Crimson drops float in the air as a collected shower, carried by the horizontal current of force that sheds the clouds of that where it originated. Leading the drops are a set of fairly skinned fingers with pink nails, which glide in the air, reaching out in the direction opposite from its path, as though fighting to grab hold of the ledge it was dropped from.

Behind the shower is the open view of the silver city before the darkening cyan sky, for the end of the day is imminent. The supersun sits visibly in the distance, however not fully exposed, as about half of its body has already submerged below the horizon, with the only visible part behind the silver pillars of skyscrapers, leaving tall streaks of light bleeding through the crevices.

However, between the drops and the city stands the interior of the home, as the wooden dining table remains in front of the window, as well as the accompanying seats. Three of those seats are occupied, with the guest on the far side of the table – his body facing the spray – being Ekitai, dressed in his brown overcoat.

On the other side of the table are the remaining two, who turn their heads to watch the view behind them, with Dana in the center chair, dressed in her black blazer.

The final guest seated to her left attired his black leather jacket bears witness, that being Rohan, whose body is positioned directly behind the dense blotches of red rain. For the three guests watched the sight from afar, for their friendly dinner had been punctuated.

Dana’s green eyes are wide open with her jaw dropped, shaken in horror from the devastating view of the kind host in front of her.

Ekitai’s yellow eyes are too widened with his mouth wide open, petrified from the sudden sight of his old friend bloodied before him.

Rohan’s faded eyes are alert, his lips slightly parted, staggered from the unexpected image of the innocent victim soaring ahead of him.

On his pale face, his dull eyes, fully open, watch as his black pupils track her, carefully moving with her injured body.

His blue eyes immediately sharpen into an intense, blazing glare, flashing for a moment as a fire ruptures his otherwise lethargic irises. His pale skin gradually becomes covered by creeping carbon fibers that crawl towards the center of his face, growing rapidly before covering his intense stare.

For his whole face has been covered in the carbon fiber mask, and even in that immediate moment of the shriek, his pale hand hovers over his forehead, tightly gripping his jacket’s hood, which has been pulled over his head.

Where his eyes once were, keen parallelogram-shaped goggles spark and illuminate, emanating with a sharp sky blue glare. On each of the farthest upper vertices of the goggles, a streak with the same sky blue luminance emerges, raining down to the bottom of the mask, vanishing under the chin. At the same instance, streaks manifest on the closest lower vertices of the goggles, however instead rising to the top of the mask, vanishing beyond the forehead.

Without a second having passed, he grabs the seat and plants his foot behind himself, instantly taking action as the two others continue processing their sights.

The body leading the crimson trail flies past the three as the masked man throws himself off of the chair and to his feet, tracking the body’s trajectory. He begins moving forwards without hesitation, his goggles softly glowing as the yellow light above him shines on the carbon fiber mask.

He turns towards the kitchen room and peaks over the barricading counters, allowing him to view the interior of the white space. Beside the back opening of the space, Kokei’s body lays against the cabinets along the floor, limp.

Her white hoodie has light crimson splatterings, and there’s a noticeable bruise on her right cheek, visible between the strands of pink hair partially covering her face.

The masked man jerks his head towards the direction of the home’s entrance before returning his gaze back to Kokei, analyzing the suddenly dangerous situation that has unexpectedly befallen him, with his emergent concern being the victimization of the innocent homeowner.

Without needing to analyze the entrance for another moment, it was clear to him that a grave situation was on his hands. Quick action was absolutely necessary, as her body remains within the sightlines from the entrance, placing her in range of potential danger.

Without a moment to lose, the masked man drags his right foot back with a tilt, bending his knee down and his body forwards, positioning his bent arms beside him as he assumes a racing stance.

With only a few seconds having passed after the shriek, Dana’s green eyes widen after noticing her friend’s involvement, and she instinctively calls, “WAIT!” However, at that very moment the masked man vanishes, leaving behind a trail of blue streaks of light with a roaring whoosh, for he has already sprung into action.

