After their back and forth and finding a new lead they could follow, thanks to Sven being quite knowledgeable and connected, they decided to take turns getting cleaned up.

The barely functioning motel bathroom was cramped, its flickering light and mildew-ridden walls making every minute inside feel like a health hazard. Despite that, they were all in a rush to get inside. They had been bathing in a lake for the past month, so they could make do with it.

Kai was the first to get in - soaked in dried blood and viscera, and none of the others bothered arguing. Not tonight.

They all knew he needed it the most.

But more than that, there was something else in the air now - unspoken and subconscious, but real.

Whether they realised it or not, they were more hesitant to cross Kai even in a joking manner, not after what they'd seen.

He was different when he was fighting. It wasn't just violent or brutal; it was demonic and dark, unlike anything they had ever seen.

There were stronger mutants out there, sure - Takeshi could probably slice him in half if he felt like it. But there was something about Kai's blood-soaked rampage that clung to memory. Something feral. The kind of horror that stayed behind your eyes even when you looked away.

Amina was quiet as always, and so was Isaac. Nadya was unusually thoughtful. Even Sven, who always had something to say, chose silence.

The water in the shower came out rust-coloured at first, then turned red, then finally ran clear.

Kai stood under the spray, breathing hard, the heat scalding his skin but doing little to wash away the buzzing thoughts in his head. Blood pooled at his feet before swirling down the drain, as if reluctant to part ways.

'What a mess...'

Eventually, he forced himself to shut it off, stepping out into the cold air after collecting his thoughts and cleaning himself. He dried off with the least grimy towel he could find, pulled on a shirt and cargo trousers that still smelled faintly of gunpowder, and tied back his black hair. It had grown too long, annoyingly so, and he made a mental note to cut the unruly strands at the nape of his neck soon.

That's when he heard it.

Raised voices. A sharp intake of breath. Gasps. The sound of disbelief.

And a voice he recognised, Isaac's, muttering something low and urgent.

Kai's brow furrowed. 'Something's happened.'

He stepped out into the room, still damp and barefoot. "What's up?" he asked.

Nobody answered. They were all staring at the battered motel TV, a bulky relic with a cracked plastic frame and antennae twisted like broken fingers. The screen flickered with static for a moment, then steadied. And what was on it made Kai's stomach twist.

The motel room was dead silent, save for the buzzing old TV as it hummed with the weight of breaking news. The anchor's voice was calm, eerily so, too composed for what was being shown.

And then the images began to roll.

Photos. Names. Mutant monikers.

All of them.

Faces that were meant to stay buried in the dark, tucked away behind shadows and aliases. But it was too late to hide now.

Across every major channel, their names lit up like neon signs - flashing warnings to a public that had only just woken to the nightmare.

Kai's picture was at the top.

A freeze-frame from earlier that night, likely ripped from a street camera before arriving at the Serpent Pit. Then another image from when he was wearing his blood armour, crimson blood arcing behind him like wings born from hell. His eyes were wide, face shadowed, and his appearance in the picture was undeniably monstrous.

Beneath it, in bold red letters:

"The Bloodweaver, also known as Red Eyes."

"A highly dangerous mutant with control over blood, wanted for attacks in New York and Moscow. Considered hostile and extremely lethal. Confirmed ties to the outlaw mutant organisation 'Mutant Outlaws'. Do not engage."

"Likely a new member of the Mutant Outlaws, he has been dubbed a terrorist and national threat. If seen, keep your distance and alert the authorities immediately."

The words hit like gunfire.

"Damn," Nadya muttered, hugging her arms around herself. "They work fast."

"It's barely been a few hours since we even got to this damn city…" Isaac breathed, shaking his head. "It's the middle of the bloody night. How the hell are we already headline news?"

But Kai wasn't listening. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, unmoving. A stranger was describing him like he was some sort of horror story parents told their kids to make them behave.

A walking massacre. A public enemy.

'Is this how they see me now?'

'Or is this how they've always seen me?'

His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. He silently watched as the rest of those around him, aside from Amina, were labelled as dangerous wanted individuals.

Then suddenly-

"Wait a second…" Sven leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Is that-?"

"Takeshi?" Kai finished, eyes narrowing.

And there he was.

The Blind Swordsman.

