The night sky was veiled in a thick shroud of violet thunderclouds, slashed intermittently by crackling streaks of silver lightning. Rain hammered down upon the city, cascading off the sleek, sprawling towers of New Neo-Byzantium, their golden and onyx facades reflecting the storm’s wrath. Amid this fury, a figure moved like an ink-drawn ghost along the edges of the glass-and-metal skyscraper—their silhouette blending with the dark backdrop of the stormy skyline.
She stood poised at the edge of the building’s highest spire, her long obsidian coat sweeping behind her in the relentless wind. It gleamed faintly, catching the flare of neon signs pulsing below. Her mask, angular and taut, framed eyes that burned beneath sharp black lenses. Sculpted with precision, two prominent bat-like ears jutted skyward, lending her the aura of a gothic sentinel. A sleek bodysuit dominated by an embossed bat emblem clung to her like a second skin, its surface glinting with an avant-garde metallic indigo under rain-speckled lamplight. Her laced boots, sturdy yet artful, clung to the slick surface with magnetic grips, an enhancement once designed for urban parkour—now perfected for nocturnal warfare.
Her name was Selene Kavros, known in whispers and encrypted transmissions as Midnight Shroud, the last bloodline heir of House Kavros, an ancient family annihilated during the Rise of the Dominion Syndicate. Thought dead for nearly a decade by both allies and enemies alike, Selene danced within the shadows of this twisted city, erasing her family’s killers one by one. But tonight was different. Tonight, she hunted someone far more dangerous—a Syndicate defector who held the codes to their entire global network.
“Shroud, you’re three clicks from the Nexus Plaza. I don’t like this. Pull back until I can give you better data,” came a voice in her earpiece—gruff, insistent. Mace Taven, her handler, speaking from some hidden bolthole beneath the rotting remnants of Old Byzantium buried below.
Selene touched the sleek communicator stud at her jaw, lips twitching upwards into the ghost of a smile. “You’re sweet when you worry, Mace, but I’ve got it under control.” Her voice was low and silk-threaded, yet edged with steely confidence. “Besides, he’ll be gone by the time your data catches up.”
“Dammit, Selene! He’s unlike anyone you’ve gone after before. Kasimir Nero’s Syndicate Alpha—one wrong step, and you’re as good as dead.” Mace’s voice wavered, betraying the tremor beneath his gruff demeanor. Selene ignored him. There wasn’t time for doubts; the window of opportunity was closing faster than the storm above.
Without another word, she leapt from the spire, her black boots slicing through a sheet of lightning. The city unfolded below her—a labyrinth of chaos, where gleaming hover-barges threaded through skies heavy with smog. The rain smeared the vibrant holographic projections—ads for bioluminescent beverages and anti-gravity fashion streaking across the slanted rooftops of New Byzantium. As Selene plunged, the world slowed, her cloak billowing like dark angelic wings before her grappling line snagged the side of the Syndicate’s command tower.
She swung gracefully, boots slamming against a high-tech glass wall. Braced against the sheer surface, she peered inward. The Syndicate’s headquarters was an unnerving blend of opulence and efficiency—Carrara marble floors met incandescent gold alloy furniture, the glow of which offset the cold menace of their plasma turrets and motion-detecting security drones. Selene’s reflection stared back at her—a living weapon cloaked in vengeance. Her long raven-black braid clung to her shoulders, slick from the rain, framing her pale, angular face bruised with months of sleepless nights.
A sudden shift caught her attention. There—Nero. He was colder than his holograms suggested, his white-platinum hair slicked back as if he refused anything imperfect. Sleeveless armor showcased biomechanical arms that gleamed with ominous crimson runic symbols glowing faintly in the dim room. He stood alone in the expanse of the control room, running his fingers across the surface of a shimmering touchpad, millions of data feeds flowing into his neural implants. The defector… no, the traitor had to be taken out swiftly, before he had a chance to unleash the Syndicate’s AI-controlled doomsday weapon: Prometheos.
Selene inhaled sharply. This was it. With a whispered command, she whispered to the AI embedded in her suit—”Dysis. Darkdrop sequence.” The suit exhaled dark mist, masking her from scans as she melted through the thin sliver of glass she had cut open. Her boots slid noiselessly on the marble floor, and before Nero could react, she was on him—her arm locking his with a force that cracked his cybernetic tendons.
But Nero laughed, a deep rumbling, composed sound. “You think shadows will be your salvation?” His glowing red eyes swiveled toward her with genuine amusement. “I wrote the language of the night. You’ll have to try harder.”
The fight began in an explosion of fury, Nero’s augmented strength countered by Selene’s speed and precision. Each blow sent sparks and echoes through the control room, their movements a deadly dance. As they fought, the storm outside mirrored their fury—the glass shaking under the deafening boom of thunder.
Then came the misstep. Nero’s hand latched onto Selene’s coat and spun her, slamming her violently into the control console. Pain seared across her ribcage as she wheezed, but in the same breath, she drove a needle-pointed device into Nero’s armored chest. Nero froze. He looked down, first at the device, and then at Selene, his amusement waning.
“You think this…” he murmured, his voice faltering. “This will save your house? Your name?”
Selene leaned in, breathless but unyielding. “No. But it will remind you why you should have stayed in the shadows.”
With a press, the device detonated, sending out an EMP wave that crackled through Nero’s enhancements, frying his implants. His arrogant smirk crumbled as his body seized, collapsing in a heap of gold and steel.
Selene exhaled and straightened, coated in sweat and bruises. The storm finally abated outside, leaving the city drenched and shimmering under a pale moonlight. But her work wasn’t done—not until every last Syndicate piece crumbled as Nero had.
Genre: Action/Thriller
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Bold in Black and Gold: Rocking Batgirl or Batwoman Cosplay
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