you're not exactly sure how you'd ended up in this situation— backed up in a dimly lit alley with a sword poised at your neck, the holder glaring over its handle. you recognized him, of course, it was blade. your so-called 'fated enemy,' as he bitterly put it.

"of five people," blade spoke lowly. your phone was discarded somewhere in the struggle, your hope to contact anybody from the express lost. however, you did have a weapon at your hip.

"three must pay a price. you are one of them."