In not even a full second after, the blue trail has extended through the kitchen and beyond the back exit, covering much of the room. As the fogging blue trail gradually fades, it becomes apparent that Kokei’s body has vanished from the cabinet, leaving behind a deep dent from the impact.

Behind the kitchen on the other side of the house is a largely open space with soft gray carpets covering the floor and rows of white shelves and tables along the soft gray wall; the shelves have obscure items such as golden trophies and other merchandise. On the far right side of the room are two white leathery couches facing one another, and on the left side of the room is a long couch facing a table with a marble-esc finish against the wall. The larger size of the room provides more space unobstructed by furniture.

The blue trail appears from the kitchen, reaching the far wall where the shelves are. The trail finally halts, quickly fading to reveal the masked man bending forwards, carefully positioning Kokei’s limp body against the shelves with his pale, steady hands.

While the man holds her body steady, he softly inquires, his voice modulated with a strong distortion and deepening, which has a following reverberated echo that lingers past his words: “What are her injuries?”

To him, an adult male voice with a strong British accent responds to the prompt, “After traditional analysis, she does not seem to suffer from any open wounds nor fractures. She seems to have taken serious blunt force trauma to her face, yet she does not possess any notable injuries, and should be nearing a full recovery currently. Judging by the force of this strike however, I would advise her departure from the vicinity of the assailant.”

The man lowers his head with a disgruntled groan after receiving the news, admitting in return, “It looks like whoever did this came from the front entrance, and as far as I remember, that’s the only pathway out of this house. I can’t get her out of here right now, not until I get rid of the obstacles blocking the exit.”

He raises his head, leveling it with the cabinets of the kitchen in the direction of the entrance, knowing full well what he had to do.

To the left of him and the room is the dining room, with a wide opening connecting the two spaces; Ekitai stays seated in frozen petrification, but Dana is standing, facing the man with a concerned gaze.

Slowly reaching her hand forward, Dana tries to speak, although her whispers in an attempt to stay hidden make it impossible for her mouthed words to reach the desired receiver. In fact, the receiver doesn’t seem to even notice her attempt, as his gaze remains on the victim.

Kokei groans softly, her pink eyes partly open as she is still immensely sore. She raises her head up towards the man before her, her jaw hanging open as she softly implores, “Are you talking to me?” as though she doesn’t notice there being another voice responding.

The man lets go of Kokei’s body and stands up, stepping back as he returns his hands to his side. While he’s out of her sight, he softly apologizes, “Sorry for getting you entangled in this mess. I’ll deal with it quickly and cover any damages.”

He turns around, his back facing her. He stands still for a few moments before adding, “Sorry, Kokei.”

He begins his march forward, leaving Kokei’s body behind, who softly murmurs, “Huh?” However, she receives no response, as the man approaches the kitchen through the back entrance. In the distance, Dana has resorted to making chaotic hand signals while exaggeratedly mouthing words, constantly jerking her head back as though checking if she was compromised. However, her efforts die in vain, for it’s completely ignored.

The masked man walks steadily, his shoulders parted with his hands by his side, walking straight with a calm, collected stride. While most of his body is dawned in casual clothing, his black striped pants and his aged leather jacket, his carbon fiber mask glares beneath the hood, the two inhuman eyes stalking the sight before him.

Beyond the kitchen and far down the house, at the entrance of the house and the end of his path, a six foot tall man stands. The man wears a black leathery vest and dark blue pants, yet his full toned arms are exposed, his body being a mixed dark tone. He has an intimidatingly impressive build that nearly covers the entrance, and he glares back with light brown eyes.

He has a black buzzcut sharp ears, along with a sharp jawline. He doesn’t move, but instead stalks the approacher in his sightlines, who continues to march before him.

After a few moments of waiting, the intruder gives a confident smirk, and steps forward, no longer blocking the entrance. Once again planting himself on the floor, he watches as behind him, two other men appear, each emerging from his sides.

