There are all kinds of Skills in the world of Hunters. So are common, simple enhancents that increase one's strength, boost speed, or grant elental affinity. But then there are the problematic ones—the Skills that don't follow the norm, Skills that alter perception, twist space, or even rewrite the flow of reality itself.
The difference between these two types is like day and night. And in a fight between Hunters, the outco isn't always dictated by Stats alone. More often than not, it's the Skills—and how they're used—that decide who walks away breathing.
There have been countless cases where a Hunter with a Unique Class fell at the hands of soone with nothing more than a basic speed enhancent. In a head-on clash, speed often ans survival. The faster you are, the quicker you can react, strike, and kill.
However… that rule only applies when your opponent plays by the sa logic.
And River never played fair.
The alley was a tight, suffocating space. Broken trash cans lined the walls, and the flickering streetlight barely illuminated the mist curling near the ground. The sll of damp concrete clung to the air. The silence between blows was deafening, interrupted only by the occasional clang of tal against sothing unseen.
Momo—known in the underground as Scrawny—moved like a phantom. His body flickered out of existence and back in rapid bursts, a blur of motion accompanied by the faint crackle of teleportation. The dagger in his grip glead under the dim light, leaving arcs of silver as it slashed through the air.
He was fast. Too fast for most D-Rank Hunters to follow.
But River was no ordinary opponent.
Fwoom.
Momo reappeared behind River, dagger stabbing forward with the precision of a surgeon. But just before the blade could pierce flesh, the air rippled. A translucent bubble snapped into existence, catching the dagger mid-thrust. The impact sent vibrations through Momo's arm. He clicked his tongue and vanished again before the bubble detonated with a muted pop that rattled the nearest wall.
He reappeared to River's right this ti, already mid-swing.
Another bubble curved upward, like it had anticipated the strike, colliding with his dagger and forcing it off course.
Again and again, the sa scene played out. Teleport. Strike. Block. Burst.
"What the hell…" Momo gritted his teeth as he pulled back, his breathing slightly uneven now. His eyes scanned the alley, sharp and calculating.
Bubbles? That was what confused him. These weren't simple barriers or shields—each orb River conjured seed to behave differently. So absorbed impact, others deflected force, and a few even detonated in controlled bursts. And River wasn't summoning them in patterns; they appeared instinctively, almost like a sixth sense guiding their placent.
Momo blinked out again, reappearing above this ti, falling like a hawk with his dagger aid for River's skull. But instead of dodging, River flicked his fingers. A cluster of micro-bubbles ford mid-air, intercepting the strike. They popped in quick succession, releasing compressed force that redirected the attack just enough for River to twist aside unscathed.
"Tch… Annoying bastard," Momo muttered as he landed lightly, dagger spinning in his grip. He could feel the pressure mounting—the longer this dragged on, the more dangerous River beca.
River, on the other hand, stood calm, his posture loose yet deliberate. His expression was one of mild amusent, like a teacher watching a student struggle with a basic equation.
"Teleportation and a knife," River finally spoke, his voice light but cutting through the tense silence. "Not bad for scaring civilians. Too bad you ran into ."
Momo's jaw tightened. "You talk too much."
"I've been told that." River's grin widened. "Usually by people who end up running."
The taunt hit its mark. Momo lunged forward, teleporting mid-step to close the distance instantly. The dagger's edge glimred, aid for River's throat this ti—a killing blow.
But before the blade could land, that sa bubble barrier surrounded River, it was like stabbing into an elastic void. The weapon sank slightly, then rebounded violently, nearly ripping the dagger from Momo's grip. A shockwave burst outward, sending a sharp crack echoing down the alley.
River's counter was imdiate. He raised his hand, and the scattered remnants of popped bubbles reford around Momo like a net. For a split second, Momo felt resistance tug at his limbs. His instincts scread. With a growl, he teleported out—barely—before the bubbles collapsed inward and exploded like miniature grenades where he had stood.
Landing farther back, chest heaving, Momo finally understood the truth.
He's predicting .
River wasn't just reacting—he was controlling the battlefield, shaping every movent into a trap. His Skill wasn't defensive. It was absolute control disguised as simplicity. Each bubble wasn't random; they were extensions of his awareness, his will.
