Red in Different Shades

42. Fantasy Thrill and December Chill

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ . . . . (ノ°∀°)ノ   .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆


The Forsaken Wildlands was a desolate, unforgiving expanse of jagged cliffs, twisted trees, and an endless stretch of red skies. The land itself felt alive, the air heavy with whispers of past betrayals and bloodshed. It was a place where few dared to tread, and even fewer returned.

In the heart of this bleak wilderness stood a lone figure. A woman clad in worn leather armor patched with scraps of cloth and bits of chainmail. A tattered cloak hung over her shoulders, the edges frayed from years of wandering, and a medallion hung from her neck. Her magenta eyes glowed faintly under the shadow of her hood, sharp and restless as she scanned the barren terrain. She carried a long, freshly sharpened sword strapped to her back, its blade etched with runes that pulsed dimly.

Niwa, The Cursed Wanderer, was hunting. Not for food or treasure, but for a reprieve from the voices. The whispers that clung to her like a second skin, a chaotic symphony of guilt, anger, and sorrow from lost souls. She had wandered the Wildlands for years, running from her past.

But today, something—or someone—was watching her.

Niwa froze mid-step, her sharp eyes narrowing. The air was different, charged with tension. The faint smell of smoke and sulfur mixed with the earthy musk of blood and sweat. She turned slowly, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her sword.

A laugh, loud and mocking, echoed through the jagged rocks.

"Finally, something worth fighting!"

From the cliffs above, a figure leapt down, landing with a thunderous crash that sent dust and debris flying. He rose to his full height, a wild grin splitting his face. His blonde hair was untamed, his body clad in pelts, furs, and parts of iron armor. A massive battle axe rested casually on his shoulder, its blade jagged and stained with countless victories.

Niwa's eyes locked with his fiery red ones. There was no mistaking the primal energy radiating from him. Like a storm barely restrained, waiting to unleash destruction.

"The name's Bakugou Katsuki," he said, his voice booming like thunder. "You've wandered into my hunting grounds, stranger. What're you gonna do about it?"

Niwa didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her voice calm but edged with steel.

"Hunting grounds? I didn't see your name carved into the dirt," she retorted.

Bakugou's grin widened devilishly, his grip tightening on the axe. "Oh, you've got a sharp tongue. Let's see if you've got skills to match it!"

Before she could reply, he charged, moving faster than someone of his bulk should. The axe came down in a brutal arc, aiming to split her in two.

Niwa sidestepped, her movements precise and fluid. Her blade hissed as she drew it from its sheath, intercepting his next swing with surprising strength. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal, the force of his attack sending a shock up her arm.

"You've got a death wish, don't you?" he barked, his voice a mixture of exhilaration and challenge.

"You're the one picking fights with strangers," she shot back, her cursed sword glowing faintly as she parried another strike.

The fight was chaos and rhythm all at once. A dance of brutal force and calculated precision. Bakugou fought like a force of nature, his strikes viscous and powerful, each one threatening to overwhelm. Niwa, in contrast, moved with eerie grace, her every step calculated, her every strike deliberate.

Their blades locked, and for a moment, they were face to face, inches apart.

"You're not bad," Bakugou admitted, though his menacing grin never faded. "But you're holding back. Why?"