Chapter 17 – The Swordsman Under the Full Moon
The night in Liberty was different. The moon hung unnaturally large, stained crimson by drifting clouds, as though the heavens themselves had chosen to bear witness to blood. The city slept in scattered silence, but its heart beat with fear. The Commissioner's death still lingered in alleyways and whispers. Families barred doors. Criminals vanished underground. Even politicians hid behind tinted windows and reinforced gates.
Tonight, the man the world had begun to call only one name — H.I.M. — was hunting.
He walked alone through the drowned avenues, a black silhouette beneath flickering lamps, his coat dragging across cracked pavement. His mind burned with one name. One truth he could not unlearn: Grimson. The mayor had been the one who signed the papers, who gave the command that ended his wife's laughter, that silenced his child forever. The betrayal festered in him like acid.
Every step forward was not just movement. It was a vow.
But in the glass towers above, preparations had already begun.
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Gina's Task
Inside Liberty's central district, a convoy waited. Black vehicles, armored, their engines humming like caged beasts. Gina leaned against one of them, her leather gloves tightening around the hilt of her weapon. Her orders had been precise:
"Get Grimson out of the city before H.I.M. finds him. He must not die here."
Her gaze cut to the mayor himself, a man now pale and trembling, sitting in the back seat of the lead car. The confident politician was gone; what remained was prey. Gina almost sneered. She was a blade paid to kill, and yet tonight her role was to protect this coward. Still, orders were orders.
She raised her hand, signaling the drivers. The convoy rolled out, engines growling as they carried Grimson toward the southern outskirts. But Gina could feel it — the chill at her back, the prickle along her skin. Somewhere in the dark, he was watching.
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The Encounter
Elsewhere, H.I.M. moved across Liberty's roofs, shadows bending to his will. His powers rippled like a living cloak — tendrils stretching, slithering, grasping. Every flicker of his crimson eyes searched for Grimson's trail. But before he could follow the scent of the convoy, another presence intercepted him.
A figure stood in the middle of a moonlit rooftop, sword strapped across his back, coat swaying in the wind. His stance was calm, precise, unshaken.
Detective John Stellman.
"Going somewhere?" Stellman's voice carried, steady but edged like his blade.
H.I.M. stopped, shadows writhing around him. "Move."
"You think I'll let you reach Grimson? Not tonight. You've slaughtered too many, painted this city with blood. That ends here."
The demon inside H.I.M. chuckled, low and cruel. "You're standing between vengeance and a man with nothing left to lose."
Stellman drew his sword in one clean motion. Its steel caught the moonlight, flashing silver against the red sky. "Then tonight, you'll face someone who's lost too much to let you destroy what's left."
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Clash Under the Moon
The first strike shattered the silence. Stellman lunged, blade sweeping in a perfect arc, precise as a guillotine. H.I.M. countered with a surge of shadow, tendrils whipping forward like spears. Steel and darkness collided, sparks showering across the rooftop.
The city below stirred — dogs barked, glass rattled, alarms wailed. The duel had begun.
Stellman moved like a predator, every slash measured, his footwork cutting across tiles in geometric precision. He fought not just with skill, but with deduction, reading H.I.M.'s movements as if solving a living puzzle.
But H.I.M. was no ordinary opponent. His fury bent the world around him. Shadows thickened, twisting into claws, jaws, chains. He struck with the weight of grief sharpened into wrath. Every blow carried the strength of a man already dead, surviving only through vengeance.
"You're strong," Stellman admitted, deflecting another strike, his blade ringing. "But rage alone won't win this."
"Rage is all I need!" H.I.M. roared, hurling Stellman back with a wave of shadow. The rooftop cracked under the pressure.
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The President's Shadow
Far away, within the presidential estate of Kingsberg, another meeting unfolded. President Arden sat in a dimly lit chamber, a map of Liberty City spread before him. Around him, advisors muttered, senators shook, and fear clouded the air.
But Arden's eyes weren't on them. They were fixed on the man in the corner — a figure wrapped in darkness, face hidden, presence suffocating.
"You've heard of him," Arden said. "The one they call H.I.M. He has destabilized Liberty, murdered my officials, and now he dares threaten order itself. He cannot be allowed to live."
The man in the shadows tilted his head. His voice was a whisper, yet it cut sharper than blades. "And if your detectives, your assassins, your soldiers cannot kill him… what makes you think I can?"
Arden's jaw tightened. "Because you are not them. You are what governments summon only once in a century. Kill him — whatever it takes."
The figure stepped into a sliver of light. His eyes gleamed like steel, cold and merciless. "Then prepare your city. The hunt begins."
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Back to the Rooftop
Meanwhile, Stellman and H.I.M. raged on, their fight dragging across rooftops, tearing through chimneys and skylights. The full moon bathed them in silver fire.
Stellman cut through shadow after shadow, his sword dancing like lightning. But H.I.M.'s fury did not wane. His powers spread wider, darker, swallowing the edges of the rooftop until only their duel remained illuminated.
"Why fight for them?" H.I.M. snarled, pressing forward. "You know they're corrupt. You know men like Grimson rot this city from the inside out. Why defend them?"
"Because justice isn't yours to take," Stellman answered, locking blades against a shadow-forged claw. "Justice isn't revenge. If you become the monster you're hunting… then the city will have lost everything."
H.I.M.'s laugh was broken, hollow. "I am the monster they created. And tonight, that monster will devour them."
Their clash echoed across Liberty, shaking the very bones of the city. Sparks of steel and shadows of fury blurred together — and yet, neither man gave in.
The night would not decide a victor so easily.
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To Be Continued…
The rooftop cracked, shadows screamed, and the city below trembled.
The hunter and the detective remained locked in battle beneath the blood-red moon, their wills unbroken, their fates unresolved.
And somewhere, in the shadows of power, the true predator was preparing to descend.
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