Legacy's Wake

Harvester wasted no time closing the distance between them, her body twisting and contorting in midair with an eerie fluidity, as if she were an apparition rather than flesh and blood. Each motion she made seemed to give birth to another illusion, shifting her form into a blur of afterimages that flickered in and out of existence, making it nearly impossible to tell which one was real. It was a technique meant to overwhelm her prey, to force hesitation, to cloud judgment in the heat of battle. But despite the chaotic visual assault, Stitch remained eerily calm, her single visible eye locked onto the real one, filtering through the deception with unwavering focus.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Stitch sent a volley of thin, glimmering needles soaring through the air, their silver edges catching the moonlight as they shot toward Harvester like deadly rain. But Harvester was ready. Her twin-bladed weapon spun in her hands with a practiced ease, deflecting each projectile mid-flight in a series of sharp, metallic clangs. Sparks danced between them as steel met steel, the sound echoing through the empty streets. Yet, the instant Harvester knocked aside the last needle, she realized—too late—that it had been a diversion.

Stitch had already moved.

With a nimbleness honed through years of practice, she flipped backward, creating just enough space to launch a second, deadlier set of needles. This time, the projectiles were not merely sharp weapons but a carefully mixed array of tricks—some laced with a numbing paralysis agent, others primed to explode upon impact.

Harvester's sharp instincts caught the subtle shift in the weight and speed of the incoming attack. Recognizing the danger, she didn't retreat. Instead, she surged forward, defying expectations. The moment her foot made contact with the ground, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, slipping fluidly between the projectiles with precision that should have been impossible for a human.

A split second later, the explosive needles met the ground behind her. A sudden detonation erupted, the street trembling as fire and debris shot into the sky, momentarily engulfing the area in a cloud of smoke and embers. The force of the blast illuminated the battlefield in bursts of flickering orange, casting long shadows over the drenched pavement.

Stitch clenched her teeth, her grip tightening around her long, razor-sharp needle.

"She's too damn slippery. I need to find a way to land a hit..."

Emerging from the haze, Harvester smirked, her red eyes gleaming with amusement as she capitalized on the moment of distraction. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, slashing with a sharp, horizontal arc that threatened to carve through Stitch's midsection. The sound of the blade cutting through the air was enough to send a chill down her spine.

But Stitch's reflexes were unparalleled.

At the last possible second, she twisted her body backward, narrowly evading the deadly edge while simultaneously bringing up her large needle to intercept. The instant their weapons clashed, a powerful jolt ran up Stitch's arm, the impact sending a violent tremor through her bones.

"Strong...!"

Harvester didn't stop. Using the momentum from the block, she shifted seamlessly into a second attack, her twin-blade slicing low in an attempt to sever Stitch's legs from beneath her. Recognizing the incoming danger, Stitch reacted purely on instinct, leaping into the air just in time to avoid the lethal sweep.

Mid-flight, she took advantage of her elevated position, flicking her wrist once more to release a single needle aimed directly at Harvester's shoulder. It was a precision strike, quick and efficient.

But Harvester was faster.

In the blink of an eye, her form blurred—another illusion. The real her had already repositioned, materializing behind Stitch before the latter could even register the movement.

"Got you," Harvester whispered, her voice cutting through the night like a blade itself.

Before Stitch could react, Harvester's twin-blade slashed downward in a deadly arc.

But Stitch wasn't so easily caught.

At the last possible second, she twisted her body mid-air, narrowly dodging the attack while simultaneously hooking her large needle against Harvester's weapon. With a powerful yank, she pulled herself away, redirecting her descent and landing gracefully a few meters away just as Harvester's feet touched the ground.

The moment she landed, she didn't hesitate. Her fingers moved with practiced speed, pulling out three more needles and launching them in rapid succession. Each projectile sang through the air, aimed directly at Harvester's center mass.

