A Sister's Love and Loss

Seraphina Nightshade, one of the owners of the largest and the most widespread spy networks across all countries.

Her name was spoken in hushed whispers by whoever knew of her. From a young age, she had mastered the art of manipulation and leadership, her every move precise and sophisticated.

Under that exterior lies a cold-blooded strategist. Her actions are driven by logic, not compassion. Her view of the world is like a giant chessboard, with everyone being pieces to move, or to sacrifice.

One person, though, she cannot view as such, and that is her sister, Dravenna Nightshade.

Her immeasurable love for her sister is a weakness which can be exploited easily.

.

The road, wet due to the heavy rain, shone under the streetlights, reflecting an image of Seraphina's tear-filled face. Her sister, Dravenna, had died – an assassination that had shattered her world. Dravenna was found dead in her garden, a hole passing through her head starting from the middle of the forehead.

There were no traces of mana, no footprints, nothing indicating who the attacker might be.

The Seraphina right now was not anything like her normal self. She was stumbling along the deserted street, soaked with rainwater, and a half-empty bottle in her hand. Liquor did nothing to sooth the feeling of loss welling up inside her.

A shadow came out of a nearby alleyway. A man, his face invisible in the darkness of the cloud-covered night. He moved with practiced ease, his steps silent. He stopped a few paces behind Seraphina, watching her walk unsteadily.

"Seraphina Nightshade," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through her heart.

Seraphina spun around, her hand instinctively going to the sword that wasn't there. Disarmed and drunk, she felt a surge of anger mixed with the despair. "Who are you? Go away."

The man didn't flinch at her outburst. Instead, he took a measured step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am Noiir, someone who can help," he said.

Seraphina scoffed. "Help? Who can help me?" Her voice echoed on the empty street.

"Justice can be served," the man continued, his voice soft and seductive. "The perpetrators exposed. But only if you listen."

She squinted at him, her vision blurred by tears and alcohol. "Who sent you?"

"Nobody," the man shook his head, his voice laced with a hint of pity. "I work in the shadows. I have my own sources, my own sense of justice."

He paused, gauging her reaction. Seraphina, fueled by alcohol and a grief that threatened to consume her, felt a spark of curiosity.

"And what is your price?" she asked, her voice hoarse. It was a question born of desperation, a drop of hope dropped into her sea of grief.

"Information. Access."

"To what?" She snapped, a flicker of her old fire returning to her eyes.

"Your office," the man said, his voice dropping to an even lower register. "I need to show you something. Something that will light a fire under your cold, grieving heart."

She considered it. The thought of returning to the walls of her office, the sea of information that could cause countries to fall, felt nauseating. Yet, the promise of information, of some path towards vengeance, a chance to avenge her sister . . .

"Fine," she spat, the word thick on her tongue and laced with a venomous bitterness. "But if this is some kind of twisted game . . ."

The man held up a hand, a calming gesture. "There are no games, only the truth."

Seraphina straightened herself. The bottle was clutched ever tighter in her hand. "Lead the way, then. Quickly."

.

The two reached her office, passing through many guards on the way.

Seraphina opened the door, revealing a dark room with papers and files thrown everywhere. She pulled a chair, motioning the man to sit on it, to which he nodded and sat down.

She pulled another chair and sat in front of him. "So, what did you want to show me?"

She said in a businesslike voice, it was clear that she was more sober than before, the effects of the alcohol dying down.

"I know the perpetrator of the assassination, Seraphina," the man said in an enigmatic tone, it was impossible to say if he was trying to lie or was telling the truth.

Seraphina, however, jumped up from he seat and walked closer to him, "Who was it?!"

She asked in an agitated manner. The man had an amused expression, the woman he had heard to be the most ruthless and cunning was looking like a dog in front of a bone due to just one sentence.

Not getting her answer, she walked to him and picked him up by the collar, her anger visible on her face more than ever. "Who. Was. It?"

She said, her voice filled with anger enough to scare the bravest of people, but the man showed no reaction.

He stayed silent, until his face morphed into one of pure malice, a huge grin plastered on it, while his eyes showed enjoyment of the situation.

The man leaned closer, his voice a chilling whisper, "Me"

Seraphina's eyes widened, her hands now shaking as she tried to push him away, her anger and agitation turned into pure disbelief that left her senses numb.

Before she could push him away, he raised his hand to her forehead, making a gun with his index finger and thumb.

Following that, Seraphina didn't feel anything, but it was as if she didn't have control of her body anymore.

She hated the man in front of her with all her heart, but she was unable to do anything. Slowly feeling her consciousness fade away, she fell limp onto the floor.

The man quickly went up to the unlocked computer and logged into the information server, downloading all the information he could find into several pen drives.

The cooling fans of the computer was the only sound in the silent room, which now had a foul smell of blood lingering in it.

After about 15 minutes, everything from the servers was downloaded, so he started the process to delete everything.

He went through each of the folders, making sure nothing was left behind. Files on covert operations, classified correspondences, blackmail material – all of it now fit onto, and only onto the small drives he held.

He glanced down at Seraphina occasionally. As the last file transferred, he pulled the drives from the computer, slipping them into his pocket.

He turned his attention to the physical documents scattered around. These were too many to carry, but valuable nonetheless. He had to make sure they couldn't be recovered. With quick movements, he began lighting small fires around the room. He used a lighter, igniting the edges of papers and files.

The guards outside remained oblivious to the situation. The fire consumed the papers and spread throughout the room.

Just as the fire began to rage, the man went towards the window, glancing back one final time. He climbed down the window, blending into the darkness.

The guards, finally seeing the smoke, rushed into the office, but it was too late. They could only watch as the room was engulfed by flames.

.

.

.

.

.

.

POV: Unknown (The Killer)

I hid in a dark alleyway, taking off my bloodstained clothes and putting on new ones.

I made sure to take all the pen drives and walked leisurely, as if nothing happened.

I walked into a huge mansion, the golden metal doors opening silently, lubricated by the rainwater.

I walked calmly through the path covered with potted plants on both sides, a squishing sound playing with each step as I walked on wet gravel.

"Hey where were you? Look you're completely drenched!"

A woman called out to me as I neared the porch in front of the entrance.

A smiled warmly, acting nonchalant, as I walked towards her.

"I was just taking a stroll."

I said in a relaxed voice as I walked inside, water dripping from my clothes onto the smooth tiled floor.

With a practiced bow, a maid handed a towel to me, which I took and started drying my hair.

The woman watched me with narrowed eyes, a mixture of worry and amusement, maybe even suspicion.

"What if you caught a cold? Sometimes you're really dumb, Sukuna"

The woman, my mom, giggled as she said this, taking the towel from me and started drying my hair herself.

I sat on the sofa, which sunk in due to my weight, and gave me a feeling of intense comfort.

My mom finished drying my hair and said in a comically loud voice, "There, all better!"

I unintentionally smiled, such a nice family I have.