Underneath the blazing red sky, she moved like a specter—silent, swift, and unstoppable. Her name was Hana Makuro, but in the world of shadows, she was known simply as “The Lotus Blade.” Dressed in an athletic blue and white outfit that clung to her in all the right places, she embodied a paradox—beauty mixed with unyielding strength, elegance with rabid destruction. Her long, raven-black hair that spilled across her shoulders fluttered as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop, a lithe and powerful figure navigating the night. Yet she was not simply running; no, she was hunting.
Hana was no ordinary assassin. She had been molded by a ruthless past—years spent training in combat, espionage, and the deadly arts. Her physique was the culmination of a lifetime of discipline. Muscles rippled beneath the fabric of her fitted attire, each movement finely tuned and honed to perfection. The blue of her costume contrasted sharply against the shadows of the night, while the white accents around her shoulders and waist lent a sense of nobility to her motions. A trained observer may have noticed the small but functional touches, like the black utility belt hugging her hips or the twin dagger straps hidden beneath her thigh armor. But mostly, it was her eyes—fierce and resolute—that demanded attention.
On her shoulder rested her weapon of choice, a curved, single-edged sword known as the “Silent Crescent.” Its blade shimmered under the moonlight, almost alive and waiting for its moment to strike. She gripped it effortlessly, so much a part of her persona that it seemed less a weapon and more an extension of her body.
The rooftops blurred together as she approached her destination—a crimson-lit stronghold, heavily guarded by an elite squad hired to secure the man who had dared cross her. She halted, taking a powerful stance on the edge of a roof, just above the gates, surveying the scene below. Her chest rose and fell in measured breaths, yet her mind was racing—calculating, planning. The low-angle of the building gave her the perfect vantage point.
In her striking outfit, with the wind brushing against her lithe form, Hana was a vision of deadly grace. Below, the henchmen glanced around nervously, knowing they might face something they couldn’t comprehend but too arrogant in their reliance on numbers to truly grasp the peril they were in.
There were five.
A smirk played on her lips. Enough for a warm-up.
With a deft motion, she flipped backward off the ledge and rolled quietly onto the next rooftop, getting closer to her target: a slender man in the middle of the group, talking idly to one of his imposing bodyguards. The red background of the stronghold’s external lights swallowed most of the details, but Hana needed none. She had memorized every step, every route.
It was time.
She dropped down silently, her body unfurling in midair. Before her feet touched the ground, her sword arced across the throat of the first unsuspecting guard. She felt no hesitation, no flicker of remorse; her target was not to be pitied. The man barely had time to gasp before his body fell.
The others spun around, weapons drawn and panic written on their faces.
“Who is she?” one of them screamed, backing away.
She straightened, her eyes narrowing. With a feral grace, she brandished the Silent Crescent over her shoulder, its wickedly sharp edge gleaming. Her fitted costume made not a sound as she stepped forward, though the strong aura she exuded set even the air trembling.
The second came at her with a knife, but she side-stepped easily, thrusting her knee into his lower abdomen. The strike was so precise that the man’s body folded in on itself like a collapsed paper doll. The third was met with an agile leap; she cartwheeled across the paved ground, her athletic physique fluid, completing a downward slash that separated his weapon arm from his torso in one swift motion.
The man in the middle gulped, backing away with a look of sheer terror. “Wha—who sent you?”
“Do you think it matters?” she whispered, her voice cool and as sharp as the blade she carried.
For a moment, it seemed as though no one breathed—least of all Hana, who stood against the backdrop of flashing red lights, her form casting long shadows across the ground. Her jet-black hair caught the breeze, sweeping dramatically across her shoulders. She cut an imposing, electrifying figure; if anyone had been watching carefully enough, they would have easily believed her to be something more than human—something terrifyingly divine.
The last guard standing dared another assault, screaming as he rushed at her with a sword extended, but Hana was already moving, her body twirling into an elegant spin. A deadly pirouette. The blade connected with his side, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Then, she was on the leader. In a blur of motion, she disarmed him without breaking a sweat, exuding that relentless combat expertise she’d spent years perfecting. She whipped him around and slammed him against the wall. His breath caught as the tip of the Silent Crescent settled beneath his jaw.
Cold sweat dripped from his brow. “I know why you’re here.”
His voice was barely more than a shaky whisper. Hana’s eyes bore into him. Her stance never relented, muscles tightened just below her costume, each limb prepared to deliver the final blow if necessary.
“Oh?” she said, the flicker of amusement—and something darker—crossing her face. “Then you know what comes next.”
Before he could respond, the temple gates creaked open, flooding the courtyard with grating noise. More men, armed and ready, spilled out into the plaza. But there was no hesitation, no fear in Hana’s eyes.
No, she smiled.
With a flick of her shoulder, she whispered something only the Silent Crescent would hear.
“Let’s get started.”
The source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: The Art of Cosplay: Power, Beauty, and Boldness with Yor Forger Vibes
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