Harvester reacted with her usual precision, slashing through the incoming needles with effortless grace. However, she failed to notice that one of them—slightly thicker than the others—had embedded itself into the stone pavement behind her.

A second later, it pulsed.

A sudden shockwave erupted, sending dust, debris, and small fragments of stone flying through the air. Harvester's eyes widened slightly, forced to perform a rapid backflip to escape the unexpected detonation.

But as she landed, Stitch was already in motion.

Instead of attacking with her needle, she whipped her leg up in a sharp, high kick, catching Harvester's chin with brutal force. The impact sent her staggering back, her head snapping upward from the sheer momentum.

Without a moment's pause, Stitch followed up with another kick—this time spinning on her heel and delivering a powerful roundhouse to Harvester's ribs. The force behind the strike sent her skidding across the stone pavement, but she managed to plant her blade into the ground to stop herself from tumbling further.

Harvester coughed, a thin trail of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, her gaze burning with something between admiration and rage.

"What's with the sudden shift in your skill?" She inquired, her grip tightening on her weapon.

Harvester growled. Without warning, she dashed forward again, her afterimages multiplying, surrounding Stitch from all angles. But this time, Stitch didn't just dodge. She weaved through them, her movements fluid and unpredictable, lashing out with quick, devastating kicks whenever she found an opening.

One kick to the stomach. Another to the side of the knee. A final, brutal axe kick to the shoulder.

Harvester stumbled, forced to retreat under the relentless assault.

But just as Stitch moved in to finish it, Harvester caught her leg mid-kick.

For a split second, their gazes met—Stitch's eye filled with surprise, Harvester's with satisfaction.

With a sharp twist, Harvester swung Stitch off balance, hurling her to the side. But instead of crashing to the ground, Stitch used the momentum to flip mid-air, landing on her feet in a crouched stance.

"For someone who was trembling like a leaf just hours ago, you sure know how to dance around a battlefield," Harvester remarked, a smirk creeping onto her lips as she steadied herself.

But before Stitch could respond, the atmosphere grew heavier. The sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air, followed by the slow, deliberate steps of Notch. His massive cleavers dragged along the ground, carving deep grooves into the pavement as he approached. His artificial, slightly robotic voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"I'm not one for games, but I gotta say, you've been givin' us quite the runaround," Notch mused, resting one of his cleavers against his shoulder. "Thing is, now that you know our little secret… well, you're making this easier for us. We can't let you leave here alive."

A low, unsettling chuckle echoed through the empty district, and suddenly, a presence manifested behind Stitch. The Faceless had arrived. His form flickered in and out of existence like a phantom, his entire being a darkened void with no features—just a hollow, shifting shadow of a man. His voice was like a whisper from the abyss, a sound that seemed to creep into the mind rather than enter through the ears.

"You see us now, don't you?" The Faceless rasped. "You see what we really are… And that is why we are weakened."

With that, an eerie fog rolled across the battlefield, and from within its depths, wraith-like figures emerged—phantoms that twitched and jerked unnaturally, their hollow eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They surrounded Stitch, their transparent forms shifting restlessly, waiting for their master's command.

Her fingers tightened around her needles. She could tell they weren't as strong as before, but it didn't change the fact that it was still three against one. And the moment Harvester moved, Stitch realized just how much trouble she was in.

Harvester lunged first, her twin-blade spinning like a deadly whirlwind. Stitch barely had time to react—she twisted her body to the side, but the very tip of the blade grazed her sleeve, cutting fabric and drawing a thin line of blood on her arm. She winced but forced herself to move, rolling backward to create space.

But space wasn't an option.

Notch was already swinging.

His cleaver came crashing down in a brutal arc, splitting the stone beneath him as Stitch barely managed to roll aside. The sheer force of the impact sent a shockwave through the ground, causing debris to fly in every direction. She tried to spring to her feet, but a shadow loomed over her—The Faceless.

