Their laughter wasn’t loud, nor uncontrolled. It was low, drawn-out, laden with certainty. A laugh that didn’t need proof, because it had killed before. It echoed through the narrow alley and mingled with the soft crackle of ice forming beneath Damon’s feet, spreading like a silent disease through the ancient stones.

The air shifted.

It wasn’t immediately visible, but Morgana felt it. The pressure, the density, the sensation that the world had shrunk to that narrow space between damp walls. She adjusted her grip on the hilt of the ice sword, feeling the cold rise up her arm, not as something hostile, but as a mutual recognition.

Damon stepped forward, positioning himself almost instinctively between her and the hooded figures. The ice spear in his hand seemed alive, its core pulsing with a more intense blue as its energy accumulated.

“Don’t leave any marks on the street,” said one of the assassins, his voice too calm for the situation. “The target is worth more alive… but the companion is disposable.”

Morgana felt her blood boil.

She took a half step forward.

“Repeat,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

The first attack came without warning.

The assassin on the far left simply vanished, reappearing behind Damon in the blink of an eye, the curved blade already descending in a perfect arc toward the base of his neck. Damon didn’t turn. He felt it. He twisted his torso at the last instant and let the blade pass close to his skin, cold enough to send shivers down his spine.

The counterattack was brutal.

He plunged the spear’s tip into the ground and pulled hard. The ice responded violently, exploding upward in jagged spikes. The assassin tried to retreat, but one pierced his thigh, another pierced his abdomen, lifting him off the ground like an insect caught on a pin.

The scream died in her throat as Damon lunged forward and pierced the man’s chest with his spear, the impact echoing through the alley like muffled thunder. The body fell heavy, dragging fragments of ice and blood across the floor.

There was no time to react.

Two came at once, one from the right, the other from the left, coordinated, enchanted blades cutting through the air with a sharp hum. Damon took a step back, the ice beneath his feet molding to the movement, and swung his spear in a defensive arc. The enchanted metal clashed against the ice, sparks and fragments scattering through the air.

The impact pushed him back.

That was enough.

Morgana advanced.

She ran without hesitation, her body moving even before her mind could formulate a plan. She leaped over a pool of ice, propelled herself against the alley wall, and spun in the air, her sword descending in a diagonal strike. One of the assassins raised his arm to defend himself, but the ice pierced through skin, flesh, and bone with a dry crack.

It landed behind him.

The body fell in two.

The other assassin instinctively recoiled, only to find Damon already in front of him. The spear described a short, direct movement, piercing the man’s shoulder and pinning him against the wall. Before he could react, Damon closed his free hand, and the ice spread across the assassin’s body, rising too quickly.

The man froze, his eyes wide.

Damon pushed.

The body shattered upon hitting the ground.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the slow crack of the ice beginning to give way.

Then, applause.

Slow. Calculated.

“Impressive,” said a new voice, emerging from the alley entrance. A taller figure, his hood pulled back just enough to reveal a thin smile. “Very impressive.”

Behind him, three more shadows moved.

Morgana felt her stomach sink.

Damon narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he said.

“I’m not,” the man replied. “I was curious.”

He gestured with his hand, and the air around them distorted. Ancient symbols glowed briefly on the alley walls, draining heat, draining energy.

Damon’s ice crackled.

“Containment magic,” Morgana murmured.

“Good girl,” the man said, smiling. “But incomplete.”

They attacked in formation.

One came straight at Morgana, quick and aggressive, trying to push her away from Damon. She blocked the first blow, feeling the vibration course through her entire arm, and twisted her body to avoid the second. The ice sword slashed through the air, opening a deep gash in the attacker’s flank.

He didn’t fall.

He smiled.

The second blow came low. Morgana leaped, feeling the blade pass beneath her feet, and responded with a kick that sent him crashing against the wall. Before he could recover, she lunged forward and pierced his neck with the sword.

On the other side, Damon was surrounded.

Two attacked head-on, while the leader watched, waiting for an opening. Damon swung his spear in wide movements, creating a perimeter of ice that forced the enemies to keep their distance. When one of them advanced too far, Damon launched the spear like a projectile.

It pierced the assassin’s chest and lodged in the wall behind him.

Damon didn’t hesitate.

The ice reformed in his hand in an instant, now forming two short blades. He advanced, gliding across the frozen ground, and plunged one into the second attacker’s abdomen, pulling upwards in a movement that split the body almost in two.

The leader finally moved.

He appeared behind Damon, too quickly, and plunged an enchanted dagger into his back. Damon grunted, the impact robbing the air from his lungs. He spun, striking the man with his elbow, but the leader retreated easily.

“You are strong,” he said. “But predictable.”

He raised his hand, and chains of dark energy shot out, wrapping around Damon’s arms, pinning him in place. The ice began to crack under the pressure.

Morgana saw.

She screamed his name and ran, ignoring the pain in her shoulder from a superficial cut she hadn’t even noticed before. The last assassin tried to intercept her, but she sped through him without stopping, the ice sword piercing his chest as if he were nothing but air.

She leaped.

In the air, she spun her body and descended with the blade pointed directly at the leader. He tried to dodge, but underestimated the force of the blow. The sword pierced his shoulder and pinned him to the ground.

The chains dissolved.

Damon fell to his knees, breathing heavily.

The leader laughed, even wounded.

“Too late,” he said. “Others will come.”

Damon stood slowly, his eyes gleaming with cold fury.

“I know.”

He placed his hand on the man’s chest.

The ice spread from the inside out.

The laughter turned into a broken sound, abruptly cut off as the body froze completely. Damon pushed, and the leader shattered into dozens of fragments.

The alley fell silent again.

Morgana dropped her sword, the ice crumbling before it touched the ground. She approached Damon, carefully touching the wound on his back.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, exhausted.