The man standing to his left also seems well built, although not nearly as tall nor toned, and has whiter skin. He wears a short compressed gray shirt which sticks to his defined muscles as well as long gray pants. He has a fair amount of brown hair, also with brown eyes, with a more viscous expression as he grits his teeth.

The man standing on his right, while still about the height as the left man, wears a long black overcoat that drapes to his knees, which hides his arms and thus isn’t as noticeably built. He has longer, smooth black hair that reaches down his neck, and has soft gray eyes that stare more apathetically.

However, even with the reveal of the three intruders, their opponent continues marching, stepping through the kitchen and down the open space, his pace unchanged. His blue eyes show no wavering emotion, as while he isn’t as tall as the central man, he exudes an oppressive might of his own, for he isn't even slightly intimidated.

The man in the center huffs, moving his right foot in front and tilting his body, yet keeping his attention glued to the approacher. He speaks with a deep, bold voice, “Hm, without the uniforms it may be hard to notice, but we aren’t feeble predecessors. I told them a whole squad was overkill, that halloween mask is nothing without the man behind it. Come on, look at yourself, you’re no Meditat. I don’t know if this is some moral crusade for his legacy you’re going for, but to be bitterly honest, I feel like this is more tarnishing than anything. But I guess coming to me makes my job easier, even though I know deep down this grand mission ‘to defeat the great Tempest’ is going to be a disappointment. But go on, keep on walking, live your last moments thinking your life has any value beyond being a usurper.”

After the speech concludes, the Tempest comes to an abrupt halt, appearing to pause on his march, although he is still about ten feet from the intruders. He instead stands still in silence, keeping his glare on the central intruder, his arms remaining by his side. He balls his right hand into a fist with his thumb resting on his pointer finger, yet he is nowhere close enough to land a punch. Silence befalls the house as the Tempest remains at his place, distant from the intruders, as though ceasing.

The man in the center tilts his head and grins widely before boasting, “Aw, did I say something hurtful? Did you have a change of heart? Have you decided you’re too pathetic to face off against a real man?”

However, the Tempest doesn’t return an immediate reply, but instead stays silent at his place for a few seconds. His goggles emanate a constant, unwavering glow, as though producing an emotional expression.

He suddenly jerks his right arm, lifting it up and lifting his pointer and middle finger forwards. He points his fingers at the man in the center, propping his hand as though it was a handgun, with the fingers as the barrel.

“This is enough,” he objectively observes. Jerking his wrist up, a black light flashes in front of his fingertips, and a bolt of black light emerges from the light. The long bolt soars forward in a nearly stable form, with only minor vibrations. As the bolt travels towards its target, the Tempest maintains his footing at a safe distance, his plan finally having been enacted after the tedious speech.

When analyzing the damage Kokei was dealt, it became clear to the Tempest from the bruising that the assailant had used his fist, and was thus someone who used close range abilities. The trajectory Kokei was thrown at made it abundantly clear that the strike was augmented beyond an average punch, and upon making eye contact with the intruder, it was clear what kind of threat the Tempest was dealing with.

However, in knowing that the assailant had strengthened physicality, and using hunches from others like him, the Tempest’s immediate conclusion was using ranged strikes to make swift work of the attacker. The man was attempting to bait the Tempest into getting close to him, clearly desiring close proximity, and all the Tempest had to do was not give it to him.

As the black bolt approaches the central assailant, it seems clear who the victor would be.

A thunderous boom outbreaks, and a blurry object flies backwards into the house at immense speed, colliding into the kitchen with a loud bang.

Both Dana and Ekitai turn towards the kitchen with petrified expressions, and Dana steps forward to peer over the counter to view the impact site. She gasps in silence with an awestruck expression, as in her sight, she witnesses Rohan’s body laying against the cabinet, exactly where Kokei’s body landed.

Rohan’s body lies limply against the cabinet, still wearing his mask thus concealing his facial expression, yet it’s clear he was in anguish. He doesn’t move either, potentially having lost consciousness, which if so would be more mortifying. Even with his strategic thinking, it seemed he was immediately bested.

