Sanchez couldn't suppress her scream after losing another finger. As soon as the paralysis wore off slightly, she disappeared back into the water.
But Rita had already started aiming at Sanchez the mont she fired the bullet that hit her index finger. This ti, her sights were set on Sanchez's left ankle.
1—2—3—Sanchez subrged into the water—just as the bullet sliced through a droplet of water mid-air.
If this mont could have been captured in slow motion, it would've been beautiful—the vengeful bullet spinning rapidly as it cleaved through the water droplet.
The **third shot**!
A figure tumbled out of the water, clutching her abdon and fleeing. Sanchez realized sothing terrible—the person chasing her had a skill that, after prolonged aiming, made her unavoidable, even in water.
As Rita watched the figure limping away, a strange sadness welled up within her. She didn't feel the triumph she had expected. Instead, there was a deep, bitter ache.
They were all pawns in Rick's ga. Sanchez had been brutal to many people, but Rita couldn't tell how much of Sanchez's cruelty ca from her own nature and how much stemd from her hatred for Rick. Yet, the pain Sanchez had caused her was undeniably real.
Rita raised her gun again, this ti aiming at Sanchez's left wrist.
She couldn't let it go. Forgiveness wasn't an option for her. The only thing she could ensure was that Rick would suffer a fate far worse than any of them—hundreds, thousands of tis worse.
In the darkness, behind Rita, dozens of glowing skills were launched toward her. The light illuminated the sky, nearly as bright as daylight.
But Rita stood firm, her hand steady as she aid at her enemy.
**Bang!** The gunshot that sent chills through everyone in the White family estate rang out once more!
**The fourth shot**!
Sanchez twisted her body, gripping a dagger with her remaining three fingers. As the bullet neared her, she tightened her core, gathering all her strength, and slashed with the dagger.
**Clang!** The bullet was sliced in half by the blade.
But then, another shot rang out!
It was Rita's **fifth shot** since entering the White estate.
After aiming for three seconds and firing the previous shot, Rita had been waiting for Sanchez to stop moving. She knew Sanchez too well—she wouldn't give up so easily. As long as there was breath in her, Sanchez would never stop fighting back.
Rita had trained extensively in shooting. In close-range combat, she no longer needed to rely on her **I'm Getting Serious (Passive)** skill to hit her target.
This shot, she aid at Sanchez's left ankle.
As Sanchez realized sothing was wrong the mont she sliced through the bullet, it was too late.
Her ankle was shattered, leaving her foot barely hanging by a small piece of flesh.
Sanchez collapsed, the pain so intense that it left her voiceless, unable even to scream.
As the barrage of skills from the White family closed in on Rita, coming within inches of her, she vanished.
The spells landed on the ground, leaving craters behind, as if mocking their futile efforts.
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Rita *Phantom Shifted* to the restroom in the Lopez estate's restaurant, expertly changing her clothes, burning the old ones, and destroying the helt.
Her shadow clone, **Carson**, had already slipped away, phasing through walls to escape. anwhile, the undead bird that had perched atop the White estate flew off the mont Rita entered, eventually diving into a nearby dungeon portal.
There, it taunted a monster and allowed itself to be killed—its final mission complete.
Rita *Phantom Shifted* again, this ti to a movie theater screening room. Without deactivating her **Disguise!**, she transford into a small cat, found an empty seat, curled up, and began ntally reviewing the night's events, checking for any loose ends.
She hadn't even stolen any stats from the White family mbers, unwilling to risk any distraction that might cause her to slip up.
Zoey, Sanchez, Aaron, and Julian had all been dealt with. Rick was next. But after him, who would be next?
Pondering this, Rita slowly drifted off to sleep, curled up like a small ball of fur.
The next day, she was roused by the sound of people chatting around her. Stretching on the seat, she lazily jumped down, and as people exclaid, "Wait, how is there a cat here?!" she dashed out of the theater and began wandering the streets.
She even strolled near her ho, ntally asking Nivalis if she wanted to co out and play. If she did, she could invisibly fly to the pine tree outside the gated community and look for a black cat.
Rita basked in the sunlight under the tree, the warmth of the sumr morning making her drowsy.
She wasn't soone who liked to wallow in pain and resentnt, as if she couldn't be happy until all her enemies were destroyed.
No. Wherever she was, she always tried to live happily.
She refused to let hatred rule her life.
And she believed she had succeeded. Her life was full of joy and aning, so much so that sotis she had to push her revenge plans aside.
But those monts of happiness weren't the sa as the deep, healing satisfaction she felt after each act of vengeance.
In other words, *becoming stronger was life; revenge was a hobby.*
She couldn't do without either, nor could she afford to let them lose their balance.
As she lay there, she suddenly felt a weight on her back.
Nivalis's playful laughter echoed around her.
Darn it! She hadn't even had the chance to ride the dragon, and now the dragon was riding her?
Rita flipped over and started wrestling with the invisible Nivalis. Though Nivalis's stats were far higher, she treated Rita like a backyard kitten, pulling her punches at every turn.
The cat and the dragon tumbled across the grass, playing without a care in the world.
Even if soone saw a cat fighting with the air, it didn't matter—cats do that sotis.
Afterward, Rita and the invisible Nivalis went on a shopping spree.
Rita didn't walk the streets like an ordinary person. She leaped across rooftops and air conditioning units, explaining each shop they passed to Nivalis—what they sold, if their food was any good, what toys they had, and how they were played with.
Sotis, when Nivalis wanted sothing to eat, Rita would run into a shop, buy what they needed, and then they'd return to a rooftop to snack together before continuing their stroll.
Eventually, they passed by Los Angeles's top orthopedic hospital.
Rita snuck inside, made her way to the rooftop of Building 2, and looked through the window of a luxury hospital room. Inside, Sanchez lay sleeping.
Her right arm was a chanical prosthetic, and her left hand had only three fingers remaining, which rested on the blanket.
Her left leg was suspended in the air, with a tal brace where her ankle used to be. The sight of it—bare and grotesque—was eerie.
Sanchez looked like a ragdoll, stitched together with steel parts.
Healing potions accelerated recovery, but they couldn't regrow lost bones or organs. Theoretically, there were *Divine Gifts* or skills that could regenerate them, but who knew when the White family would find such a miracle?
In the anti, Sanchez would suffer, every minute of every day.
Her prosthetics allowed her to et basic daily needs but couldn't support her in combat. Even performing complex movents was beyond her now.
After losing her right hand, Sanchez had spent years training her left.
But now, with only three fingers remaining on that hand, she couldn't even hold a dagger tightly anymore.
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