Before the truck hit Loki harshly it halted by a meter away.
The truck driver around middle age, then yelled, "This kid— Hey! Watch where your going!"
Loki scratched his head, "My bad." he quickly went across the road preventing to cause anymore more trouble.
He reached his apartment door. Opening the lock before he walking inside.
Meanwhile a few miles away...
A group of cloaked man with their dark coats that bore a unmistakable Demon Cult logo, menacing skull with lyre-shaped horns.
They leaped from building to building with unnatural agility, their movements is precise.
They were en route to a hidden safehouse.
Sirens wailed below as Paris police—alerted by a vigilant rooftop security camera—mobilized in pursuit.
Two squad cars screeched around corners.
Helicopters just ahead.
"Suspects on the roofs—heading east toward the Seine!" a radio crackled from one of the cars.
The cloaked men split momentarily to evade, one vaulting over a chimney while another slid down a drainpipe to street level, only to leap back up onto an adjacent balcony.
Bullets pinged off bricks as ground officers fired warning shots, but the cultists were too fast, their cloaks billowing like capes in the wind.
"They're enhanced—adventurer types!" an officer shouted, diving for cover as one cultist hurled a smoke bomb that exploded in a choking cloud.
The chase intensified near the Pont des Arts bridge.
The cultists bounded across parked cars, scattering pedestrians who screamed and fled.
A police van swerved to block their path, officers piling out with shields and batons.
"Halt! Police!" But the lead cultist waved a hand, summoning a burst of dark energy that shattered the van's windshield, forcing the cops to retreat.
High above, the helicopter closed in, its rotor wash whipping up debris. "This is Air Unit 7—targets in sight. Preparing to deploy net!"
The cultists responded by one firing a shadowy bolt that clipped the chopper's tail, sending it spinning wildly before the pilot stabilized.
Ground pursuit caught up again near the Tuileries Garden, where the cloaked figures weaved through statues and fountains, police on foot now joining the fray.
After a tense pursuit through narrow alleys and over garden walls, the cultists regrouped on a rooftop overlooking the Seine.
They panted preparing to jump at the river—until suddenly a figure materialized in front of them, blocking their path.
It was Yvonne, her silver hair swaying from the wind, a single dagger she held in her hand.
Low-S Rank, Assassin class, Grade V sorcerer titled 'Shade Threader' part and member of the Cernunnos Guild.
Her eyes were cold. "Going somewhere?" she said.
The cultists froze, realizing escape was no longer an option.
It is clear that the chase was over.
Metal swinging and making contact with each other blades can be heard just by the rooftop.
Sparks every time Yvonne parried. She was Low-S Rank for a reason.
One blade against six, and she was still standing.
The leader was using an cursed staff casting an fire spell aiming straight at her. He was tall, bald, with some tattoos of a demons crawling up his neck.
Yvonne dodged, and immediately dashed at one of the cultist slicing his knee.
The cultist member screamed in agony and dropped to the ground, while holding onto his leg from intense jolt of pain.
"Six left," she whispered, trying to keep her composure despite the exhaustion.
A cursed staff rested lazily on his shoulder.
"You're good." the leader drawled, voice thick with amusement.
"Low-S Rank, right?"
He adds,
Tilting his head slightly with a smirk "No need to hide it, I can tell by the way you move."
Yvonne flicked her dagger, removing drops of blood from it, and shifted back to her stance.
"Name's Varak. You better remember it." The leader declared.
One of the cultists lunged.
Yvonne sidestepped, drove her dagger up under his chin resulting an instant death.
He gurgled and collapsed.
Five left.
Varak's grin widened. "Feisty, I like that. Tell you what—"
He aimed the tip of the staff at her. "I'll let the others weaken you first."
"Then I'll have my fun humiliating the fucking shit out of you."
"Maybe I'll even consider keeping you alive long enough to watch the Eiffel Tower fall within the Demon Cult hands. Wouldn't that be romantic?"
The remaining cultists laughs at Varak's words.
Yvonne's lips curled into a small smile with a hint of grin. "You talk too much for a dead man."
She lunged forward delivering a horizontal slash, the cultist tried to block with his blade however Yvonne's dagger went straight past through like some kind of ghost.
Another tried to grab her from behind—she flipped over his shoulder, and kicking her straight into the face cracking his skull.
Two down in under ten seconds.
Varak's smile finally faltered. "Enough playing."
He raised his staff with one hand.
Dark mana surrounds around the remaining three cultists.
Their eyes glowing red as the Demon Cult's corruption took hold of them.
Their movements sped up, muscles bulging under their bones.
Yvonne breathing a little harder now. Blood stains carved onto her cheek.
Varak took one step forward. "When I'm finished, I'll leave you're body here dead and rott—"
In a flicker of motion too fast for even his enhanced senses to fully track, Yvonne appeared in front of him.
Her fist connecting with his face in a straight, powerful punch that snapped his head back.
Blood sprayed from his nose, his body was lunged by a few meter back and landed using the staff to regain back his composure.
"You let your guard down," she said calmly, her voice steady.
She added, tilting her head slightly, "You talk too much like I said."
Varak staggered back, veins popping from his forehead in rage his bald head went like red tomato.
He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, eyes blazing with fury.
"You bitch—!" he aimed the staff at her with anger.
Dark energy formed at the tip, transforming into a massive dark fireball.
The air grew hot and heavy as he cast the spell, the orb hurtling straight towards Yvonne threatening to consume her in unholy fire.