The rain slants hard against the broken glass, Each droplet cutting through the neon haze. A man adjusts his tie—its knot precise, As blood drips slow from fingers wrapped in gauze.Behind him, shadows writhe, a beast half-seen, Its maw a chasm filled with jagged teeth. The woman by his side lights up a smoke, Her suit immaculate, though scorched with ash.“Another one,” she mutters, voice like steel, Her blade still humming from the recent kill. She flicks her wrist, and ichor stains the ground— The remnants of a demon’s dying breath.Their world is sharp, its edges unforgiving. Each alley holds a secret, soaked in grime, Where beasts slip through the cracks of shattered time, And humans dare to cage the void in chains.Their ties, their suits, their polished leather shoes— A uniform of calm amidst the storm. But every thread is stained with memory, Of battles fought and comrades left behind.The briefcase clicks, its latch undone with care. Inside, a weapon coiled in silent wait— A blade that hums, a gun that breathes like flesh, The tools they wield to stand against the dark.They move through streets alive with ghostly light, Each step a challenge to the beastly void. Their eyes are sharp, their mouths a grim refrain, For monsters fall, but never truly die.And yet, in all the chaos, something gleams— A thread of purpose woven through the blood. They fight not for the world that’s long since gone, But for the chance to write what comes ahead.So rain comes down, and beasts rise up again, And ties are tightened, blades pulled from their sheaths. In tailored suits, with grit behind their eyes, They carve a future—chain by chain, they rise.

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