tragedy was ever performed.

“The smell of blood…” murmured Seth.

Alice had sensed it too. The air was already thick with the metallic scent of blood from the battle that had just taken place. But this new odor, nauseatingly metallic, like dried blood, was overwhelming.

A feline shadow appeared on the wall. Slender yet graceful, it moved with the poise of a predator. A melodic voice rose, soft as a lullaby, yet cold as a blade against the throat:

“Well, well… looks like the cattle escaped from their pen…”

The figure stepped into the light. A woman dressed entirely in black, twin daggers in her hands, violet eyes gleaming like gemstones in the gloom. Her hair was as dark as the void, and on her head were panther ears. Her body was marked with dark tribal tattoos.

“But don’t worry,” she said with a lilting giggle, “Mirabelle is here to put you back on the right path. Hihi.”

A shiver ran through the group. Alice, still chained, felt her blood turn to ice. A panel appeared before her eyes.

[Mirabelle]

Race: Faëren
Class: Assassin Level 59

Magic:
– Shadow — Level 13

Skills:
– Hunter’s Instinct – Level 7
– Dismantling – Level 9
– Dagger Mastery – Level 15
– Torture – Level 10
– Tracking – Level 8
– Cooking – Level 6
– Common Language – Max Level
– Faëren Language – Level 10

The slaver chief, still alive but dying, dragged himself toward her, pleading:

“Mirabelle… Help me… They… they have…”

She crouched beside him, tilting her head slightly, amused.

“Oooh… you want me to help you? Poor beaten little rat… But you see, the Sect has no use for worms who can’t crawl.”

In one terrifyingly swift motion, she grabbed him by the hair. Time seemed to stop.

Her dagger sliced in an almost invisible arc. The body dropped to the ground, but the head, dripping, remained in the Faërenne’s hand. She tossed it over her shoulder without a glance.

The group was frozen.

Mirabelle finally turned her glowing violet eyes toward them, filled with a sickly excitement.

“Now then… be good. Back to your cages. I promise I’ll only take the nails.”

Sensing the deadly aura radiating from the woman, none of them spoke, but their muscles tensed as they raised their weapons.

Alice, trembling, shouted with a strange feeling of déjà vu:

“No! Run! You can’t win against her!”

Mirabelle closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled with a slow, almost sensual sigh.

“Aaah… thank you. It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper bloodbath. Go on then. Show me what you’ve got. It’s more fun when the meat struggles!”

Rilian was the first to move. He charged with a roar, blade aimed at the woman’s flank.

She dodged effortlessly. A sidestep, then a pivot, followed by a hiss through the air. The dagger didn’t touch him, yet.

Griak rushed in next, followed by Seth, both shouting to muster courage against the fear that gripped them. The young vampire tried a lightning-fast attack, arcs of electricity crackling in each hand. Mirabelle dodged with supernatural ease. She spun with feline grace, avoided the first strike, grabbed his arm, and hurled him into Griak, stopping the dwarf in his tracks.

She turned on herself, daggers whirling as extensions of her body. Seth screamed as a deep wound opened across his chest. He collapsed, unconscious.

Griak, already wounded from the previous battle and stunned by the shock, struggled to keep up. His next axe swing was deflected; one dagger struck his leg, another his shoulder.

From the shadows, Hati leapt. He burst from the darkness and clawed the assassin’s thigh. Mirabelle flinched.

“Tsk. Filthy mutt… You think you’re the only one who can play that game?”

She immediately vanished into the shadows.

“Careful!” Rilian warned. “She uses shadow magic!”

In an invisible movement, a kick hurled Hati against a wall with a muffled whimper. He went limp.

Rilian tried to take advantage of the opening to strike. Pain exploded in his side. He staggered, gasping.

A sharp, mad laugh echoed.

“What a lovely carnage! Don’t you just love the sight of blood?”

Shaeka, bow in hand, had taken cover.

“Why, you traitor? Why would a Faërenne like you side with these slaver pigs?!”

Mirabelle’s hidden voice replied, honey-sweet:

“Because our people are weak. They let themselves be ruled, they deserve their chains. I’m just helping nature along. Hihi.”

Osim, silent until now, finished tracing glowing circles. A pillar of flame burst from the spot where her voice had come.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and silence followed. Then slowly, Mirabelle reappeared… behind him.

Alice screamed:

“Osim!”

Too late, a dagger pierced his chest. He gasped, eyes wide, and fell. Dead.

Alice tried to scream, to run to him, but her chains rattled. Her cry died in her throat, strangled by horror.

Mirabelle watched him fall like a child breaking a toy.

“Oups. That one was too dangerous to leave alive.”

Shaeka let out a cry of rage and pain. She charged, followed by Rilian and Griak. A new duel began, three against one. And yet, they were still overpowered.

Mirabelle moved with lethal grace, whirling between blades like an untouchable shadow. Her silhouette danced, gliding from one opponent to the next with terrifying precision. She parried Shaeka’s blows with crossed daggers, countering with swift slashes that forced the young Faërenne to retreat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Rilian, despite his strength, struggled to keep pace. He tried a feint, then a thrust, but Mirabelle deflected it with a sharp flick of her blade before kicking him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping.

Griak advanced like a steady rock, every swing of his axe fueled by raw fury. But his accumulated injuries slowed him. Mirabelle watched, amused, then sidestepped easily. A shadow spike traced a red line along the dwarf’s side, making him growl in pain.

