The Last Dryad
Roque spoke first upon seeing the masked figure.
"Nice mask."
The masked one, looking down at him from atop the cultured meat facility, responded with an elegant bow, saying nothing. Roque continued.
"What should I call you? Tree's Children? Or Emily?"
The figure, who had been silently bowed, slowly straightened at the words. Then, deliberately, removed the mask. Glinting green eyes fixed on him.
"...Emily's fine."
After that, the two fell silent, gazing steadily at each other. Roque's black eyes met Emily's green ones, each taking in the other's form.
Roque broke the silence.
"Dramatic transformation. From part-time diner waitress to corporate terrorist."
"There's a huge difference between having a regular income and not. Without it, MLPD hassles you over nothing. Midland cops might ask a waitress for her number, but they don't check for bombs or guns. Solid cover."
"Kill two birds with one stone—scope out diner customers and score a dinner date?"
Emily's reply came a beat late.
"...I had no idea you were that Ronin Aura Master mercenary. Or working with MLPD."
"That's why you jacked my car last time. To slip out of the blast zone fast."
She nodded readily.
"Two birds, like you said. Figured I'd make a date with a guy I liked, too."
A small, dry chuckle escaped Roque's lips. Emily went on, watching him.
"You called my switch from waitress to terrorist dramatic, but yours is no slouch. Who'd believe the lone guy hitting a 24-hour diner in the dead of night is one of Midland's urban legends?"
"But it is."
Emily nodded.
"Yeah. It is."
Silence again. Their gazes crossed once more. No hatred or rage—just the subtle vibe of a man and woman checking each other out over late-night coffee.
Emily spoke.
"We don't have to fight."
Roque nodded.
"Yeah, maybe not."
Her expression brightened a touch at that. But even as he said it, Roque slowly drew the handle of his Aura Blade from his belt.
"...What? You gonna stop us?"
"If you stop here, so will I."
Flames kindled in Emily's green eyes.
"Gonna defend this disgusting factory? This bloodsucking corp?"
"It's a cultured meat plant. 'Bloodsucking' is a stretch."
"Cultured meat, whatever. It's corporate—that's what matters. They turn people into parts, mindless consumers, built this hellhole Midland. Gotta smash it. Free people from corporate chains. Let 'em live like humans."
Roque scratched his brow at her freedom-fighter spiel.
"Plenty die in that 'freeing' process."
"...Can't topple giants without some small sacrifices."
"Like the folks killed at the market today?"
"..."
Emily's eyes narrowed. Green fire seemed to flicker in her pupils—no, not a metaphor. Actual green glow leaked from the corners of her eyes.
Seeing that glare, Roque dropped his scratching hand and stepped forward with his left foot. Just that slant to his stance sharpened his laid-back air to a razor edge.
Emily said,
"No need for more talk, then. Guess we have no choice."
"Yeah. Dinner's off."
She glanced at him almost regretfully, then slipped both hands behind her back. When she pulled them out, cords unwound from her waist—two short whips.
At the same moment, figures hidden behind cultured meat vats around the factory emerged. Glossy-masked, loose-robed types. Their hands gripped super-vibrating cryoweapons with glowing heat edges.
Roque scanned the encirclement with a grin.
"Fancy weapons for a bunch of eco-freaks."
From katanas to short spears, knightly longswords, massive impractical axes—varied arsenal. But all their cryoblades glowed cherry-red with heat.
As the encirclement completed, a gray blade surged from Roque's right hand. Tension rippled through the masked ones at the sight.
Roque, Aura Blade drawn, locked eyes with the katana-wielder dead ahead. Through the smooth mask's slits, glaring eyes.
Roque tossed it lightly, like a joke.
"What're you waiting for? Come at me."
The mask flinched, then raised its blade high with a guttural cry.
"Kiyoooooot!"
Lightning-fast, the blade plunged—rock-splitting force and edge aimed at Roque's crown.
With the strike, the others charged. In an instant, blades hemmed Roque from all sides. No wings? No escape.
So Roque flew.
More like a forward somersault leap. Where he'd stood, super-vibro blades stabbed, sparking wildly.
The katana mask whipped its head, tracking Roque flipping over its head. Impressive jump, but no wings—sitting duck in midair.