They looked at each other, surrounded by bodies and wreckage, the metallic smell of blood mingling with the residual cold.

“So,” Morgana said, with a tense smile. “Is this the part where we go back to the mansion?”

Damon let out a short laugh.

“Yes,” he said. “Before someone else decides they need company tonight.”

The warning came too late.

The air behind Morgana ripped open with a dry crack, unlike anything they had felt before. It wasn’t the stealthy presence of the assassins, nor the calculated pressure of the leader. This was… heavy. Ancient. As if something had just awakened and decided there was no longer any need for subtlety.

Morgana felt a shiver run down her spine an instant before the impact.

A shadow appeared behind her, too large for the narrow space of the alley, and the blade descended in a brutal blow, without refined technique, just enough force to break bones and walls.

Damon reacted on pure instinct.

He violently pulled her by the arm, twisting his own body to occupy the space that would have been hers. The impact came in the same second. The ice exploded in front of him as he raised his forearm and hastily forged a barrier. The blade pierced part of the shield, shattering it, and the force of the blow threw him against the opposite wall.

The pain was immediate. The world seemed to lose focus for a moment as Damon fell to his knees, his arm numb, the ice crumbling around him. Morgana stumbled backward, her heart racing, her eyes wide.

“Damon!”

He slowly raised his head.

The man was there now, fully visible.

He was tall. Very tall. Shoulders too broad, posture too relaxed for someone who had just delivered a blow capable of splitting stone. He wore no hood, nor did he try to hide his face. His skin was marked by old scars, some poorly healed, others clearly the result of magic. His eyes… were in no hurry. They observed like someone assessing a tool.

He held a weapon that didn’t seem to belong to that city. A thick blade, almost an elongated axe, covered in faded runes that still emanated an oppressive heat.

“So it’s you,” the man said, in a deep, grave voice that vibrated in the alley. “The incubus.”

Damon stood slowly, ignoring the burning pain in his arm.

“You’re not from the guild,” he said, his breathing forcibly controlled.

The man smiled slightly.

“No,” he replied. “They’re… too noisy.”

Morgana felt her stomach sink.

She moved to Damon’s side, forcing herself to maintain a steady posture, even with her hands trembling slightly. The familiar coldness of the ice sword was slow to respond when she tried to conjure it again.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man tilted his head, assessing her.

“That’s none of your business,” he replied. “But you… are interesting.”

Damon stepped forward, placing himself between them again.

“She’s not part of this.”

The man’s smile widened a little more.

“Everyone is part of something,” he said. “Especially when it’s near you.”

He advanced.

This time, there were no tricks, no disappearances. Just a direct, heavy movement, the blade describing a deadly arc. Damon created ice beneath his feet and slid to the side, conjuring a spear in the same movement and plunging it into the ground to propel his body into a short leap.

He attacked first.

The spear struck the man’s shoulder with enough force to pierce ordinary armor.

It didn’t.

The ice tip shattered on contact, fragments flying down the alley. The man didn’t even flinch. He just glanced at his shoulder, then back at Damon, genuinely curious.

“Interesting,” he repeated.

He spun his body and struck Damon in the chest with the hilt of his weapon.

The impact sent Damon flying several feet back, sending him sliding across the floor until he crashed into a pile of forgotten crates. The air was ripped from his lungs, and for a second too long he couldn’t move.

“Too much strength,” Morgana murmured, feeling fear rising despite herself.

She attacked.

The ice sword finally responded, forming in her hand with a brighter glow than before. Morgana lunged forward with a swift strike, aiming for the man’s exposed flank. The blade cut through the air… and was blocked with absurd ease.

The shock coursed through her arm like lightning.

The man held the ice sword in his bare hand.

The ice began to crack beneath his fingers.

“Beautiful magic,” he said, bringing his face close to hers. “But fragile.”

He tightened his grip.

The sword shattered into shards that exploded between them. Morgana recoiled with a stifled cry, her arm throbbing.

“Run!” Damon yelled, forcing himself to his feet.

She didn’t run.

She turned her face to Damon, her eyes burning.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said.

The man laughed.

“I like her.”

Damon felt something inside him break.

The cold around them shifted. It wasn’t just conjured ice anymore. It was something deeper, darker, pulled from a place Damon avoided using. The ground cracked as a thick layer of black ice spread, covering the alley stones.

The man finally frowned.

“Ah,” he said. “So you know how to play too.”

Damon advanced.

Not with a weapon.

With everything.

Spears, blades, ice spikes swarmed around him, firing in quick succession, too fast to follow with his eyes. The man moved, blocking some, dodging others, but for the first time he had to take a step back.

Then another.

A spear pierced his thigh. Another pierced his forearm.

He grunted, not in pain, but in irritation.

“Enough.”

He slammed his weapon on the ground.

A shockwave coursed through the alley, shattering Damon’s ice and throwing them both against the walls. Morgana fell to her knees, feeling the world spin. Damon leaned against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

The man walked toward them, slow, inevitable.

“You survived the dogs,” he said. “That’s more than I expected.”

He stopped a few steps away.

“But I didn’t come to kill you today.” Damon looked up, confused.

“Then why?”

The man smiled, broadly this time.

“Because now I know where to look.”

He turned, walking toward the alley exit.

“Tell the woman at the mansion,” he added, without looking back. “That the game just got more interesting.”

And then he was gone.

A heavy silence fell again.

Morgana was the first to move, running to Damon and catching him before he collapsed.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice faltering.

He took a deep breath, resting his forehead against hers for a second.

“No,” he answered honestly. “But we’re alive.”

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart finally slow down.

“That,” she said softly, “wasn’t just a hunter.”

Damon nodded.

“No,” he confirmed. “It was something worse.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep