The annoying whip ca again, snapping through the air like a serpent striking its prey. Isadora twisted her body at the last mont, narrowly dodging its bite, and reached out to catch the end.
But just as her fingers closed around it, the woman on the other end released her grip, letting it go without resistance. A cowardly yet strategic move — she backed down just enough to keep herself safe, leaving her comrades to exploit that brief mont of distraction.
But Isadora was not about to let her get away with it.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, she swung the loose whip like a lasso. The handle twisted around the torso of a nearby assassin, jerking him off balance. No ti to hesitate. She yanked him forward with brutal force, his body stumbling helplessly toward her.
She held her sword toward his chest, slicing through it and cleaving over his shoulder, exiting in a grueso arc of crimson. His corpse barely had ti to collapse before she used it as a stepping stone, pushing off from his falling body and launching herself into the air with a burst of montum.
The sickening crack of breaking bones echoed through the battlefield as his lifeless form slamd into the ground, blood splattered like a blob of paint was smashed with a solid object. Isadora soared over him, her eyes locked onto her true target — the annoying woman with the whip.
Midair, two more assassins rushed to intercept her. Too slow. Isadora twisted her body, slashing in a precise diagonal motion, her blade carving through them both before her feet even touched the ground. One head spun through the air, the other's chest split open as he crumpled lifelessly. Her landing was barely a pause — her stride continued toward her prey without faltering.
Lucifer watched, his lips curling up in mild amusent. Seven attacks had been aid at her — four of them fatal. And he had protected her from each one.
Just as Isadora reached the whip-wielding woman, the assassin pulled a hidden knife, lunging forward with reckless abandon. It was a suicide attack — she was fully prepared to sacrifice her own life to ensure Isadora's demise. The blade glead with poison, a death sentence in the form of cold steel.
A noble effort. But Lucifer's hardened air had already blocked it before it could reach its mark.
Isadora's sword did not hesitate. The woman's head was severed cleanly, rolling away as her body slumped to the ground. Blood gushed like a fountain, staining the cobblestone beneath them.
The remaining assassins hesitated, but fear did not drive them away. They were trained killers, seasoned in bloodshed. They knew their fate was sealed the mont they decided to take lives for a living, but they would not go down without a fight.
Six of them charged at once.
One never even made it to her. Isadora's sword sailed through the air, piercing straight through his skull before he could react. He collapsed instantly, his body twitching as the others barely flinched. Their focus was ironclad.
The mont of distraction was still a mont wasted.
Isadora took it.
In a blur, she caught two of them. Her fist slamd into one's gut, driving the breath from his lungs with enough force to lift him off his feet. Her other hand clenched into a brutal fist, crashing down on the second man's skull. A sickening crunch echoed as it split open like a lon.
Three left. But they had already regained focus.
One lunged for her back, another swung from her side, while the last attempted to block her attack head-on.
It was a solid strategy — if she were weaker.
The block was useless against her raw strength. Her blade sliced effortlessly through the defender's chest, splitting him in two. The one behind her received a vicious kick to the gut, sending him flying backward, skidding against the ground like a ragdoll. The last, the one from the side, barely had ti to react before she caught his throat in an iron grip.
She crushed it like dry parchnt. His body spasd before going limp.
The last one groaned weakly, rolling his head, barely alive. Isadora didn't waste ti. A swift slash ended him with a clean cut across the neck.
And just like that, the fight was over.
Detective Felix had been watching the entire thing, unable to do anything but exhale in sheer disbelief.
Slowly, cautiously, he approached her.
"Who… who are you actually?" His voice trembled. Not the best question to ask soone who had just brutally massacred twenty-one skilled assassins as if they were re practice dummies. But curiosity was a reckless thing.
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"She is called Barachiel."
Lucifer's voice cut through the mont. He erged from the shadows of the nearby tree, his presence almost as unsettling as the slaughter they had just witnessed.
Felix's breath hitched. He had been so focused on Isadora — on Barachiel — that he hadn't even noticed Lucifer's presence the entire ti. Not even when she had shouted his na.
"And she is a new mber of our group." Lucifer's tone was casual, yet the weight behind it was suffocating. "Although I presu you would not be speaking of Isadora being a part of our group."
"O-of course I-I would… n-not, haha." Felix stuttered through an awkward laugh, his instincts screaming at him to play it safe. "I-I would n-not even speak of your group."
Observer, Lucifer used telepathy to speak to Judge, What must I do with this man as he knows the identity of Barachiel.
Lucifer's stare was unreadable, he took a while to respond. "Our organization does not fear the authorities." His words were slow, deliberate. "But you do not want to know what happens when one of our identities is known to the world."
Felix swallowed hard. He understood exactly what that ant.
"I-I will keep that in m-mind."
He forced himself to remain calm, knowing full well that the wrong move, the wrong word, could be his last. But if there was a way to ensure his own survival, to cover for Isadora without betraying them…
"If it is alright with you, May I know what your organization is called?" His voice was steadier now, but still cautious. "... If I may use that na to cover Isadora."
Lucifer smiled.
"We are… the Recorders."
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