Mountains Edge

Collision

Death doesn't walk toward Ves—it charges.

The ground beneath her boots trembles as Uvogin barrels through the ancient ruins, each step cracking stone like thunder. His massive frame, all eight-plus feet of scarred muscle and raw power, eclipses the midday sun. The Phantom Troupe's brute. The man who could punch through reinforced concrete as easily as she might tear paper.

And somehow, he's her target today.

"Still running?" Uvogin's voice booms across the crumbling courtyard, bouncing off weathered pillars that have stood for centuries. His grin flashes, predatory and eager. "I thought you wanted to play, little alien."

Little. As if five-foot-six of tightly-wound fury could ever be described that way.

Ves ducks behind a fallen column, her breathing controlled despite the adrenaline flooding her system. Her fingers trace the hidden pocket of her cargo pants, feeling the smooth curve of the relic she'd tracked across three territories. Just one more artifact. One more dangerous object from the Dark Continent that couldn't be left in human hands. Especially not the Spider's.

"You're wasting both our time," she calls out, voice echoing. The silver streaks in her dark green hair catch the light as she moves, betraying her position. "I don't have what you want."

A lie. A beautiful, necessary lie.

Uvogin laughs, the sound rich and genuine. He enjoys this—the hunt, the challenge. The way she makes him work for it. Behind those fierce eyes, something shifts when he watches her. Interest. Respect, perhaps. Things he rarely grants to anyone outside the Troupe.

"We both know you're lying, Vespara." He uses her full name deliberately, savoring each syllable. "That little glowing thing in your pocket? Boss wants it. And what Chrollo wants..."

He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.

Ves feels her Nen respond before she consciously calls it, amber-green energy flickering at her fingertips. The ancient markings on the relic pulse in response, sensing her intent. Dangerous. Too dangerous to let him take it.

"I'm not giving it to you," she says, stepping out from behind the column. Her eyes glow with that otherworldly light that makes even the Troupe's most hardened members uneasy. "You have no idea what this thing does."

Uvogin stops. Just for a moment. His dark eyes narrow as he studies her—the tension in her shoulders, the way her hair shifts with silver patterns that aren't quite human. Something passes between them, unspoken.

"You think I care?" he asks, but there's a hesitation in his voice that wasn't there before. "We take what we want. That's how it works."

But he doesn't move. Not yet.

Across the ruins, hidden in the shadows of a crumbling archway, a second figure watches. Pakunoda's presence goes unnoticed by both combatants, her ability to read memories making her the perfect spy. She sees what Ves doesn't—the way Uvogin's pulse quickens when the woman challenges him. The way his protective instinct wars with his loyalty to the Troupe.

She'll have to report this to Chrollo.

"I'll make you care," Ves says, raising her hands. The air around her shimmers, distorting reality itself. "I'll show you exactly what this thing can do."

Uvogin's grin returns, wider now. Fiercer. "Finally. A real fight."

He charges, and the world explodes into motion.

The ground splits beneath Uvogin's massive foot as he lunges forward, fist already cocked back. The air whistles with the force of his movement. But Ves is already gone, her body a blur of dark green hair and silver streaks as she leaps upward, her nimble form scaling the ancient pillar beside her.