Standing across from the kitchen, exactly where the Tempest had taken his shot, the man in the vest stands, his left arm thrown forward as he seems caught in the followthrough of a punch. He slowly reels his arm back, lifting his head to gaze at the Tempest with a wide grin across his face, overjoyed.

Dana’s wide eyes immediately sharpen into a vengeful glare after comprehending the situation Rohan was in, and her green irises blaze in fury. She begins to approach the kitchen, leaving Ekitai who stays confused and traumatized in his chair. Both of her irises flash gold, however this time, her entire body begins to seamlessly change color, morphing into the metallic gold of her cybernetic arm.

As her human skin is replaced by the cybernetic shell, her apparel, that being her blazer, undershirt, leggings, and shoes flash blue before suddenly vanishing. With her clothing suddenly disappeared, her golden body is completely exposed, revealing her entire body to be composed of a similar design to that of her arm, with bolded ravines creating the illusion of individual plating on her body, as well as diamond-shaped fragments dotted on her upper arm and abdomen. Both of her arms sport the same design as before, and her legs have a similar one too with the golden streaks leading to each of her toes.

Her chest sports a chain of the diamond fragments forming an arc of sorts similar to a necklace, continuing the abstract design of her full cybernetic form, which acts almost like a compressed suit, yet at the same time appears like an independent robotic body.

Her head also shifts to golden, although its shape also forms, as a flat mask seems to be formed over her face, removing any facial expressions or even resemblance of a face. Divergent from the rather complex design of the rest of her body, her face is entirely blank, just a metallic gold canvas without any ravines nor fragments. It appears entirely inhuman, for there aren’t even indications of where her eyes are if they are there at all.

Transitioned into her fully cybernetic form, the Artificer sprints into the kitchen, dashing in front of Rohan before coming to a hard stop. She turns towards the intruders, spreading her arms and bending her knees, acting as a barricade between Rohan and the three attackers.

She holds her ground similar to an enraged mother bear snarling at a hunter who threatened her cub, as while her facial expression isn't visible, she lets out a deepened, heavily distorted growl with an electric tone, for in that moment, it’s as though there’s no humanity in there, but either a destructive robot or an otherworldly beast.

Behind her, Rohan groans, appearing to have snapped back to reality. He slowly raises his head, still disoriented from the unexpected strike, perplexed as to what events were transpiring beyond his initial predictions.

His hand grabs the floor as he searches for strength to push himself to his feet, and he orders with fatigue cracking through his heavily modulated voice, “I’ll draw them away from the exit…take the others and…get out of here. I can…handle them.”

Nonetheless, the Artificer doesn’t move from her position, maintaining her protective stance and rejecting, “That sure looked like you were ‘handling them;’ I told you I’d come to protect you, I’m not bailing out this early.”

Rohan groans in dissatisfaction before arguing, “Come on, I’ve taken beatings like this all the time, I’ve been able to fight on my own. Besides, you haven’t gotten into a fight in years, you’re out of shape.”

Taking a deep breath, the Artificer retorts, “Then I’ll have to catch up quickly. I’m not asking you to stay out of the fight, I’m not that dumb, if you can fight then join me. But I’m choosing to fight too.”

Across from the two, the man in the vest stands up straight, tilting his head with a disgusted expression after glancing at the Artificer. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head disapprovingly, complaining, “I came here to take down the big guy, I’m not interested in breaking droids. Rodrick, move her out the way. There, now you get to contribute something.”

Approaching beside the man in the vest is the other toned man in the compressed gray shirt, who smiles excitedly before exclaiming, “Finally, I get to do something more than look pretty. Just you wait Victor, soon I’ll outrank you!”

Rodrick passes in front of Victor, standing straight in front of the Artificer. He glares before raising his right hand forward, curling his hand similarly as if he’d be gripping a handle.

In fact, the air between his curled hand begins to morph, as though hardening into a solid construct with a glossy material with a soft blue hue similar to aerogel, which takes the curved form of a D-shaped handle that he grips tightly, signifying that it is indeed solid.

