Author's Note:
This chapter kicks off the aftermath of the rooftop attack. If you've been waiting to see what Niv can really do when everything is on the line—this is for you. Expect precision, adaptation, and the terrifying calm of someone born into war but trained for silence.Let's begin.
📍**[00:03:00 – Mission Start]**
Location: Rooftop perimeter, Sector Seven, Downtown Core
Status: CODE: SANDALWOOD | Vashirayan Heir Engaged
⏱️ 02:45
The garden rooftop was chaos.
Chandeliers swayed from shockwaves. Wine bottles burst. Glass shards glittered across marble.
Guests screamed—some ducked under velvet-clothed tables, others fled into each other.
Above it all, between flickering patio lights and bamboo trellises—
Niv moved.
A waiter adjusted his grip on a silver tray. Nothing odd.
But Niv had already tracked the tension in his knuckles.
That tray wasn't balanced.
It was weighted.
He moved before the gun was fully drawn.
Not fast. Just first.
One hand struck the man's throat with anatomical precision. A micro-shift of his hips turned the body, hiding the fall from ducking guests.
That was the first trait—
Reflexes fine-tuned not just by training, but by blood.
The kind that didn't react. They preempted.
Elsewhere – Vashirayan Intercept Teams Mobilizing
Two black vans turned simultaneously at Gresham and Row. No lights. No insignia.
Inside:
Men in graphite tactical suits received silent orders.
"Instructions received. One sniper to be eliminated. Second captured alive. Secondary unit: sweep lower floors. No collateral."
No reply needed.
Only motion.
⏱️ 02:26
Another waiter crouched behind the marble bar. Suppressed pistol. Low angle.
Trying to avoid attention.
Niv didn't duck.
He flicked his fingers against a champagne tower—just enough to collapse it.
Glasses shattered. Screams rose.
And in that sound, he moved.
Slid over the counter.
Stripped the pistol.
Pistol-whipped the attacker's temple.
Skull hit tile.
Dead.
No flair. No hesitation.
Just a live equation solved under pressure.
That was the second trait—Tactical clarity.
⏱️ 02:00
Two more hostiles behind the open wine cart. Trying to flank.
Niv let them.
He tracked their boot spacing, offhand positions, converging angles.
Then stepped into their formation—
Spun one into the other.
Disarmed the first.
Knifed the second.
Adaptation wasn't a reaction. It was a default.
That was Formless.
⏱️ 01:33
Guests still panicked.
Blood streaked across marble.
Another hostile emerged from HVAC cover.
Niv surged forward.
His knee shattered the femur at the joint.
Palm strike redirected the body—cracked its neck on its own SMG.
He didn't check.
He was already moving again.
Formless. Not fluid. Adaptive.
Every movement constructed mid-strike—based on live data.
⏱️ 01:10 – Sniper Intercept Team Closing In
Kitchen doors burst open.
Three mercs in matte black. SMGs raised.
Target: Niv, Sera, Jaime.
Gunfire chewed through bamboo, shattered wine racks.
A bullet chipped stone inches from Sera's head.
Jaime returned fire—half-shielding her with his body.
"Three-man sweep," he growled. "Snipers adjusting."
Another crack. Sharper.
Sniper round.
Niv dodged. They were triangulating.
He shifted rhythm.
⏱️ 00:58
First merc swept in.
Niv didn't stop.
He kicked a fallen wine bottle across the floor—skid distraction.
Then he was inside the firing arc.
Grabbed the wrist. Snapped it back.
Jammed the SMG into the merc's gut—
Point-blank pull. One hole. Dead.
⏱️ 00:43
Second merc overcommitted.
Too forward.
Niv snatched a fallen ice bucket lid—threw it like a reflector.
Light bounce—flash in the eyes.
Merc flinched. Niv rolled under.
Dislocated elbow.
Heel to the throat.
Dropped like a puppet.
Tactical read. Precision. No overkill. Always enough.
⏱️ 00:20 – Final Rooftop Target
Third merc ran.
Toward the lift. Toward regroup.
Survival kicked in.
Niv chased. No anger.
Just exactness.
Hooked a bar tray around the neck from behind.
Pulled. Used the edge like a garrote.
Thrashed.
Then still.
Niv let the body drop.