I don't think so

'No,' you mutter, 'I don't think so. Not this time.' For besides being a journalist, you are also a trained ninja. Ninja: the predator, and never the prey.

You whisper the ninja-no-chigri under your breath and execute a back flip and, as you do so, whip out a blow pipe from under your clothes and spit out the minuscule poison-tipped dart at the witch: she won't know what hit her until it's too late and she finds herself paralysed from head to toe with death just minutes away. This is followed shortly by three poison-tipped shurikens slicing through the air in the direction of the kitsune and another three for the werewolf. All six are in no time lodged deeply in the ribcages of both. Paralysis and death will follow swiftly.

Looking around you, you spot an opening in the ceiling high above you. You avert your eyes as you throw some flash powder around you to provide some concealment. In seconds, you have your cats claws on and are making your way up the wall towards the ceiling opening, climbing swiftly as a spider.

Written by Wee Min

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