The air in front of the ends of the handle begin morphing to the same glossy material as well, solidifying to create a large rectangular surface that covers most of his body, similar to a riot shield. The shield finalizes with sharp edges, and Rodrick bends his knees, his attention fixated straight at his opponent.

This doesn’t look to be some technological weapon being used, for not only was there no visible device being used, the abnormal actions lead to there seemingly being a supernatural ability possessed by Rodrick. Rather than possessing firearms, it looks the attackers possessed strange powers that were being weaponized, for while there were only three of them, they immediately became more threatening than the mass of armed enemies who faced off against the Tempest in the bar.

Rodrick takes off, charging at the Artificer with the shield. He lets out a roar as he charges forth beyond the leader, who watches in amusement.

Standing in the path of the charge, the Artificer aims both of her arms towards Rodrick. Her hands then morph as golden material extends forth, altering her hands into cones with arrays of holes in the fashion similar to a grater.

Maintaining her footing, black bolts of energy similar to the one fired by the Tempest begin firing out of the holes in rapid succession, as the surplus of apertures allows her to dispel an immense barrage with such speed.

The black bolts strike Rodrick’s solidified shield, being occluded without even slowing down his charge. Uninterrupted, he gets inside the kitchen, already close to colliding into the Artificer with his impressive shield.

Realizing projectiles would only get caught by the shield, the Artificer’s hands reconfigure into wide, flat surfaces in the shape of defibrillators. An intense force projects from the surfaces with a visible blue hue and resonating hum, and before Rodrick can make the impact, his body is immediately halted by the repelling force.

Without changing her footing, the Artificer stops Rodrick in his tracks, maintaining the barricade to protect her ally. The pads act like repelling magnets as Rodrick finds himself unable to inch any closer, obliterating his momentum.

Rodrick tsks in irritation to the blockade, but he extends his left arm back, curling his fingers again while maintaining his shield. The air between his curled hand solidifies into a rod of the glossy material, yet this time far longer, reaching several feet in length. At the bottom end close to the white tiled floor, a rectangular construct solidifies, attached to the rod and creating the basic shape of a sledgehammer.

Roaring against the repelling force, Rodrick swings the long sledgehammer, swaying his whole body. The large solid end slams straight into the Artificer’s shoulder, obstructing her footing and causing her body to fly to the side, leaving the kitchen entirely.

Rodrick grunts in joy, glancing at the Tempest, who lays on the ground in front of him. He grins, realizing there’s no longer any obstacle between himself and the true target.

“Hey, don’t get any funny ideas, idiot. You lost the bet, and anyways, we’ll all get the glory of his death, so don’t screw everything up again,” orders Victor from behind, noticing Rodrick’s shift in attention.

Letting out a soft sigh in acceptance, Rodrick turns towards the direction the Artificer flew in, surrendering, “Fine, but when you’re on the ground crying for help, I’ll be ready to strike the killing blow.” With that remark, Rodrick runs off into the right exit of the kitchen, trailing his opponent.

Victor lets out a sigh, and unfolds his arms before approaching the kitchen, now that the Tempest’s bodyguard has been removed. While he marches towards his target, he shouts the command: “Agil, that girl that let us in could be an ally of his, she can’t be far so find her and deal with her. The last thing we need is to repeat this cycle of oppressors, don’t want to see her beating our asses with that mask later on do we?”

Behind him, the third man in the long overcoat and gray gaze nods his head, softly accepting, “Understood,” before following Victor into the kitchen. As Victor comes to a stop in front of the Tempest to look down on him, the third man, referred to as Agil, passes him and walks through the back opening that the Tempest had taken when escorting Kokei.

The Tempest turns his head to Agil, horrified to realize they were sending someone likely powered to eliminate Kokei, who was an innocent, defenseless bystander. He hadn’t even known of her until an hour ago, she was no ally of his, she was no threat that needed to be associated with him.

Regret floods him as the revelation of how dangerous it was to visit someone’s house while being such a target dawns on him. In an effort to fight, he raises his arm and tries to reach Agil, desperately trying to grab him.