Loki was out for a walk again heading at Bois de Boulogne after changing his clothes.
Bro has nothing to do in his life.
Headphones in, scrolling through his phone for some social media reels he'd always watch.
He passed by and suddenly noticed a lone player, with a mask and wearing sunglasses seems like his hiding his identity.
The guy was tall probably around 5'11ft, athletic, with an arrogant expression on his face that no one probably see because of the mask.
He called out some passerby to a quick match of Tennis. "Anyone up for a game? Loser buys coffee!" Most of them ignored.
Loki, was bored and with nothing to do, he shrugged.
"Why not? It's just tennis. Might as well kill some time." He thought.
He didn't recognize the disguised guy was actually Royd Sargent, the Z-Rank adventurer that just broadcasted in the talk show earlier.
Royd usually use his incognito persona to avoid fans, was just looking for a low-key diversion during his extended "vacation" in France.
Little did Loki know this "normal" match would turn into a complete fast paced fight.
He raised his hand as Royd throw an extra racket on the way, Loki catched it with ease.
They positioned themselves on each side.
"First to 11 points?" Loki suggested not bothering with warm-ups.
Royd nodded, grinning under the mask. "Sounds good. Let's see what you've got!"
The match slow. Loki served first—an intense lob that arced gracefully over the net.
"Hmm... This guy does not play normal." Royd judged from the first served as he returned it with a solid forehand, the ball zipping back to Loki.
Loki countered with ease.
The first few points was a bit too slow so they'd thought to sped it up a little bit.
The thwack of the racket hitting the ball echoed.
Few joggers passed by laughing at the "Friendly" Tennis match.
Royd amped it up. His next serve was like a straight cannon firing—his body coiled like spring.
"Maybe he's an adventurer I don't know about?" He pondered.
The ball shoot across the net at crazy speeds that it blurred.
Each impact made sound like a thunder coming down from the sky making the ground tremble slightly.
Loki still has that expressionless face, returning the ball with equal power.
His racket meeting the ball in a shockwave that sent a ripple through the air.
"Finally, a worthy opponent!" Royd shouted, his voice was full of excitement and thrill.
He dashed forward faster than the speed of sound, his body blurred into twenty or more of afterimages.
The string of the racket was tearing with each hit of the ball.
Loki's thoughts, "I'm only here to play normal match up though..." He grumbled.
Loki kept up with Royd's pace who's like dashing faster than supersonics. His jacket flapping against the wind.
A Tennis match cannot be this serious.
The ball became invisible to the spectators eyes.
A phantom projectile that existed only in other dimension.
Not a single person could follow their movements.
Crowds gathered like crazy, some joggers too stunned to speak, some parent hanging out with their families, kids, couples and etc.
Some of them was even recording the match probably going to post it in social media which is really bad for Loki as he don't really wish for attention...
He thought this would turn out to be a normal match but nevermind seems like it's not.
Whispers spread through the crowd: "Are they pros—?" "They move like an professional adventurer." "How fast are they moving?" and "I-I can't see their movements at all..."
The match drew more people in, swelling over 50+ more spectators.
Among the spectators few of them started to gambling.
Betting few euros for who's going to take the dub.
"I bet my 25 euros on the Brown Jacket dude he's got that calm vibe!"
His friend then shook his head, responding "Nah, that masked guy got power! I'll also bet 25 euros easy money."
A young mother with her daughter, a wide-eyed girl probably around eight years old, clutching a stuffed teddy bear jumping around excitedly.
She pointed her pointy finger at the Tennis court,
"Wow! Mama, look at them—they move like superheroes! The ball's invisible! Do you think I'll become like them one day? Zooming around, bam-bam-bam!"
The parent, a woman in her thirties with kind eyes and a gentle smile, knelt down to her daughter's level, patting her head affectionately.
"I'm sure you can, sweetie," she replied, her voice warm amid the chaos.
"Just like your dad said practice makes perfect—and look at them! That's what happens when you never give up."
The girl jumps around excitedly rooting for the brown jacket guy.
While the mother watched with a mix of awe and nostalgia, perhaps having some flashback of her adventurous past where she first met her husband.
The fight raged on, escalating into intensity more than any human could witness.
It was not a warm up anymore.
The fireball launched straight towards Yvonne, It moved at a crazy speed faster than any mundane projectile.
Yvonne's eyes widened—she didn't have enough time to fully react.
She raised both of her arms in a protective manner trying to block it, but the fireball was strong enough to break her defense, as it slammed into her with explosive force.
Pain exploded through her body.
She crashed into a ventilation unit with behind her letting out a mettalic thud.
The air filled with the smell of scorched embers flickering around her.
Varak's grin returning wider than ever, his staff still humming with fire magic.
"That's all you got?" he sneered as he walk closer at her. "Pathetic Low-S Rank."
Suddenly the laughter died in their throats.
From the smoke and debris, Yvonne stirred.
She pushed slowly herself up, with her palms
Her silver hair was singed at the ends, her face smudged with soot and blood.
She spat a blood onto the ground, wiping her lip with the back of her hand.
The burns on her side throbbed, but she ignored them, her Low-S Rank endurance kicking in—years of training turning pain into fuel.
"I'm not done yet..." she rasped, her voice steady despite the rasp, standing once more.
She wasn't giving up; if anything, the hit had sharpened her focus, adrenaline surging through her veins.
Varak's eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his face.
"How the hell are you still standing? That should've killed you!"
Yvonne's lips curled into a smirk.
She raised her dagger slightly, and that's when they noticed it—the faint white threads.
The threads are hard to see with the sunlight, it crisscrossed the rooftop like a spider's web.
Yvonne been setting them up the whole time, from the moment the fight began.
"I've set an trap. Each parry, each dodge, had been a ploy to weave my trap."
They formed a intricate net, encircling the cultists without their knowledge, waiting for the perfect moment.
"None of you will be getting out here alive." She declares, pointing her dagger at Varak.