The Fallen One stood in front of the grimy Orub City ATM, the screen blinking green with a smiling pixelated face.
"Withdrawal approved. Total payout: 175,000 Sticknotes."
The tray below clicked and began spitting out paper cash, not digital credits.
He sighed.
"Of course it's paper."
With no backpack or wallet, he flipped his sheath forward. The moment it touched the bills, it unfolded itself into a dark vacuum-like slit, absorbing every note like a blackhole with manners.
Just as the last note disappeared, boots scuffed the pavement behind him.
"Well well… whaddya know."
A greasy voice echoed.
"A stickman with no weapon. Just a fancy sheath. Perfect target."
The Fallen One didn't turn.
Three stickman thugs stepped out of the alley shadows. One had brass knuckles. Another had a bat. The third? Just a sneer and cracked sunglasses.
The biggest one chuckled.
"Tell ya what—we're feeling generous. How 'bout we hold onto that cash for you?"
The Fallen One, still facing the ATM, slowly exhaled. Then replied:
"You're not ready."
Thug 1: "Say what?"
Thug 2: "This dude got jokes."
Thug 3: "Nah, he's got death wishes."
The Fallen One finally turned. No weapon in sight. Just his cloak… and the unmarked black sheath hanging by his side, softly glowing with latent energy.
He gripped it.
Whispered a command:
"Convert: Type R—Reflection mode."
The sheath rippled.
Then—in one blink—he was behind them.
They froze. None of them had seen him move.
His voice, now colder:
"You tried to rob a swordsman whose weapon is everything."
The sheath slowly transformed into a mirror-like blade, crackling with light and fog. Their reflections distorted and twisted—each one seeing themselves defeated in a different way.
Thug 1 dropped the bat.
Thug 2 stumbled back into trash cans.
Thug 3 bolted.
The Fallen One didn't pursue. He sheathed his weapon, which turned back into its dormant state and slung it over his back.
He looked back at the ATM.
"Sticknotes. Never clean business."
Then he disappeared into the Orub City crowd once more
The Fallen One stood in front of the grimy Orub City ATM, the screen blinking green with a smiling pixelated face.
"Withdrawal approved. Total payout: 175,000 Sticknotes."
The tray below clicked and began spitting out paper cash, not digital credits.
He sighed.
"Of course it's paper."
With no backpack or wallet, he flipped his sheath forward. The moment it touched the bills, it unfolded itself into a dark vacuum-like slit, absorbing every note like a blackhole with manners.
Just as the last note disappeared, boots scuffed the pavement behind him.
"Well well… whaddya know."
A greasy voice echoed.
"A stickman with no weapon. Just a fancy sheath. Perfect target."
The Fallen One didn't turn.
Three stickman thugs stepped out of the alley shadows. One had brass knuckles. Another had a bat. The third? Just a sneer and cracked sunglasses.
The biggest one chuckled.
"Tell ya what—we're feeling generous. How 'bout we hold onto that cash for you?"
The Fallen One, still facing the ATM, slowly exhaled. Then replied:
"You're not ready."
Thug 1: "Say what?"
Thug 2: "This dude got jokes."
Thug 3: "Nah, he's got death wishes."
The Fallen One finally turned. No weapon in sight. Just his cloak… and the unmarked black sheath hanging by his side, softly glowing with latent energy.
He gripped it.
Whispered a command:
"Convert: Type R—Reflection mode."
The sheath rippled.
Then—in one blink—he was behind them.
They froze. None of them had seen him move.
His voice, now colder:
"You tried to rob a swordsman whose weapon is everything."
The sheath slowly transformed into a pistol.
Thug 1 dropped the bat.
Thug 2 stumbled back into trash cans.
Thug 3 bolted.
The Fallen One didn't pursue. He sheathed his weapon, which turned back into its dormant state and slung it over his back.
He looked back at the ATM.
"Sticknotes. Never clean business."
Then he disappeared into the Orub City crowd once more.
The café buzzed with low chatter and the clinking of mugs. Steam rose from the Fallen One's cup as he sat in a corner booth, hood down, a plate of half-eaten food in front of him—some kind of sizzling urban stew and black rice blend. The moment almost felt... normal.
Until he reached into his cloak and pulled out a creased bounty photo.
He turned the photo over. On the back was a list of scribbled info from his contact—a dealer known only as T1-36:
Across it:
A stickwoman.
Messy hair.
Fashioned wristbands and overall normal appearance.
Expression unreadable.
The name:
VELRISE
Reward: ???,??? Sticknotes
Status: Classified Tier – Special Assignment
He narrowed his eyes.
"Velrise... questionable." "…It's enough to deduce what she is. And that's never good."
He leaned back, folding the photo and tucking it away.
"Still... why do I have to eliminate her? Who gave the order?"
He glanced out the window.
"Guess I'll find out next week. But for now…"
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them with a smirk.
"Ah. My sword."
He snapped his fingers and whispered:
"Come home."
Somewhere across the city, the towering building he had left behind pulsed. The workers inside blinked as the structure vibrated, and then folded—floor by floor, compressing and compacting down into a blade once again, leaving only a scorch mark where the tower once stood.
The blade—marked with his signature—vanished in a pulse of shadow.
Back in the café, the sword reappeared beside his seat, gently clicking into the slot on his back.
The people stared.
He stood up slowly, sipping the last of his tea as he muttered to himself:
"Now about those workers…"
He frowned.
He had planned to move them into a better structure. Maybe a dojo.
But then he stopped himself:
"No... I can't force them."
He tapped the sheath lightly.
"But I do need to relocate them if I want this sword fully operational again."
He walked to the counter, paid, and looked around at the scattered job boards posted near the café exit.
"Maybe someone in this city's hiring. Or maybe..."
He grinned.
"...I'll repay them later."
He pushed open the door, coat fluttering, sword on his back, bounty photo in his pocket—and Velrise somewhere out there in Orub City, unaware her name was now at the top of someone's list.....