"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

Seraphis pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the dimly lit laboratory. The scent of blood and alchemical concoctions hung thick in the air, mixing with something more foul, something old.

The room was lined with shelves filled with strange vials, half-finished potions, and crude sketches of human anatomy splattered with ink and blood. In the center of the room, atop an iron table, lay a single sheet of parchment.

She approached cautiously, her fingers curling around the hilt of a dagger as she scanned the surroundings for traps. Nothing moved. Only silence answered her.

With her free hand, she lifted the note.

The handwriting was elegant, flowing, yet laced with a mocking undertone.

"You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But did you truly believe I would wait for you in this decrepit excuse of a lab? Oh, darling, I’m already gone. But I do so enjoy your effort. I wonder, how much of your own blood will you spill before reaching me? I’m watching. Always. – Isolde."

Seraphis’ grip tightened as she reached the final line.

"I’m not in this laboratory, but the next one. Have fun trying to get there."

A sharp exhale left her lips. So this was a game.

She crushed the note in her fist.

Before leaving, she took a moment to tend to her wounds. A small vial from her belt contained a thick, golden liquid—a powerful healing potion she had stolen long ago. The moment it touched her wounds, warmth spread through her skin, sealing the gashes and mending torn muscles. The ache remained, but the bleeding had stopped.

She had no time to waste.

The forest greeted her once again with its shrouded darkness, the wind howling through the twisted branches like a whispering chorus. Every step was careful, her senses stretched thin. She wasn’t alone.

Then—movement.

A figure stepped from the undergrowth, his red eyes gleaming in the night. A vampire.

But Seraphis didn’t react. Instead, she smiled.

With a flicker of magic, her form shifted, her white hair darkening, her eyes changing to a deep amber. Her voice, when it came, was laced with feigned familiarity.

"It’s been a while."

The vampire froze, his expression flickering between shock and recognition.

"You—how? I thought you were dead."

Seraphis tilted her head, her illusion flawless. She had taken the form of someone he trusted.

"Isolde sent me," she lied smoothly. "But something’s wrong. We have to move fast. Where is she?"

The vampire hesitated.

Then, with a sigh, he gave in. "She’s at the northern ruins. An old chapel buried beneath the cliffs. She’s waiting for something, preparing. If you hurry, you might catch her before—"

A dagger flashed.

Before he could finish his sentence, his throat split open, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as blood sprayed onto the forest floor. His eyes widened in confusion, realization sinking in too late.

Seraphis caught his body before it could hit the ground, lowering it silently into the brush.

She whispered one word.

"Thanks."

Then she moved.

The northern ruins were a scar in the land—a collapsed structure buried beneath jagged rocks, where time had gnawed away at its walls. A single iron door stood intact, half-covered in dried vines and sigils carved deep into the stone.

Seraphis didn’t hesitate.

She kicked the door open.

The sound of metal clashing against stone rang through the hollow chamber beyond. The dim candlelight inside flickered violently at her sudden intrusion.

Across the room, standing with effortless grace, was Countess Isolde Veyne.

Dressed in flowing black, her violet eyes burned with amusement. In her delicate fingers, she held a crystal vial—inside, a few drops of Seraphis’ own blood.

"Well, well," Isolde purred. "You found me."

Seraphis smirked. "Done playing hide-and-seek?"

Isolde laughed, a haunting melody that echoed against the ruined walls. "Oh, darling. The real game begins now."

Then she moved.

Seraphis barely had time to react before the air around her exploded.

Shadows burst forth from Isolde’s form, twisting into solid tendrils that lashed out like whips. Seraphis dodged, rolling to the side as the floor where she once stood shattered into dust.

She retaliated in an instant—a deck of cards fanned out in her grasp, each glowing with lethal energy.

She threw them.

The first sliced through the air, aimed for Isolde’s throat, but the Countess flicked her wrist and a wall of blood materialized, stopping the attack.

Seraphis was already moving, closing the distance fast.

Their blades met in a deadly dance.

Steel rang against steel.

Isolde was fast—her movements were like liquid, her strikes weaving between Seraphis’ defenses with inhuman precision.

But Seraphis was faster.

She twisted, dodging a strike meant for her ribs, and countered—her dagger slashing across Isolde’s arm.

The Countess hissed as dark blood oozed from the wound, but her expression remained delighted.

"I see why they fear you," she whispered.

Then she vanished.

Seraphis’ eyes darted around—she barely caught the flicker of movement before a clawed hand slashed toward her back.

She dropped low, spinning on her heel as she sent two more cards flying.

The first missed.

The second did not.

It buried itself in Isolde’s shoulder

The Countess gasped—then ripped the card out with a snarl, her eyes flashing with fury.

Seraphis didn’t stop.

She reached for her final card—the one that ended fights.

The blood-draining card.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent it flying.

Isolde saw it too late.

The moment it touched her, a crimson mist erupted from her body.

She screamed.

Her skin shrunk, veins bulging as the card devoured her essence.

She staggered, her once-fluid movements jerky, weak.

Seraphis didn’t hesitate.

She lunged.

A single, clean strike.

Her dagger sliced through Isolde’s neck, severing bone, flesh, and soul.

The Countess’ body collapsed, her head rolling across the cold stone, violet eyes still locked in an expression of shock.

Silence fell.

Seraphis exhaled slowly, stepping over the cooling corpse.

She had won.