Chapter 7: The Hunt Begins.

The city never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, life thrived in its hidden corners—the distant hum of traffic, neon lights flickering on shattered pavement, and the occasional bark of stray dogs scavenging through garbage. But tonight, amidst the usual noises, there was something else. Something unseen, yet undeniably present.

Rishi walked briskly through the dimly lit streets, the collar of his jacket pulled up against the biting wind. His fingers unconsciously brushed over the golden locket beneath his shirt, as if seeking reassurance from the only piece of his past he possessed. The weight of the smace—now strapped to his back—felt heavier than usual.

Ever since the weapon had awakened, he had felt it—a shift in the air, an unseen force pressing against him, watching him. Someone knew. Someone had sensed its return.

And now, they were coming.

The Shadows Move

He took a turn down a narrow alley, stepping over puddles reflecting the neon glow of a faulty streetlamp. His instincts screamed at him, but he kept walking. His breath was controlled, his posture relaxed. If they were hunting him, he wouldn’t make it easy.

Then, he heard it.

A barely perceptible scuffle of boots against gravel. Too light for a drunk stumbling home, too measured for an ordinary passerby. His grip tightened around the strap of the smace, the pulse in his veins quickening.

They were close.

"You are being hunted, boy," a voice rumbled in his mind. The smace—the spirit within it—was awake.

Rishi clenched his jaw. I know.

With calculated movements, he ducked behind a rusted dumpster, slowing his breath. His heart pounded against his ribs as he listened.

One… two… no, three pairs of footsteps. Coordinated. Not some random thugs—these people were trained.

The cold night air thickened with tension.

The Ambush

A sudden crash rang through the alley as a metal pipe fell nearby. A distraction. A ploy to flush him out.

They know I'm here.

The old Rishi—the orphaned boy who had lived his life running—might have bolted, but something had changed. The moment his blood had touched the smace, he had felt it. Power. Legacy. A destiny greater than his own doubts.

He wasn’t prey anymore.

With controlled silence, he moved. Sliding along the shadows, he maneuvered behind an abandoned stack of wooden crates, his eyes scanning the darkness.

A figure emerged, dressed in tactical black, moving with precision. A mask covered the lower half of his face, and his gloved hands gripped a curved dagger. He wasn’t a common street thug.

This was an assassin.

And he wasn’t alone.

Another figure dropped soundlessly from the rooftop above, landing just meters away from Rishi. His muscles coiled in anticipation. He had to act—now.

The First Strike

The assassin nearest to him turned his head slightly, sensing something—too late. Rishi launched forward, slamming his shoulder into the man’s side. The assassin staggered back, caught off guard, but recovered instantly.

The dagger slashed toward Rishi’s chest, but he twisted just in time. The blade missed by mere inches, cutting through his jacket instead.

Damn, he’s fast.

The second assassin lunged from behind, forcing Rishi to roll away. His hands instinctively reached for the smace, but before he could unsling it, a third figure stepped out of the darkness.

Unlike the others, he didn’t wield a blade. He simply stood there, watching.

“So, you’re the boy,” the man said, his voice calm, almost amused.

Rishi’s grip tightened around the smace.

“Who are you?” Rishi demanded.

The man took a step closer, unfazed by the battle unfolding around them. “Someone who knows what you carry… and the price on your head.”

Rishi’s blood ran cold.

“Kill him.”

The assassins attacked at once.

Unleashing the Smace

Rishi barely had time to react. He dodged the first strike, but the second assassin was too fast—his dagger slashed across Rishi’s upper arm, drawing blood. Pain flared through him.

And then, the smace pulsed.

A low, guttural voice rumbled through his mind, ancient and powerful.

“Bleed into me.”

Rishi’s eyes widened as his grip on the handle tightened. He had seen it transform once before, but now—his own blood dripped onto the weapon’s surface.

The effect was instant.

The golden sheen darkened, morphing into a deep, menacing crimson. A surge of energy shot up Rishi’s arm, filling his veins with an intoxicating power. The air around him trembled as if the world itself recognized what had awakened.

The assassins hesitated. They had expected a boy. They had not expected this.

Rishi raised the smace, feeling the raw force coursing through his bones.

For the first time, he wasn’t just fighting to survive.

He was fighting to win.

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