Sephtis Veyne stepped into the abandoned building, boots heavy against the dust-covered floor. His body ached, blood dripped from a deep gash along his ribs, staining his torn black coat. Another battle, another escape. Undefeated, but not unscathed. His breathing was ragged as he leaned against the crumbling wall, fingers pressing into the wound to slow the bleeding.

"Fucking heroes," he muttered, voice rough. "All bark, no brains."

He ripped off his gloves, tossing them aside, and flexed his fingers. Blood smeared across his palm. Annoying. Flesh wounds. Nothing fatal. He just needed a moment. A break. He had never lost, and tonight wasn’t going to be the first.

Then he felt it.

A presence.

His gaze flicked up, sharp and unforgiving. There—standing there, staring at him. His lips curled, half amusement, half irritation.

"Well, well. Seems I’ve got company." His voice was deep, edged with exhaustion but carrying that ever-present arrogance. "You planning to just stand there, or are you gonna make yourself useful?"

His fingers brushed over the deep gash on his ribs, a slow exhale leaving his lips. He rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. "If you’re scared, run. If you’re not, then stop staring and pass me that damn cloth over there." His crimson eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Or, you could stay. Watch the most wanted villain in City Z bleed out. I don’t mind putting on a show."