​Phoenix Wraith: Broken Bond

The bite on her right forearm burned like liquid acid, but it was the high-caliber bullet tearing through Phoenix Wraith’s left shoulder that severed her last tie to humanity.

Phoenix was a lethal, striking vision reduced to a blood-soaked specter. Her long, jet-black hair—slick with sweat and crimson splatter—hung in dark, tangled threads around a sharp, high-cheekboned Asian face. Strands pasted themselves to her pale, soot-streaked skin, framing dark obsidian eyes that burned with a fierce, terrifying clarity. She was lithe and compact, built like a coiled whip, every inch of her lean frame honed by three brutal years of apocalyptic hell. Blood drenched her olive-drab tactical jacket, dripping steadily from her knuckles onto the handle of her notched steel machete.

She remembered when the apocalypse first broke—the red sky, the terrifying screaming in the streets, and how she had been forced to kill her infected landlord with a broken glass bottle just to survive night one. Since then, she had fought through ruined, overgrown cities, navigated flooded subway tunnels swarming with mutated aquatic horrors, and slept with one eye open in frozen, abandoned skyscrapers while scavenging for rusted canned goods. She had carved out a reputation as a ghost on the battlefield, a lone survivalist whose precision with a blade was unmatched.

Then she had met them—a weak, starving group of survivors begging for a leader. For three years, Phoenix became their shield. She taught them how to set perimeter traps, how to harvest clean rainwater, and how to execute quiet stealth kills. She took every dangerous night watch, willingly gave up her own food rations during the brutal winter famines, and threw herself into the jaws of ravenous mutant swarms just to draw attention away from the team. She had bled for every single one of them.

And this was how they repaid her.

Behind her now, a wave of ten thousand flesh-eaters smashed through the concrete barricades—jaws snapping, limbs contorting, a roaring avalanche of rot.

Phoenix didn't flinch. She pivoted, her blade flashing in a blinding arc that decapitated three infected in a single fluid stroke. Black blood sprayed across her face. Her chest heaved with ragged, burning gasps, every muscle screaming in exhaustion, yet her movements remained terrifyingly precise.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

The thunderous roar of rotor blades shook the dust from the crumbling high-rises above. Phoenix instinctively glanced up.

The military extraction helicopter hovered fifty feet over the roof, its winch lowering toward the landing pad. Relief surged through her chest like a shot of adrenaline—until her eyes locked onto the open cabin door.

Standing there were the five teammates she had bled for. No one lowered a rope. No one reached out a hand. They stared down at her through the swirling dust with cold, calculated detachment.

The team leader raised his rifle, aiming straight down at her chest.

“Sorry, Phoenix.”

Muzzle flash.

Pain exploded in her shoulder, knocking her back two paces into the snapping jaws of the horde. Before she could react, a second round shattered her kneecap.

Phoenix crashed onto one knee, the concrete tearing into her skin.

“W-What are you doing?!” she snarled, wiping a streak of black blood from her lips.

“If we pull you up, you’ll turn,” the sniper cold-bloodedly called down, pointing toward the torn sleeve revealing the dark, blackened veins pulsing around her wrist bite. “And even if you don't, command won't grant extra rations for a liability. You’ve outlived your usefulness, Phoenix.”

A hollow, sharp laugh ripped from Phoenix’s throat—a sound pure, dark, and utterly devoid of mercy. For three years she had fed them, sheltered them, and treated them like family while going hungry herself.

Fools. Absolute fools.

The helicopter rose into the gray sky, leaving her engulfed in an ocean of snapping jaws.

Phoenix closed her obsidian eyes as cold teeth tore into her throat, her last thought forged in venom:

If I get a second chance… I won't be anyone's shield. I'll be their executioner.

“Phoenix Wraith!”

SNAP!

A wooden ruler slammed against marble, shattering the dark like a gunshot.

Phoenix’s eyes snapped open. Before her conscious mind registered the shift, three years of hardwired predator instincts exploded into motion. She lunged across the desk, seized a heavy silver pen between her fingers, and drove the sharp steel tip within a millimeter of the instructor’s exposed carotid artery before the man could even finish blinking.

Static silence instantly slammed over the vast lecture hall.

The silver-haired instructor froze, sweat instantly breaking out across his forehead as he stared straight into the death-cold eyes of the girl standing over him. Phoenix’s breath hit his collar in fast, lethal rhythm, her dark eyes scanning the room in half a second flat—polished marble floors, high arched windows, crystal chandeliers, dozens of students frozen in pristine white-and-gold academy uniforms.

No rot. No blood. No iron reek of torn guts.

Slowly, Phoenix lowered the pen, her sharp gaze dropping to her reflection in the polished dark wood of the desk.

It was her face—striking Asian features, pale porcelain skin, sharp almond eyes—but the body beneath the tailored blazer was fragile. Slender wrists unmarred by weapon straps, hands pristine and soft without a single combat callus.

Transmigration.

Then the memory flood hit—slamming into her skull like a freight train. Sentinels with volatile, violent psychic overloads. Guides meant to anchor their minds. A prestigious imperial military academy. The fallen Wraith bloodline. And her—a defective, bottom-rank Asian Guide stripped of her family lineage, mocked as useless garbage, and dragged here today for a public humiliation.

An engagement dissolution ceremony.

Across the aisle, a tall, arrogantly handsome Sentinel in a gold-encrusted uniform sneered at her, flanked by a court of mocking noble heirs.

Phoenix stood up straight, brushing a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. The phantom pain of the bullet hole faded, replaced by an icy, razor-sharp calm that radiated off her in terrifying waves. They thought they were looking at a broken, pathetic girl ready to burst into tears.

They had no idea a monster had just taken over the shell.

Phoenix tilted her head, a slow, razor-sharp smile curving her lips as her obsidian eyes locked onto her ex-fiancé.

“Engagement dissolution?” Her voice was soft, icy, and dripping with lethal composure. “Good. Let’s get this trash out of my sight.”