Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons

"Lisa?" he said, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty that hadn't been there during his period of dominance over her. "What are you—"

"You know what," she replied quietly, her voice steadier than she had expected it to be.

The shelter's leader, still recovering from his earlier encounter with Arthur, watched the unfolding scene with a horrified expression.

He had a hunch about the sequence of events that were about to unfold, and he could do absolutely nothing about it.

It was inevitable.

Arthur stood at the edge of the stairway, his presence a silent reminder of the new power dynamics that governed this space. His expression remained coldly neutral, neither encouraging nor preventing what was about to unfold.

Lisa's former tormentor scrambled backwards, his mind finally registering the serious threat she represented. But the magical bow's targeting assistance made his movements seem sluggish and predictable.

"You can't—you're a nurse! You save people!" he protested desperately, appealing to the identity he had undermined through his treatment of her.

Lisa's grip on the bow tightened, her knuckles pale against the wood.

"I was, but you made sure that person couldn't exist in your world," Lisa said, her voice cold yet merciful at the same time, as if she had been forced to abandon pieces of herself for survival.

.....

Her tormentor's eyes widened, his mouth working soundlessly before words scraped their way out.

"Wait...Lisa, I love you."

Lisa smirked before saying. "Death loves you too."

Then, she drew the bowstring and let the arrow fly.

The arrow hissed through the stagnant air and struck its target. The area it struck made every male in the room wince. The arrow did not strike his chest, not his throat, but lower.

The shaft buried itself in his groin with a fleshy crunch.

"Argh!!! Damn it!"

His scream tore free, high-pitched and broken, echoing through the shelter. He doubled over, both hands clutching at the wound. His legs no longer had any strength, yet some animal instinct drove him sideways, dragging his body across the floor. Blood pooled beneath him in uneven trails.

Lisa watched, her breathing heavy but steady, the bow already nocked again.

Despite the immense pain he was feeling, he still saw Lisa's expression and knew she was shooting another.

"N-N..o, Wait!" He scrambled, desperate to escape.

Not to fight, he didn't dare with Arthur's looming presence next to Lisa. Arthur's stillness radiated threat more effectively than any blade. The man's eyes flicked back to Lisa's bow, then toward the darkened corridors, searching for any possible exit. He stumbled upright, pain twisting his face, and began to run.

The moment felt like it might slip out of Lisa's hands as she saw her tomormintor escape. She knew that she had to do it alone; Arthur wasn't going to intervene, he had made it clear by his words, even if he didn't say it.

But then, a boy's small foot shot out from the side.

The man, blinded by panic and blood loss, never saw it. His shin caught the child's ankle.

His fast momentum betrayed him, his body pitched forward, and he crashed face-first onto the concrete.

His teeth clicked audibly against the floor. His nose erupted in a spray of red. He couldn't even stabilise himself from the fall due to the pain he was feeling from the attack earlier.

The boy flinched from the impact, but stayed crouched, his jaw clenched.

Lisa's arrow sang a second time.

The shaft plunged into the same ruined flesh. His body arched in agony. His scream dissolved into a guttural moan, ragged and animalistic.

She did not hesitate.

A third arrow followed, embedding itself beside the others. His thighs twitched violently, blood soaking through his torn pants. His curses stuttered incoherently between each gasp.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Each release came with a precision that startled even Lisa. The rare-ranked bow was really something out of this world; it was a cheat. Her vengeance had rhythm, each strike deliberate and merciless.

By the fifth arrow, the man was motionless except for his shallow, stuttering breaths. His hands quivered, but no longer held strength enough to clutch at his wounds.

Yet despite all of that, the man still had the strength to speak. His voice was hoarse and wet, filled with bitterness.

"Women…always tearing…what men build. Treacherous…all of you…" His words bled together with spit and mucus, half curses, half whimpers. "Never satisfied…never grateful…poison dressed as flesh…"

His eyes, bloodshot and dim, glared upward. "You…you'll never be more than whores with sharp nails. I've brought you in and protected you, yet this is how I'm repaid for my kindness..."

Lisa lowered her bow slowly before walking towards his body.

For a moment, she only stared, her jaw set, her face unreadable. Then she crouched, meeting his bleary gaze. Her tone was calm, but sharper than the arrows themselves.

"You can cry about it in hell, scumbag."

His lips trembled around another insult, but the words never formed. His strength drained into the growing puddle beneath him.

Lisa rose, chest tight, bow heavy in her hands. The world seemed muffled, like her ears were underwater. She hadn't even heard the boy's quiet whimper at first—the small, sharp cry of pain that broke through her tunnel vision.

Her head snapped toward him.

The boy had collapsed against the wall, his face pale, his leg twisted unnaturally. His small act of bravery, the simple trip that had shifted the battle, had cost him dearly. His foot dangled at an odd angle, swelling grotesquely.

Lisa's stomach clenched.

In her rage, she hadn't noticed his injury. She quickly rushed to him. "Hey—hey, look at me." Her hands hovered for a second, unsure whether to touch his leg or his face first. His eyes, wide with pain, blinked up at her. He couldn't have been older than eleven.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm always a burden...to everyone," he whispered. His voice shook, guilt lacing it as if he believed the hurt was his fault.

"No. Don't you dare apologise." Her voice softened instantly. "You were brave. Braver than most grown men."

She tore open the worn first-aid satchel at her hip. Her hands worked with a speed she hadn't thought possible. Gauze, splints, bandages—her old training resurfaced, precise, automatic. She pressed a cool cloth against his swelling ankle, then wrapped it carefully, layer by layer.

The boy hissed through his teeth, his small hands clawing at the ground.

"You stopped him. You gave me the chance I needed." Her throat tightened as she spoke. "Thank you. Truly."

Arthur's silent figure remained at the stairwell, watching. He hadn't interfered when vengeance consumed her, nor when compassion reclaimed her. His neutrality was terrifying, but in this moment, it gave her space to breathe.

Lisa tied the final knot in the bandage, securing the makeshift splint. "This will help until we find you a healer, okay?"

The boy's face was damp with sweat and tears, but he nodded weakly. His lips curved in the faintest hint of pride.

Lisa brushed his hair back from his forehead, a gesture almost maternal. For the first time since she had loosed that first arrow, her own hands trembled.

She had wanted vengeance. She had delivered it. But the boy's broken foot reminded her of something she thought she had lost entirely—the instinct to protect, to heal, to mend what was broken rather than only destroy.