Raven moved like literal lightning—one moment standing still, the next vanished entirely in a blur of motion that left afterimages in the molten air.
The stone floor beneath her had scorched footprints etched into it, wisps of smoke curling upward from the sheer friction of her takeoff.
The ogre snarled, its small mind panicking as it lost track of her presence. Its fingers clenched tighter around its enormous cleaver, knuckles whitening against gray skin, and it began swinging with wild abandon.
The weapon carved deep gouges into the obsidian floor, each strike ringing out like thunder. It was like watching a giant swatting at an invisible fly—or someone trying to dig a needle out of a haystack using an axe. Pointless. Desperate. Pathetic.
And then—without fanfare, without sound—blood burst from the ogre's elbow.
A perfect, clean line split the flesh, and an instant later, its entire forearm dropped to the floor with a bone-rattling thud. Raven reappeared atop what remained of the ogre's massive limb, her obsidian scythe glinting under the flickering lava light. Not a single drop of blood stained its edge. It was the kind of cut that transcended violence—elegant, surgical, final.
"Woah…" Aren murmured, his expression turning pensive as he brought a hand to his chin like an overly invested talent judge.
"That's an eight out of ten from me," he said, his voice echoing faintly across the arena, tinged with obvious mockery.
"Eight…?" Raven echoed, her eye twitching. Her smile remained, but the edges had curled into something ominously brittle.
Then, with casual brutality, she swung.
A simple cleave—unburdened by force, untelegraphed—and the ogre's head was no longer attached to its body. It toppled from its shoulders with a sickening thump, bouncing once before landing in a puddle of its own blood. Raven hadn't even moved from her perch.
In the next blink, she was standing nose-to-nose with Aren, the ground at her feet still steaming from the sheer force of her movement.
"Out of ten!?" she snapped, her tone shifting dramatically into the realm of petty outrage. She sounded less like a deadly assassin and more like a streamer complaining about donation goals while half-heartedly playing a game.
Behind her, the ogre's body was still collapsing—blood, bone, and sinew painting the arena in a morbid tableau. And yet here she was, pouting over a score.
"What can I say? I've got a thing for scythes," Aren said with a nonchalant shrug, his grin returning, boyish and unbothered.
"But more importantly—" he added, voice suddenly gleeful, "Loot!"
Like a goblin spotting a shiny coin, Aren took off at full sprint toward the ogre's corpse. Sure enough, right beside the fallen beast, a shimmering chest materialized—classic dungeon style, complete with glowing sigils and all.
"Hey! We're not done here!" Raven yelled, vanishing once more in a streak of black lightning.
She reappeared mid-tackle, slamming into Aren before he could touch the chest. The two tumbled across the floor in a flailing heap of limbs and curses.
Aren groaned, wincing as he hit the stone floor hard. He was partially bruised.
Raven, naturally, was fine. Not even a scratch.
"I killed the boss! I should at least get a say in what you get to keep!" she argued, sitting on top of him like a victorious cat pinning down its prey.
Aren, still grinning despite being pinned, raised a brow.
"Uhhh… you do remember that this dungeon falls under the jurisdiction of the Rising Gold Guild, right?" he asked.
"In other words—this was my assigned clearance. Which means… the loot's mine."
Well… technically he only got to keep 20% of it, thanks to guild regulations. But he wasn't going to mention that part.
"And you're just a trespasser," he added pointedly, still grinning like he'd just checkmated a grandmaster.
Raven stared down at him, stunned into silence. She visibly reconsidered every decision that had led her to this moment—starting with not letting the ogre pulp him earlier. Not that it would've mattered, given Aren's impossible knack for reviving.
"F-fine…" she relented, crossing her arms and sighing like a noble forced to share a room. "You win. Keep the loot. Just… don't report me to the Hunter Association for interfering in another guild's mission."
Aren made a victorious little "heh," smug practically oozing from his pores.
"Anyways," he said, "mind getting off me already? You're kinda heavy…"
Heavy.
Aren just called her heavy.
Big mistake.
Without a word, Raven grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up until their faces were nearly touching.
"What are you—?" Aren began.
CRACK.
She headbutted him.
The force of the impact shattered the ground beneath them like a meteor had landed, sending debris flying outward in a shockwave.
Aren died again.
...And just as quickly, he got back up—bones reknitting, blood reflowing, body pulling itself together in seconds.
Again.