CHAPTER SIX: THE FIRST CHALLENGER

The night air carried a chill, thick with the scent of damp asphalt and cigarette smoke. Taylor moved through the streets with her hands in her pockets, her hood pulled low and mask secure. She wasn’t looking for trouble tonight—just information. The gangs were on edge, their patrols more frequent, their movements more coordinated. She needed to know why.

She turned a corner into a narrow alley, stepping over broken glass. Then—

Wind howled.

She barely saw the first attack—a flicker in the air, a distortion like heat haze. The ground beside her split open, the pavement torn apart in a clean, jagged line.

Another came, straight for her chest.

The razor-thin crescent of compressed wind carved through the alley, too fast for a normal person to register, let alone dodge.

She stumbled—for a moment, shock fueling the instinctive need to escape—but it never reached her.

The air blade slowed, then stopped completely, hovering in place for a fraction of a second before dispersing into nothing.

It simply vanished.

No impact, no force, not even a whisper of air against her skin. One moment, the blade of wind was there—cutting through the night—and the next, it was gone.

Taylor barely had time to process it before another came. Then another. Each one sliced through the air toward her, aimed to maim or kill. And each one disappeared into nothing the second it should have hit.

She exhaled slowly.

Right.

Her power was back.

A quiet pause settled over the alleyway. Then a voice—low, rough, carrying an edge of irritation.

“Figures.”

Taylor’s gaze snapped to the source.

A figure stepped into view at the far end of the alley, blocking the exit. His stance was loose, casual, but she could see the tension in his frame, the way his weight shifted, ready to move. His tiger mask caught the dim light of the streetlamp, and the air around him distorted with each movement.

Stormtiger.

Empire Eighty-Eight.

Taylor didn’t move.

“You’ve been making trouble,” he said, rolling his broad shoulders. “Messing with things that don’t concern you.”

She said nothing, her expression hidden behind the mask.

He scoffed. “No last words? No dramatic speech?” His fingers curled slightly, and the air around him sharpened. “Fine by me.”

He attacked.

Another burst of cutting wind, meant to tear through flesh and bone.

Taylor didn’t dodge.

Didn’t flinch.

As if they had never existed, the wind blades disappeared the moment they reached her.

Stormtiger shifted his stance, shoulders tightening and fingers flexing.

He lashed out again, a flurry of air blades cutting through the space between them, strong enough to send a normal person flying. They all met the same fate.

It didn’t even rustle her hoodie.

Stormtiger’s mounting frustration was obvious in the way his movements became faster, more aggressive—strikes coming in unpredictable patterns, tearing into the brick wall behind her. He was trying to catch her off guard, trying to overwhelm her before she could react.

Her defences held strong.

She was untouchable.

Taylor took a step forward.

Then another.

Stormtiger let out a frustrated growl and lunged. Faster than a normal man, covering the distance between them in seconds. His fists swung out in wild arcs, enhanced by bursts of wind to give them unnatural speed and force. But it was no different than the air blades. His knuckles never reached her, halting as though he’d struck something solid.

Taylor focused on his face. Her eyes cut through the mask, revealing the furrow of his brow, the shift from frustration to something else she couldn’t quite place.

Trying to take advantage of it, she took a step forward, fists clenched. She didn’t have form, didn’t have proper technique, but Stormtiger couldn’t touch her. That had to count for something.

She threw another punch, aiming for his side. He twisted away, fast. Too fast. The moment she overcommitted, he surged forward, slashing at her with open claws—more instinct than thought.

As expected, it didn’t matter.

His hands stopped short, inches from her throat. His breath hitched, muscles tensed as he tried to force his way past the invisible barrier. Taylor stepped back, regaining her footing. He followed, lashing out with another burst of wind. It curved around her harmlessly, cutting into the alley walls instead.

Stormtiger let out a short, frustrated breath, backpedaling.

But Taylor pressed forward again, though her strikes were still clumsy. She threw a punch, missed. Another, barely grazing his shoulder before he twisted away. She was too slow, too untrained, and every time she moved in, he danced just out of reach.

But he wasn’t winning either.

Realization settled in.

Everything he threw at her—every strike, every blast of cutting wind—vanished before it could land, swallowed by something he couldn’t see or understand. His fists stopped short, his power was useless, and there was nothing he could do about it.

That had to eat at him.

Yes, Taylor didn’t know how to fight.

But right now, neither did he.