"This isn't worth it," Momo muttered under his breath, frustration clawing at his insides. He hated admitting defeat, but continuing this fight ant gambling with his life—a gamble he couldn't afford.
Straightening, he flicked his dagger once, letting the blade rest against his forearm. "You're lucky. I can't kill you alone"
River tilted his head. "Am I?"
"Yeah," Momo smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed his irritation. "Because if I can, I will rip you into pieces."
River chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Are you sure about that? From where I'm standing, it looks like you're the one who's going to get ripped apart."
Momo's smirk faltered. River had read him like an open book.
"You beca silent," River said, his voice sharp as broken glass. "But rember this—next ti you co for , bring sothing sharper than that toothpick."
Momo didn't move imdiately. His outline flickered in and out of view, a trick of his teleportation skill that made the alley seem haunted by his afterimages. A faint grin tugged at the man's lips as if River's insult rolled right past him.
"You talk big for soone who's about to be surrounded," Momo said, his tone infuriatingly calm.
River's brows knitted for a split second before the sound reached him—distant but growing louder. Boots pounding pavent. Dozens of them. The tallic clatter of weapons being drawn. He tilted his head slightly, catching the faint glow of Hunter ID lamps bobbing toward the alley from both ends.
"Tch." River's smirk didn't falter, though a cold gleam flashed in his eyes. "Calling friends? That's cute."
Momo didn't bother answering this ti. He stepped back, dagger spinning effortlessly in his hand as his form rippled, vanishing and reappearing a few ters away in the blink of an eye. River's gaze tracked every flicker, his muscles taut, his mind dissecting patterns with razor precision.
The fight resud in brutal silence. Momo blinked in and out, closing distance like a phantom. Each ti the dagger lunged for River's vitals, a translucent bubble intercepted the strike with a muted pop, dispersing the kinetic energy harmlessly. The shimring spheres orbited River in a complex dance, adjusting in size and density with each of Momo's feints.
"What is this crap?" Momo hissed after his blade slid off another layer of elastic force. For the first ti, irritation cracked his calm mask. The bubbles didn't just block—they shifted unpredictably, warping Momo's sense of distance mid-attack. His teleportation skill relied on precise spatial anchors, but River's ability bent those assumptions until every strike felt like stabbing through fog.
River's smirk deepened. "You look frustrated. Not what you pictured when you ca swaggering in, huh?"
The next exchange was vicious. Momo teleported high, dagger aid for River's temple. A bubble swelled like a balloon, catching the blade, and with a snap, redirected the strike downward, nearly wrenching the weapon from Momo's grip. He landed hard, teeth gritted, teleporting away just as a smaller orb shot past where his head had been—lethal in its condensed form.
"You're not bad," River said, letting another bubble drift lazily above his palm. Its glossy surface shimred like a soap sphere under neon light, masking the crushing density inside. "But you fight like you're on a tir."
That jab hit ho. Momo's jaw tightened. He flicked his dagger, keeping his voice cool. "Maybe I just like playing with my food."
"Sure," River drawled, tilting his head toward the alley mouth. "Then why do I hear your cavalry?"
As if on cue, shadows spilled across the entrance. Dozens of silhouettes erged—D-Rank Hunters, their armor clinking, blades and rifles catching the glow of streetlights. A second wave closed in from the opposite end, boxing the alley tight. The rank stench of bloodlust and cheap cologne filled the air.
Momo let out a low chuckle, stepping aside as if presenting the stage. "Ga's over, You've got nowhere to run."
River's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes swept the encirclent in a heartbeat—counting heads, weapons, angles of attack. His pulse quickened, not with fear, but sothing else: the razor-edged thrill of being hunted.
"Dozen D-Ranks…" he murmured, flexing his fingers as bubbles thickened around him like a living shield.
He rolled his shoulders, every line of his posture oozing nonchalance, even as the ring of enemies tightened. "So this is the part where I'm supposed to beg? Drop my knees and hope for rcy?"
One Hunter barked a laugh. "You can still make it easy on yourself."
River's grin sharpened like a blade. "Funny thing about …"
A bubble snapped into existence beside his cheek, glowing faintly as though lit from within. His voice dropped to a low purr.
"I don't do easy."
The alley trembled with the tension of a dozen weapons being readied. Then the first Hunter lunged.
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