Known by few, but those who did definitely wouldn't forget him. Stoic. Unshakable. Deadly. A mysterious, robed figure, whose expression was still as unreadable as ever.

Takeshi stood atop a skyscraper in the heart of Manhattan, the skyline behind him burning orange from a still-smouldering explosion. His katana was drawn and gleaming under the city lights.

But the headline said everything:

"Breaking News: A-class mutant 'The Blind Swordsman' from the terrorist group, the Mutant Outlaws, is locked in combat against Association hero Thundercutter - live from Manhattan."

The news anchor's voice rang out, crisp and urgent. The screen flickered, cutting to grainy aerial footage - shaky, disoriented. A drone struggled to stabilise as it tracked the two figures weaving between skyscrapers like twin hurricanes.

Steel clashed against lightning.

Blurred silhouettes tore across the rooftop battlefield in bursts too fast for the camera to properly follow.

Takeshi's blade was a whisper - elegant, disciplined, each strike perfectly timed and terrifyingly efficient. There was no emotion behind his swings. Just pure, clinical focus.

Thundercutter was raw power by comparison. His movements roared with lightning, every slash of his crackling sword shaking the air. Sparks exploded with each clash. Glass cracked beneath their feet. Bolts of high-frequency electricity danced off his black and yellow robes, scattering across the rooftop like silver fireworks.

The drone pulled back to reveal the battlefield - a wide rooftop of an association building. The cold night wind was howling, and the air was scarce, but it didn't matter.

Takeshi moved like gravity didn't apply to him. He closed the gap between them in a blink, ducking beneath a thunder strike and slashing upward. The force of the swing sent Thundercutter skidding back, boots grinding, only for Takeshi to follow up instantly - one step, two, then a flash of steel aimed at the throat.

Thundercutter barely blocked it before retaliating with a burst of electric energy from his blade. It roared like a thunderclap. But Takeshi twisted around it, letting the blast sizzle past his shoulder. Not a wince. Not a stumble.

A spin. A cut.

They moved at speeds that were merely blurs that the cameras couldn't keep up with, as they began fighting mid-air and launching each other from one rooftop to the next.

It was like a battle between two deities that had descended to earth, one wielding wind, the other lightning.

Both could move so fast and with such skill that they almost seemed able to fly for short periods, as one of Takeshi's loose wind blades clove a nearby building in half.

One clean, perfect diagonal line split it like butter beneath a scalpel.

Windows burst outward. A breath later, the entire top section groaned and began to collapse inward.

Debris showered down like glittering death.

Civilians could be heard screaming somewhere in the chaos below.

The footage cut abruptly to a split-screen as they settled atop another rooftop.

Takeshi on the left. Silent, composed, his blindfold stained as he breathed heavily.

And on the right - his opponent.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark robe with yellow streaks. His long katana-like blade pulsed with arcs of living electricity. He had a handsome face and dark hair that framed it well, like a model.

Thundercutter.

Association swordsman. City defender. Class A hero.

A golden boy. One of the Association's poster children and representatives.

The kind of hero people took selfies with, or at least wanted to.

Action figures and fan videos - he was quite a renowned figure.

Yet he was currently evenly matched by a mutant that most hadn't seen or heard of before.

The footage didn't lie.

Every time their swords met, there would be shockwaves that would launch any bystander flying. It almost didn't feel real watching it, but those nearby could certainly attest to it being so.

And their exchange was far from over.

After a brief intermission, their onslaught of attacks continued, clashing mid-air when suddenly...

Crack!

Boom!

Takeshi was struck down by a bolt of lightning summoned by Thundercutter. He smashed straight through a parked truck that exploded into flaming metal upon impact.

The Outlaws watched in tense silence from the motel.

"What the hell happened for Takeshi to be fighting that Association Hero?" they wondered aloud.

Unknowingly holding their breath after seeing the explosion, they all let out a sigh of relief as Takeshi burst out of the smoke, seemingly unharmed.

But they doubted that was the case, especially seeing the crater he left in the ground.

'He won't lose, right?' They couldn't fathom the silent swordsman actually losing, and if he did this time...

'No, that won't happen.' Shaking the thought, their eyes remained glued to the grainy footage of their companion's battle across the city.

But it seemed as though the result of the clash of swordsmen would remain unknown...

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