Hayate moved like a phantom, dodging Itsuki's relentless attacks with effortless grace. "Your moves are too slow, Itsuki!" he taunted, leaping over another Shock Spiral, the air crackling around him. His eyes gleamed with confidence, his fingers twitching as Yūrei no Tsubasa—Wings of the Phantom—readied for a counterstrike.
Itsuki's lips curled into a sneer. "Tch. You've improved, Hayate, but you can't keep this up forever. I'll find an opening." He paused his assault, his form flickering as he bent light and sound to vanish.
Hayate seized the moment, his fingers snapping forward. Three shimmering blades of Yūrei no Tsubasa shot from his hands slicing through the air toward Itsuki. One from the right, one from the left, one from behind. Itsuki, seasoned from past clashes, knew these blades could pierce a man's soul, draining their energy and leaving them vulnerable. He twisted, bending light to evade them, his movements a silent blur.
Hayate's senses sharpened, anticipating Itsuki's reappearance. A faint footstep echoed, and he unleashed eight more blades in a deadly arc. "Ultraschock!" Itsuki roared, deflecting six blades with a shockwave. The seventh grazed past his back as he leaped upward, only to find the eighth blade cornering him midair. With a desperate twist, he dodged, but a ninth blade erupted from the ground, grazing his left leg. A surge of Soul Energy drained from him, his face paling. "This isn't good," he muttered, cloaking himself in warped light and sound to retreat.
"I finally chased him off!" Hayate declared, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "That's five to four in my favor, Itsuki. I told you I'm faster!" He turned to the five remaining Assassin's Code members, who had dispatched the V.I.P.E.R. army with ease, their faces calm despite the carnage. "Let's catch up with the others," Hayate said, sheathing his katana—a separate weapon from his finger-blades—and leading the way.
Meanwhile, at V.I.P.E.R. headquarters, panic hung thick in the air. No word had come from the firing squad sent to the Badlands, and a scouting team had just arrived at the badlands. "Haru!" Commander Toma bellowed, his voice echoing through the command center as he summoned the intelligence officer.
Haru burst through the door, her striking beauty—accentuated by a form-fitting outfit—drawing every eye. Unaware of her effect, she carried an effortless allure that seemed almost supernatural, though it was merely her presence. "Yes, sir?" she asked, her voice sharp and professional.
Toma cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. He'd always had a soft spot for Haru, a weakness his colleagues understood all too well. "Sorry for shouting," he stammered, forcing his gaze to her face. "Any word from the Badlands team?"
Haru's expression tightened, her high-pitched voice steady despite the tension. "We just received an update, sir. Good news and bad news."
Toma's heart sank, though Haru's nervous hair flip sent it racing again. "Give me the good news," he said, struggling to focus.
"Almost all of Ryuto's men, including Ryuto, have been liquidated," Haru reported.
"Almost all?" Toma's brow arched, worry overtaking his distraction. "What's the bad news?"
Haru hesitated, her fingers twisting a strand of hair. "The firing squad was found dead in the Badlands. And… there's a mismatch in the body count. Three are missing."
Toma's eyes narrowed. "Can we identify them?"
"We've confirmed two: Archer Saiten and Kaito Fujinami," Haru said, her voice tinged with anxiety. "The third… it's like their records were erased. No trace in our systems, not even the cloud. It's as if they never existed."
Toma's face paled, his voice low. "A spy…" He leaned forward, urgency replacing his earlier fluster. "Inform the government immediately. We've been compromised."
Meanwhile, Archer stumbled through a hidden safehouse's entrance, his legs shaky from the frantic escape. Hina, the pink-haired woman who had carried him across the city, set him down with a playful grin. The safehouse was a dim, cluttered space, its walls scarred with the marks of past hideouts, offering a fleeting sense of security. "You're so light, Archer," Hina teased, her voice lilting with mischief. "I thought you'd weigh way more!"
Archer dusted his shirt, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Uh, thanks, I guess," he mumbled, his curiosity overriding his discomfort. "What are your names? I never caught them."
Hina's grin widened, her pink hair catching the faint light. "I'm Hina, fifth member of the Assassin's Code. We go by numbers based on when we joined. There's Riku, number eight, the big guy. Mio, number nine, the other woman—she's obsessed with music. Then there's Mr. One, our first member, the guy with that old book. He's cagey about his name. And Hayate, number two. You'll get the hang of it, like I did."
Archer's brow furrowed. "So, am I the fourteenth member?"
"Nah, that's me," said Reo, a bespectacled man adjusting his glasses with a smirk. His calm demeanor contrasted with the safehouse's tense air.
Archer's confusion deepened, his voice rising. "Wait, I thought I was the newest?.
Hina's expression softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. "There's a lot you don't remember, Archer. You're actually the third member. Your memory loss was a sign you completed your mission." She turned, leading the way into the safehouse's shadowed interior, her words lingering like a riddle.
Archer's heart pounded, his mind reeling. "Third member? What mission? What's going on?" he demanded, his voice cracking with frustration and fear.
Hina glanced back, her tone gentle but firm. "Don't stress, Archer. Boss will explain everything when he shows up, but don't hold your breath for that happening soon." She stepped inside, her silhouette vanishing into the dim corridor.
Archer's worry surged, his thoughts spiraling. "What about those attackers? Won't they find us again?" he asked, his voice trembling as he followed.
Riku, the towering eighth member, clapped a reassuring hand on Archer's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Relax, kid. We've got three weeks before they track us down," he said, his deep voice steady as they entered the safehouse, the door sealing shut behind them, locking them in with secrets yet to unravel.
Far away, in the neon-lit underbelly of a Las Vegas casino, a woman in a hoodie slipped through the crowd, her steps purposeful yet cautious. She muttered to herself, "Archer, I hope you know what you're doing?" as she entered the casino owner's private room, the door clicking shut behind her, sealing her fate—and perhaps the world's.