His ghosts clawed at her, their chilling fingers digging into her arms and legs. A deep, unbearable cold spread through her limbs, making them feel sluggish, numb. She gritted her teeth and struggled, her body refusing to move at full speed.

Harvester took advantage of her hesitation, dashing forward with unnatural speed. Stitch barely raised her needle in time to block the attack, but the force sent her sliding back several feet, her boots scraping against the wet pavement.

The moment she stopped, Notch was already upon her again.

She ducked.

The cleaver passed just inches over her head, cutting through her hair, sending strands of her hair flying. A second cleaver came from the side—she leaped back, but her foot slipped on the slick stone, her balance breaking.

A heavy boot met her stomach.

Notch kicked her with enough force to send her crashing into a nearby wall, her back slamming against the solid surface. She gasped, pain exploding through her ribs as she barely managed to stay standing.

She had no time to recover.

A phantom lunged for her throat—she instinctively threw a disruption needle at it, and the spirit let out a distorted screech, vanishing into nothing. But another took its place, then another. The Faceless wasn't letting her breathe.

Her vision blurred for a second. The cold seeped deeper into her bones. The world around her felt heavier, like it was pressing down on her chest.

No, not now.

With a sharp inhale, she forced herself forward. Her body screamed at her to stop, but she didn't listen. Instead, she spun, delivering a lightning-fast kick to one of the phantoms, her foot connecting just as she threw another needle. The energy within it sent the ghost scattering.

Harvester was already attacking again.

Stitch twisted, blocking the twin-blade with her large needle, but Harvester's strength was relentless. Blow after blow rained down on her, forcing her to dodge, deflect, and twist her body in impossible ways just to stay alive.

But she was slowing down.

And they knew it.

Notch came from the side again, his cleaver carving a path toward her. She shifted her weight and vaulted over him, but mid-air, a phantom wrapped around her leg.

It pulled.

Stitch crashed onto the stone, rolling to break her fall, but her body burned from the impact.

For the first time, she hesitated.

Harvester saw it.

In a blur of motion, she appeared above Stitch, her twin-blade descending fast.

Stitch barely got her needle up in time. Metal clashed against metal, sparks flying. The force of the impact made her arms tremble. Harvester grinned, pressing down harder.

"You're quick," she murmured, "but that won't help when you're tired."

Stitch grit her teeth. She twisted her body and shoved Harvester back, immediately retaliating with a swift roundhouse kick to her ribs. Harvester staggered, but before Stitch could press the attack, Notch was already bringing his cleaver down again.

She leaped to the side, but she was too slow this time.

The edge of the cleaver nicked her side, slicing through her uniform. Blood splattered onto the stone as she stumbled, pressing a hand to the wound.

Damn it.

Her breath was ragged. Her muscles screamed. But she couldn't stop.

She spun, throwing a set of paralysis needles at Notch. He raised his cleaver to block, but one needle slipped past, embedding into his shoulder. His movements faltered, if only for a moment.

It was enough.

Stitch lunged forward, driving her foot into his chest with a powerful kick. He staggered, but before she could follow up, the Faceless's phantoms rushed at her again.

She twisted, throwing another disruption needle, but her arm ached, her movements losing precision. One ghost managed to graze her shoulder, and an unbearable chill crawled through her body, locking her joints.

Harvester capitalized on it immediately.

She appeared in front of Stitch, her twin-blade slashing.

Stitch ducked.

A second slash.

She twisted, barely avoiding it.

A third.

Too fast.

The blade cut across her thigh. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep moving despite the pain.

She needed to end this.

With a burst of speed, she flipped backward, creating distance. Then, she reached into her pouch and grabbed three special needles—one explosive, one paralyzing, one infused with disruption energy.

She threw them all.

The battlefield erupted in light.

The explosion sent Harvester flying, her body slamming into Notch. The paralysis needle struck the Faceless directly, making his form flicker violently. The ghosts shrieked, their bodies unraveling.

Panting, blood dripping down her arms, Stitch stood.

To be continued...