“You call this a fight?” she sang. “How boring…”

Shaeka seized the moment to strike at her flank, but Mirabelle anticipated it. She ducked, rolled beneath the drawn bow, and sprang up right in front of her. A sharp metallic ring, daggers clashed against Shaeka’s thin blade, and for a moment they stood locked, forehead to forehead, eyes locked.

“You’ve got guts,” Mirabelle murmured, almost admiringly. “Shame you’re so… pathetic.”

She leapt back, dodging a strike from Rilian, then spun to slash Griak’s shoulder. The dwarf stumbled, groaning, his weapon falling to the ground.

The tension thickened, every breath was a battle in itself. The trio held on, but the assassin’s relentless speed and mastery drove them back. Their coordination faltered little by little. Mirabelle laughed again and again, hysterical, feeding on their fear and exhaustion.

They were three, yet she dominated. With every passing second, death crept closer.

Yeoman, trembling, stayed in the back, pretending to protect the civilians.

Alice, tears streaming, screamed:

“Yeoman! The keys! Free me, I can save them!”

He didn’t move.

She turned to Rilian. The slaver chief’s corpse lay at his feet.

“Rilian! The keys!”

He picked them up, but Mirabelle appeared to his side and kicked him. He was thrown against the wall, right beside Alice, dazed.

“No more, you fucking bitch!”

Shaeka unleashed her wild magic. A green light burst from her body, pulsing like a furious heart. Her hair rose as primal energy surged through her veins. Tattoos glowed across her skin, marbled with fluorescent hues. A fierce, almost animalistic growl escaped her throat.

“You want to see what it’s like when a Faërenne fights for her kin?!” she roared.

Mirabelle turned to her, intrigued but not truly worried. A mocking smile curved her lips, her daggers dancing between her fingers.

“Oh? You’re glowing. How adorable… like a little firefly.”

Shaeka said nothing. She leapt.

Her body sliced through the air in a blazing arc, faster than any of her allies had ever seen. Rilian lost his breath. Griak, who’d known her for years, felt a spark of hope flare in his battered chest.

Mirabelle tried to parry, but this time she was too slow. Shaeka twisted mid-air, using the stone floor as leverage, and in one fluid, brutal motion, drove one of her daggers straight into the assassin’s abdomen.

The impact was brutal. A flash of green light filled the room as Mirabelle’s blood spurted out in bursts. Her expression shifted, her smile vanished, replaced by cold surprise, then twisted into pure rage.

“You… vermin… You dare wound me?!”

Shaeka didn’t let go. The two women faced each other at arm’s length. Their gazes met, and in Shaeka’s, there was no fear, no pleading. Only fierce anger and the pride of one who would never bow.

“I hope that hurt,” she whispered.

Mirabelle screamed, a high, tearing, almost inhuman shriek. Her figure rippled, distorted by the shadows she summoned around her. Dark magic flooded the air. And in that explosion of blackness, the counterattack began.

“I’ll free you from your miserable life, ungrateful slave!”

Mirabelle’s voice cracked like a whip, and immediately, a rain of strikes fell.

Shaeka tried to fight back, daggers raised, but Mirabelle was nothing but a storm of shadows, a cold fury incarnate. Every hit was precise, methodical, driven by pure rage. Cuts opened across Shaeka’s arms, then her side. She staggered, limping, breath ragged, lips trembling from pain and exhaustion. But she didn’t fall. She refused to fall.

Griak saw it all. He roared while charging forward, but his broken body couldn’t keep up. He blocked a blow aimed at Shaeka’s back, only to be knocked aside by a brutal strike. A dagger grazed his cheek, then his thigh. He crashed onto a stone slick with blood.

“Fall back, Griak!” Shaeka growled, her voice hoarse.

She took a step toward Mirabelle, staggering but upright, eyes still burning.

“You can’t understand… the pain of our people.”

For a heartbeat, Mirabelle hesitated. Then she leaned forward, almost tenderly.

“You’re right. I can’t,” she whispered. “And you won’t anymore.”

The blade rose, followed by a silver flash.

Shaeka didn’t have time to react. The dagger slit her throat in a single, merciless motion.

Her eyes widened, she swayed in a muffled gurgle, clutching her neck, and instinctively sought Rilian’s gaze. When she found it, a sad smile curved her bloodied lips.

She dropped to her knees. Then collapsed, her gaze locked forever in the direction of the young man.

Rilian’s scream echoed throughout the cave in a raw, visceral howl, unable to contain the horror and pain.

Griak, enraged, kept swinging his axe in vain.

And Mirabelle, splattered with blood, looked almost childishly joyful amid the carnage.

“Hihi, you’re next, aren’t you?”

Alice, trembling, closed her eyes as memories flashed. Golly. Osim. Shaeka. Her family. All dead because she was too weak. Because she was afraid. Because she hadn’t acted soon enough.

She opened her eyes and shook Rilian, next to her.

“Rilian! Free me. I can save him. Trust me.”

He looked at her, hesitated.

Her gaze met his. And through his tears, he saw it in hers: determination, fury, strength. The will to make the killer of Shaeka and Osim pay.

He nodded, grabbed the keys with trembling hands, and finally unlocked the shackles. The sound of metal hitting stone rang out like the toll of a new war. A faint wave of energy rippled from her, light but enough to make the air tremble. Her magic and strength had returned.

Alice rose. Her eyes gleamed blue and green as she drew from her [Storage] her trusted rapier and leather armor.

“Now,” she said quietly, “it’s my turn.”