Kyle approached Clara with effortless style, moving through the crowd like he was in slow motion. His coat fluttered slightly with each step, the katanas at his sides swaying with a quiet rhythm. As a waiter passed, he extended a hand—smooth and timed perfectly—to grab a drink from the silver tray without breaking stride.
"Sup, Clara," Kyle greeted her with a half-smile, lifting the glass to his lips.
"So glad you came," Clara replied, her expression warm and unreadable at once.
Kyle took a sip... and immediately regretted it.
His face twisted, and he spat the drink out in a sharp spray, narrowly missing a potted plant nearby. Clara burst into laughter, and even Hector—the usually stone-faced bodyguard—let out a deep chuckle.
"What is this?" Kyle asked, trying to sound polite despite the burning trail the alcohol had left on his tongue.
Clara grinned mischievously. "What? You don't drink alcohol?"
Kyle, slightly embarrassed, glanced away with a nervous smile, brushing his sleeve with mock nonchalance.
"That's fine," Clara said gently, giving him a soft pat on the back. "Be yourself."
He exhaled, grateful for her kindness, then shook off the awkwardness with a grin. "So, your pops must be really rich to throw a party like this," he teased, looking around at the elaborate setup—chandeliers hanging from rented trusses, a DJ booth the size of a small car, gourmet food stalls, and professionally dressed waiters moving like clockwork.
Clara tilted her head, amused. "Well, my uncle's kind of an important person."
Before Kyle could ask more, she leaned toward Hector and whispered something in his ear. The tall man nodded and walked away, giving the two teens a bit of space.
They wandered through the party, weaving between clusters of guests in outrageous costumes—some whimsical, others borderline terrifying. Colored lights bathed them in hues of violet, gold, and electric blue. The hum of voices, the thrum of bass, and the scent of sweet smoke and sugar filled the air.
"So where did you live before Draken City?" Kyle asked, eyes flicking to her between questions.
"I lived in Arkansas," she replied simply, then stopped and turned to face him with a sly smile. "Any more questions, detective?"
Her eyes locked with his, playful but piercing. Kyle's heart skipped a beat. Ask her why she's so pretty. The thought echoed in his mind like a broken record.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it—not out loud. Too cheesy. Too soon. Maybe next time.
Instead, they kept walking... until the sound of feedback whined through the speakers and a voice boomed across the venue.
"The two lovebirds over there—yeah, you two!"
They both turned toward the main stage, surprised. A guy with neon-pink hair and a vintage leather jacket stood at the mic, his voice laced with autotune and rockstar bravado. The crowd whooped and whistled.
"This one's for you!" the singer shouted, pointing at them dramatically.
Then the band kicked in.
A popular love song echoed through the night, guitars wailing, drums punching, and the crowd swaying in sync. The lyrics rolled through the air like waves, and to Kyle's surprise, Clara started singing along, her voice soft but confident. Others joined in—hundreds of them—line for line, word for word.
Kyle looked at her, stunned by the way the lights played off her skin, the way she smiled without trying, the way she made the chaos around them feel like calm. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them—surrounded by noise, music, and light... but completely still in each other's presence.
The night pulsed with music and light, but Kyle and Clara had drifted far from the heart of the party. They stood tucked away behind a wall of flowering hedges and glowing lanterns, where the bass softened to a throb and the moonlight spilled in silvery pools across the grass.
Their eyes locked. Breath mingled. Then came the kiss—slow, deep, electric. The kind that folds time in on itself. Clara's hands slid across Kyle's chest, while his fingers swept through her curls. Their tongues danced, heat rising between them, every heartbeat syncing.
And then—.
A wet, sickening crunch.
Kyle's body lurched.
His eyes flared wide as pain exploded through his chest. A jagged claw had pierced him from behind—ripping through flesh and muscle like paper. Blood gushed from his lips, dark and heavy.
Clara gasped, stumbling back. Her knees hit the earth as Kyle crumpled forward in slow motion, blood soaking the front of his suit.
Behind him stood a hulking figure cloaked in shadow, radiating an unholy, inhuman aura.The attacker yanked its claws free with a slurp of gore and hoisted Kyle's limp body over its shoulder like a prize.
Clara's voice cracked, "S-Stop!"
Her fear trembled in her bones, but she took a step forward anyway. "Put him down!" she screamed.The figure kept walking—silent, unfazed.She grabbed her heel and flung it. It bounced harmlessly off the creature's armored back. No reaction. She hurled the second. Still nothing.
But then her eyes found something—Kyle's katana, dropped in the grass. Moonlight glinted off its hilt.
Clara lunged.
She ripped the blade from the earth and, fueled by desperation, plunged it into the creature's side with a scream.
The giant groaned—a distorted, feminine snarl—and staggered.
It turned, now clearly visible: a massive, muscular woman, wrapped in matte-black tactical gear. Her face hidden behind a sleek lynx mask, her gauntlets extended into razor-like claws—feral, metallic, and drenched in Kyle's blood. Her presence screamed cold precision, her aura—predator.
Clara tried to pull the katana free for a second strike, but it stuck fast.
The woman growled low. Then—WHAM!
A single backhand sent Clara flying. She smashed into the hedges, crumpling to the dirt with a groan.Gasping, she forced herself to rise. Her cheek throbbed, blood ran from her elbow—but her glare never wavered.
The monster cocked her head, voice calm yet dripping with delight.
"I guess I'll just have to kill you after all," she purred.Her voice was oddly smooth, sultry even—an eerie contrast to the sheer brute force behind her.
But before she could make a move—
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
The words boomed like thunder.
The woman turned—just as Kyle leapt from her shoulder, blood trailing behind him like smoke.With a snarl, he gripped the katana still lodged in her side and ripped it free.
He landed in a crouch, blade in hand, panting hard—but very much alive.
The towering woman staggered back in disbelief.
"How are you still moving?" she hissed.
Clara, wide-eyed, stumbled forward. "Kyle—how? You were dying! Bleeding out!"
Kyle spat out blood and gave her a crooked grin. "What can I say? Power of love." He winked, then turned cold.
His eyes had turned a ghostly white, void of pupils, glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light. His once smooth hair had transformed into sharp, untamed spikes that slanted aggressively toward the left side of his face, partially veiling his eye. But even beneath the curtain of hair and the shadow it cast, a sinister crimson glow pulsed from underneath—like a burning ember struggling to be seen through smoke.
Blade raised, eyes burning.
"Let's cut to the point. Who the hell are you? Who sent you? And what do you want with me?"
The woman stood to her full, towering height—nearly a foot taller than Kyle. The moon revealed everything now: black tactical armor stretching over her hulking, feminine build. Thick limbs, combat boots, the curved claws glinting at her wrists. Behind the lynx-shaped mask, glowing red eyes bored into him.
"I am Lynx," she declared, voice deep and melodic like silk dragged over steel. "The Sixth Fang."She tilted her head slightly. "And you, boy... you're coming with me. Dead or alive."
Kyle exhaled sharply, tightening his grip. His knuckles paled on the hilt of the katana.
He spoke without looking at Clara. "Get everyone out. Now. I'll create an opening."Clara hesitated—but the fire in his eyes told her this was serious. Deadly serious.
She nodded once and ran.
Lynx chuckled darkly as she flexed her claws.
"You think you can fight me, boy?" she growled, circling.
"A wounded heart can't match a predator's hunger."
Kyle rolled his shoulders, blood dripping but stance unbroken.
"We'll see about that."
The music had stopped.
The party was over.
The hunt begins.