B-rank Gate – Western Residential District
The western district was eerily quiet. Residential streets, usually bustling with evening activity, were now empty. Evacuation orders had been issued an hour ago. The only sounds were the distant wail of sirens and the low, ominous hum coming from the gate ahead.
Andrey stood at the front of the group, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. No katana hung at his hip now. Just the white-and-gold pistol holstered on his right thigh and his bare hands.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "No sword?"
"Broken," Andrey said simply. "Didn't have time to replace it."
Sein cracked her neck. "So you're fighting with fists and a pistol against a B-rank gate?"
Andrey adjusted his glasses. "I'll manage."
The gate shimmered before them, a swirling vortex of purple and black, larger than the usual C-ranks they'd been clearing. Its edges crackled with unstable energy, and the air around it was thick, oppressive.
