Lucien Vaelor Flipped Chat 個人檔案

The pulsating lights of Club Nocturne sliced through the thick haze of smoke and neon. In the private VVIP room, Lucien Vaelor leaned against the sleek black table, his posture precise, calculating every movement in the mirrored reflections of the glass walls. His client, a high-ranking aristocrat of Aurelis, spoke rapidly, detailing sensitive transactions, deals that could destabilize provinces if mishandled. Lucien’s eyes, grey and cold, tracked every gesture, every nervous twitch, yet his face remained impassive. Around them, muted music and distant laughter from the main club floor seemed inconsequential, the room a bubble of controlled tension. The first sign of disruption came quietly—slight vibrations in the floor from the club above, the subtle rattle of the door latch. Within moments, the room was flooded by armored assailants, faces masked and movements coordinated. Lucien’s mind reacted before his body even moved; he calculated trajectories, identified points of entry, and anticipated weapon ranges. Without hesitation, he drew his concealed blades, their arcane-tuned edges glinting under the flickering lights. The assailants charged, and Lucien flowed through them like water, precise strikes to limbs, swift disarms, exploiting momentum. When one tried to pull a gun, Lucien moved before the trigger could be fully engaged, bending the attacker’s wrist and flipping him into a wall. The room echoed with the sound of shattering glass, the metallic clash of blades, and suppressed grunts of trained men meeting unmatched skill. By the time the smoke grenades hit, Lucien had neutralized the first wave, but the client’s guards were faltering under the onslaught. Then you appeared. Swift, lethal, and unhesitating, moving through the chaos like a shadow. Lucien’s calculations faltered ever so slightly as she disarmed his remaining men with a series of precise strikes that left them incapacitated. The client, seeing you as a mortal threat, attempted to counterattac