Tokyo
Mid Night, 2nd April, 1997
Instruments of the Cold Fire,
Amongst Vile and Cruel Angels,
Man who fears Demons sees Demons everywhere...
Solo had become the puppet of something that did not belong to this world. The spectral figure within him guided his every step, his every motion like strings attached from within. Solo's pursuers hesitated, uncertain of what they were now facing. It was bizarre and haunting, the man they had been chasing had become something else entirely, something far more dangerous and enigmatic.
The alleyway was cloaked in silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Solo stood poised, his body a coiled spring of anticipation. The gangsters and their masked accomplices encircled him, their faces hidden, their intent palpable.
With a sudden, fluid motion, Solo drew 'Alighieri' from its sheath, the matte red and black hues shimmering with an otherworldly glow.
The flickering light from a distant streetlamp cast surreal shadows. Solo seemed to glide across the uneven pavement.
The first gangster, with a baseball bat raised menacingly, made a bold move. Solo's response was a serpent-like fluidity with a rugged advancement. He sidestepped the attack effortlessly, 'Alighieri' moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm, chopping off that gangster's head.
It was like a choreographed dance, precise and controlled. With each deft strike, masks and heads were sent flying, weapons and bodies clattered to the ground. The blade sang a deadly song, cutting through the darkness with a cold, metallic hiss.
Bikers, revving his engines for a charge, found themselves slashed in half by Solo's maneuver. Alighieri sliced through them all like a knife in butter, his clothes smeared with blood.
Another gangster tried to sneak up behind Solo, but his heightened senses seemed to anticipate the threat. He spun around, Alighieri glinting with deadly intent. The gangster's mask split in two, and he sank to his knees.
The alley became a symphony of chaos and desperation. Solo's maroon mask remained firmly in place. He appeared to be everywhere at once, an apparition haunting the hunters, Alighieri glided through their souls.
The gangsters and their masked allies had become a disoriented, fragmented group. Solo's relentless attacks left no room for retaliation. Time seemed to stretch and compress in the chaotic dance of blades and bodies. The clash of steel against flesh and blood echoed off the narrow walls. The masks lay scattered like discarded remnants of a forgotten masquerade.
Some last of them dropped to their knees, unmasked and surrendered. The alley fell into silence, the tension dissipating.
Solo surveyed the defeated gangsters and their masked comrades. He noticed a glimmer of gold partially protruding from the pocket of one of them. He reached down and retrieved the golden card, intrigued by its conspicuous presence.
The card bore an air of familiarity. He read the inscription on the golden card. The words etched into the shimmering surface seemed to pull him back into a world he had desperately tried to escape.
"Dante Of The PILGRIMs
300 Million Yen Bounty
Alive
Bounty Issuers: The CARDINALs
Drop: Behind Imperial Palace Tokyo
UNDER WORLD. "
The names Dante and The PILGRIMs, once held great significance in the realm he had operated in.
The CARDINALs were a name he had never heard before.
The UNDER WORLD was a deep syndicate, a racket of sorts connecting all sorts of international and national illegal systems and groups. It was serious if the bounty was issued through them.
If it was Solo in control and total consciousness, he would have gone out of Tokyo under half an hour. But the Spirit from the Mirror was making him do the opposite.
He picked up the Ducati and headed towards the Imperial Palace. The hunters were no longer to be seen, the roads were fairly empty.
To be attacked was common for Solo and his time to flee again would have come eventually. But an unexpected hunt and a bounty of this scale was uncalled for. He had to confront these Cardinals as soon as possible, before things got out of hand and he had nowhere to go.
As Solo crossed a square, he caught sight of the same white apparition he had seen on a building earlier. He didn't stop, but the apparition continued to manifest itself repeatedly on every street he traversed. Solo unsheathed Alighieri, sensing a pattern in the apparition's behavior. It seemed intent on appearing directly in front of him, as if to obstruct his path.
Several kilometers passed, and the apparition didn't reappear. Solo, thinking the encounter was over, put the katana back in its sheath. That's when he heard a whisper in his ear. The apparition was now seated behind him on the bike. Solo accelerated, but the voice remained clear.
"It's been a long time, Pilgrim..."
Solo didn't flinch. He strained to remember whose voice it was. It did sound somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place a face to match it. It felt like a voice he had heard a very long time ago.
"How long and how far will you run? Eventually, you too will give up. Do not waste time and give up on the Instruments Of Inception. Let's not keep annihilating everything like this."
Solo leaped off the bike and swung Alighieri through the apparition, but it wasn't there. Mid-air, the apparition reappeared behind Solo and thrust a knife into his back. The bike skidded and crashed into a shop, while Solo and the apparition tumbled to the ground.
The apparition noticed blood seeping from Solo's back. Despite that stab, Solo landed on his feet. Attempting to staunch the bleeding and conceal the bloodstains that had fallen onto the ground that happened which should have been avoided at all costs. The blood on the ground began to hiss and transform, taking on the eerie form of a dark maroon flame.
The apparition chuckled before vanishing into thin air, "See you around, Pilgrim..."
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𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐒: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙮 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘖𝘯𝘦
FantasySolo (or, as people pronounce his name, Soro) spends his days in quiet isolation, haunted by ghosts and shadowed by regrets. Two years ago, he vanished from the world, hiding in a remote village from a bounty that no one can trace but everyone seems...