An enemy above Iron Rank!

Ascot the leader of the team felt both fear and annoyance when he was forced to take the mercenary Craftsman with him. Even though he only had an Iron Rank Physique and almost no control, the man was strong enough to snap bones with his fingers.

What was worse, he was so difficult to handle- a real violent one. Totally unsuitable for searching a city for one girl. So Ascot had kept him close and hoped one of the other teams would find the girl and steal the Stone from her. Since their information placed it in a magic bag, it would be a delicate operation. Risking the loss of the stone by destroying the bag was out of the question. As was killing her. If the bag was keyed to her and she died before designating a new owner, there was every chance that they'd have to destroy the bag to expose the contents.

Ascot's team was the largest, and the most well armed since he didn't trust the Merc one bit.... but as it turned out, he was going to come in handy.

The two girls were taking cover- but that didn't mean they weren't necessarily armed. The reflexes of the one riding the bike- and the military insignia on the side. Ascot was a veteran of a dozen conflicts and recognised that the bike had been made in Claire Paravel, a republic of mixed races to the south east.

Had their spymaster found out about the stone and sent his own agents for it? But why had she driven the girl back here then?

Unless... the Stone wasn't in the bag right now! They'd come here to retrieve it!

Ascot opened his mouth to order the Merc to halt...

He'd already dashed forwards, yelling;

"Consider it a privilege, you normies are about to be struck down by Iron Fist Ducarde!"

There was a slight glimmer around his fist- he was obviously planning to slam into the bike and pin the two down.

Before he could reach the bike though, the girl Ascot now recognised as an enemy agent leapt from behind it, and planted her feet into the stone street.

A bright white shimmer appeared around her feet as the ground distorted like putty.

"Craftswoman!"

There was no doubt now, she was an agent- and higher than iron rank! It was common knowledge that a Craftsperson would rapidly bulk up until they reached the peak of Iron rank and entered bronze; then the muscle in their body would explosively compress itself, increasing in density and power!

The Merc recognised he'd made a mistake, but couldn't stop his momentum, desperately he roared, and the glimmer around his fist exploded in intensity and size.

The girl was calm. Her own arm glowed, in particular, her fingers blazed with a light far more concentrated than Ducarde's.

Ducarde swung a wild Haymaker, but as fast as he was, he was no match for an opponent that exceeded him in both power and technique. Harper's hand pushed from underneath, impacting Ducarde's wrist, behind the glow surrounding his fist. Her fingers sunk into his flesh with ease, the flesh of the iron ranker as soft as pudding to her shimmering fingers. Ducarde roared with pain as his swing was directed towards the sky- but Harper wasn't finished.

Ducarde had been charging full tilt at the bike, but now there was an immovable object in his path.

Harper's feet were so firmly planted in the ground she might as well have been part of it.

Her palm shot out to impact Ducarde's chest. With the crack of breaking bone, Ducarde's lower body kept moving forward as his upper body pivoted around Harper's palm.

With an almighty crash he hit the pavement.

Harper froze. She hadn't fully thought this through when she'd leapt out to intercept the Craftsman- but now the man's bulk wasn't shielding her from their sight, nothing was stopping them from shooting her.

Ascot had been taking aim for the last few seconds- only to be distracted before he could take the shot at the now unobstructed 'enemy agent'.

His target had stood up and, she was holding a fist sized chunk of rugged stone.

Arlene yelled at the top of her lungs-

"If you want this stupid rock, you can go get it yourself."

And with that, she hurled it towards the lake.

Six heads followed the arc of the stone with expressions of horror.

Ascot, as the most experienced, was distracted for about a second and a half before remembering to pull the trigger.

Too slow.

He knew he'd missed before he'd even finished firing.

He knew the blow was coming before it even landed, and let his body go slack.

He'd once sabotaged a munitions dump- but the fuses had burnt fast and caught him half a minute earlier than he expected. The impact he felt now was similar to then- he bowled over the pavement.

His head swam, but he rolled to his feet and pulled a paper cylinder from his jacket with his left hand as his right arm dangled useless at his side. Yanking the metal ring-pull with his teeth, he let the smoker fall to the ground. He limped off into the night, rounding a corner, his eyes searching. There. The binmen had done their rounds during their stakeout, so he knew it would be empty. He hopped inside the bin and pulled the lid over the top, ignoring the smell, the pain and the grime. He had only a few moments to calm his breathing.

The sounds of fighting in the distance, gunshots, yells and screams were replaced by quiet, and then, running feet.

He held his breath.

The runner paused and then faded into the distance.

Ascot remained in the bin.

The footfalls returned, this time going the other way.

Ascot remained in the bin.

A cockroach scuttled over his foot.

Finally, he heard the sound of the treadbike in the distance.

Ascot remained in the bin.

Five minutes after he'd heard a single sound, he finally emerged.

The first thing he did was remove his necktie and clench it between his teeth.

The second thing he did was to fix his dislocated shoulder.

It was tempting to try and slam it against the wall to fix it quickly, but, he endured the pain, even as his eyes grew bloodshot- first checking to see if his collarbone was broken, before easing his dislocated shoulder firmly back into position.

The pain didn't go away.... but, it did, lessen.

the necktie dropped from Ascot's mouth as he slumped against the wall. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but blood was streaming out of his nose, he'd twisted his ankle and his chest hurt like hell where the girl had given him the first blow.

Damn.

DAMN!

The bloody rock had almost been in his hands!

If only they'd taken this lead more seriously! If only they'd called for more backup before investigating here!

And HOW! How had that enemy agent been a step ahead of them! She'd obviously befriended the target somehow... And she was a bronze, or maybe a silver ranker....

After six decades, all the big players should've pulled their worthwhile craftsman off the search!

Having something like her turn up at the eleventh hour was just unfair- Ascot hadn't even known this lead would be good until a few days ago!

A chill suddenly ran through his blood, washing away the pain and filling his head with cold, clear and horrible clarity. She could've known, she could've gotten ahead of them. If there was a traitor in his own group.

Ascot struggled to his feet. He'd meet up with the extraction team outside the city.

He didn't look back at his fallen comrades. He didn't need to. An enemy like that didn't take prisoners- and didn't leave loose ends if they could help it.

How had such a simple snatch and grab gone so horribly wrong!