Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Ms. Nightfall

Chapter 7: Ms. Nightfall

11:00 , the Seacret Agency.

In a dimly lit operations room, a giant screen flickered with classified images—maps, criminal records, blurry surveillance footage. Ms. Nightfall stood with arms crossed, her expression hard. Beside her, Ms. Little Star, her right hand,leaned on the edge of the console, sipping a bitter black coffee.

it's midnight, but, the agency doesn't sleep

Smokers

A rogue group operating deep in the outer districts .

“I don’t understand how they’re still standing,” Ms. Little Star muttered. “Weapons smuggling, drug distribution, blackmail, killing civilians…”

“They’re not careless,” Ms. Nightfall said. “They hide their leaders behind walls of cannon fodder. Cut one limb, two more grow.”

Ms. Little Star swiped through old military records. A still image appeared: a towering man, grim-faced, draped in full gear.

“That’s the one running the base you’re asking about,” she said. “Labeled as minor threat number 34 on GDB.”

Nightfall narrowed her eyes.

“They say he uses twisted ... techniques. I think he’s former military from the USA. His face matches one of the missing soldiers from the Border Crisis—General Blake Armando.”

Ms. Little Star hesitated. “You want to fight him, don’t you?”

Ms. Nightfall didn’t respond. She scanned the data silently, her eyes flashing.

A minute passed. She smiled. “Found you.”

She opened a sealed vault and grabbed her metal claws, then stepped back.

“This ends tonight.”

Two hours later – Outer District: New Srayevo

Ms. Nightfall crouched on the rooftop of a crumbling factory, her silhouette veiled in moonlight. She wore a combat dress designed for speed and precision—black with crimson threads, reminiscent of an assassin from a forgotten era. Slits along her legs gave freedom of motion, while her gloves extended into polished metal claws, curved and deadly. Her black heels made no sound on concrete.

Her senses were heightened beyond human. Every heartbeat below—every whispered conversation, every shift of metal—registered like echoes in a cave.

She whispered, “Engaging. Code S++.”

With a flick of her wrist, she vanished into the dark.

The guards never had a chance. One dropped as her claw slashed his neck. Another fired blindly—but she was already behind him, landing silently and dragging him down.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She swept through corridors and storerooms like a phantom. Crates of drugs were torn open and doused in acid. Weapons were smashed, disassembled, crushed beyond use.

A sudden ambush came in the lower hall—five men with rifles.

Ms. Nightfall flicked her wrist. Her claws glinted with a faint golden sheen.

Bullets screamed.

She spun sideways, ducking beneath the first volley. Two leaps and a mid-air flip later, she was among them. One guard’s weapon jammed—he didn’t live long enough to clear it. She elbowed another in the throat, caught his falling rifle, and smashed it over the third’s head.

By the time the last man blinked, she was already behind him. His scream never left his lips.

She reached the core chamber—a reinforced underground vault where drugs were packed and weapons traded. She stepped in.

There he was.

The leader. A monster of a man with a jagged scar over one eye, arms thick with muscle. His fists shimmered faintly, as if heat radiated from his skin.

“You’re her,” he growled. “The so-called Ms. Nightfall. Why hiding your presence ?”

“I don’t make noise, unlike you , suspiciously noisy.”

He removed his jacket, revealing solid muscle under the gear.

“So be it , let's see if the legends can bleed”

Ms. Nightfall lowered into a stance, claws clicking.

“I only bleed when I’m bored.”

He charged. The ground cracked beneath him.

His reinforced fists slammed against her claws. Sparks of lightning flew the room seemed to trouble under the persure of there power.

Her heels slid back, gouging the floor. She flipped backward, landed on the wall, and launched forward like a dart.

Claws and fists clashed in a violent storm. He swung wide—she ducked and countered, slashing across his shoulder.

He retaliated with a punch that cracked her hand, sending her skidding across the floor. She coughed, blood trickling from her lip—but smiled.

“I’ve had worse.”

He lunged again. She met him mid-air.

They grappled. Shockwaves rippled out with every hit. Her claws scraped along his arm as he grabbed her leg and hurled her into a pillar. Concrete shattered. She sprang up and flung a small explosive from her belt—it detonated, engulfing the area in smoke and fire.

He stepped through the flames, wounded but grinning.

“You’re tiring.”

Ms. Nightfall stood calmly. Her chest rose and fell. Her eyes gleamed. She had already decided the outcome.

“It’s a shame i interd a battle when i am already drained.”

She rolled her neck slowly, claws glowing with raw tension.

Then, in a low voice, she whispered,

“The Soul of the Leopard.”

After those words battle between them didn't last long ,in less than a minute, He collapsed...

It's time to hide evidence.

In the shadows of a nearby alley, she pulled out a communicator and activated a voice-changer.

“Hello? Anyone?” she said in a disguised voice. “There’s a fire near the edge of the outer district. I saw some bandits disappear into a secret tunnel.”

She hung up.

Sirens would come. The guards would find the place burning—nothing left but ash and smoldering guilt.

as the sun started to chine ,Ms. Nightfall was already gone.

Two hours later...

The agency’s underground medbay was quiet, dimly lit by soft blue panels. Ms. Nightfall lay on a narrow table, her hand glowing faintly under the scanner.

Ms. Little Star—Souzi—stood over her with a needle, calmly stitching a gash along her side.

“So…” Souzi began mid-stitch, not looking up, “how many did you kill?”

Ms. Nightfall exhaled. “Ten or so. I think a couple might’ve escaped.”

Souzi snorted. “Tch. Getting soft, huh?”

“And the boss?”

“I might’ve underestimated him... a little.”

“Clearly,” Souzi said, nodding to the scanner. “A cracked hand, three minor cuts, and one slightly bruised ego.”

Ms. Nightfall smirked lazily.

“That’s seven weeks of pain if you let it heal naturally.”

“I’ll heal fast. Back in two.”

Souzi didn’t argue. She tied the final stitch and sprayed cast seal over her hand. It hardened into a transparent protective layer.

“You better be,” Souzi muttered, tossing the tools aside.

Ms. Nightfall sat up slowly. Pain flared, but it was familiar. Manageable.

Mission complete.

She was still the Princess of Night.