It spun to backstab his landing. But froze mid-thrust, stunned.
"Wha...?"
Its katana was already severed above the nose guard. In that stunned beat, Roque—already turned—thrust his Aura Blade dead-center into its chest. Superheated edge incinerated the heart in a flash. The mask toppled limply.
As it thudded down, the rest roared and attacked, tracing red arcs.
Roque calmly retreated, parrying with his Aura Blade. Inscrutable superheat met pricey vibro-edges—hissing shrieks, sparks flying.
Sparks burst, and vibro-blades repelled like opposing magnets.
The masks flailed, dragged by their rebounding weapons, unable to pierce Roque's whipping gray wall. Twisted paths even sliced nearby cultured meat rigs.
"Grraaaargh!"
A Lycan among them? Beastly roar shook the factory. The massive axe-wielder.
Roaring, it double-gripped and leaped high. Roque's back to a huge pressure-cooker vat—no retreat. Axe screamed to bisect him.
Roque sidestepped right, no backpedal. Weightless Aura Blade whipped playfully.
Blade blurred past the mask's bulk. Sparks ticked; severed arms, torso, legs rained onto stainless machinery like discarded trash.
From defensive retreat, Roque now advanced.
Spear mask startled at the closing gap, thrust countered—shaft and torso split vertically.
Longsword mask exploited the death for Roque's neck, but lightning-gray parried, nicked wrist, buried in skull. Done.
Roque's strides widened, trajectory shredding factory guts—conveyors, vats, nozzles sliced clean. Molten stainless dripped.
Cryoweapon masks followed their rigs into pieces—diverse as their weapons, thudding to the floor. Superheat cauterized cuts; no messy fluids. Dry as Roque's demeanor.
Soon, lone in the carnage, Roque flicked his Aura Blade clean and looked up. Emily still atop the vat, unmoved.
"Just watching?"
She replied,
"Aura Master prowess, alright, Roque. I see why they called 'em invincible in the cryoweapon era."
Off-topic from his question. Meanwhile, something sprouted from her hair.
"...But even you are obsolete now. In this era where everything's replaced so fast and easy."
Vines twisting into antler shapes.
"Most in this city are. Beastraces that roamed wilds now gutter hyenas. Dwarves who lived by honor now count coins with those stubby hands."
Roque's gaze flicked to the dead masks. Slashed robes revealed forms: axe Lycan, katana Elf, spear unknown horned shorty.
"Elves who loved nature and eternal idylls now brag if they hit human lifespan. Orcs sing ballads for lost romance. Goblins and trolls sneak into ruins to suck drugs. And humans... ah, yeah..."
Vine-antlered Emily, green-glowing eyes—like a forest demon. Eyes off Roque, to the ceiling, beyond.
"Humans are the saddest. Changing the world till they lose form in the whirl. Souls lost to Cyber Space illusions, flesh to implant chrome."
Green lightning crackled from her whips, lengths slowly extending.
"Midland: where all races' souls decay. Tens of millions crammed, yet lonely insomniacs, junkies capping for drug cash. 'Law and order' lick corp boots. Real needy rot quietly in corners."
Head down, eyes on Roque again. Vine horns, lightning whips—ancient, mystical.
Roque recalled an old race.
"Dryad..."
Emily smiled faintly.
"Right, Roque. Knew an Aura Master would spot it. I'm a Dryad. The last in the world."
"...Vines and lightning don't mix with forest folk."
Roque muttered at the arcing whips atop the vat. Daniel's electronic eyes mistaking them for heatwhips? Faulty gear.
"Old races have old spells. Need this to face an Aura Master, right?"
She shook her hands lightly; whips snaked, licking stainless—black scorch trails.
"Anyway, Roque. Can't forgive the megacorps that built this city. Defiling ancient dragon sites, sucking sustenance for skyscrapers. They go, people live human again."
"So smash factories first, all corps next?"
Emily nodded.
"Last chance, Roque. Turn and go. Don't interfere."
True final courtesy in her gleaming eyes. But Roque just shook his head silently.
"...Pity."
Her genuine-seeming murmur ended. Twin lightning whips lashed at him like living serpents.