The knock came wrong. Three beats, pause, two more — Yuko's signal. But Yuko was inside.
"Positions," Tim growled.
The plate burst open.
Nomerci stormed the alley. Hussain led, torso bare and oiled like a UFC fighter at weigh-in, whip snapping against stone. Above, Genny perched on a wagon roof framed by torchlight, corset cinched, lips curved like she'd just stepped off a Met Gala carpet.
"Bring me my sister," she purred, voice velvet and venom. "And the boy who thinks he can steal queens."
Lacey spat, spear raised. Sweat gleamed down her chest, tank top clinging like a soaked gym shirt. "Come take her."
The clash hit like a bass drop.
Lacey went savage, spear spinning with CrossFit ferocity, curves bouncing with every slam. She looked like a fitness model gone rogue, all muscle and sweat.
Yuko cut through shadows, knife flashing like club strobes. Her skirt rode high, thighs sharp under the torch glow — more K-pop idol mid-performance than assassin.
Amy clung to Jenny, her hoodie slipping to bare a pale shoulder, but when a guard lunged she turned feral — clawing faces, biting necks, small frame moving like those viral street-fight girls who drop men twice their size.
Tim cut forward, shirt shredded, chest slick with blood and sweat. He looked like a fighter walking into the last round, veins popping, eyes blazing. Jenny, blouse ripped low, staggered behind him — torn between fear and the magnetic pull of watching her man drenched in gore and glory.
Hussain's whip cracked again, sparks bursting off stone. "Round two, toy soldier," he grinned, dripping sweat like he craved the pain.
Tim ducked, knife tearing Hussain's thigh. The brute laughed through the blood, whip coiling again.
"Now," Tim barked. Jenny lunged, knife slicing his abs. Hussain folded. Tim stabbed his arm, Yuko's blade carved his throat.
The whip went quiet.
Above, Genny clapped slow, like a diva mocking her opening act. "Cute. But my encore always sells out." She raised two fingers. Archers drew, neat as a halftime reveal.
"Smoke!" Tim roared. Yuko popped a clay bomb — the alley flooded with haze like a broken fog machine at a rave.
Arrows hissed blind. Tidam shoved through tight, bodies pressed like a nightclub crush when the DJ cuts the lights. Sweat, blood, perfume, breath — indecently intimate for a heartbeat as they moved as one.
They burst into a side lane as dawn cracked rooftops.
Through the thinning smoke, Genny's silhouette lingered — corset gleaming, hair haloed by fire, a runway queen in war paint. "Run, then," she called. "Keep my sister… for now."
The fog swallowed her.
Tidam slammed the plate shut. Inside, silence.
Jenny clung to Tim, chest pressed against his, trembling. Lacey leaned on her spear, sweat streaking her cleavage. Yuko wiped blood from her cheek, licking it off like a dare. Amy tucked under Jenny's arm, kitten eyes wide but lips twisted in defiance.
Tim slid down the steel, shaking, Casey's last whisper clawing his skull.
Jenny really does love you. Please cherish her.
He dragged himself up, eyes burning. "We rebuild. We heal. And we make Genny pay."
The girls nodded, Jenny's eyes shimmering like she was about to break.
Tidam had survived the queen's counterstrike — but the real war was only just beginning.