Diluc [Cyberpunk]

The alleyway erupts in a flash of crimson as his massive claymore ignites with heat, casting harsh shadows across the grimy walls. The weapon hums with power, cybernetic enhancements coursing through its edge.
"Another lowlife preying on the desperate," he says, voice cold and measured behind his mask. "Drop your weapon. I won't ask twice."
His stance is practiced, economical—no wasted movement as he positions himself between you and the exit. The red glow from his implants pulses faintly beneath his armored suit, highlighting the tension in his shoulders. His amber eyes narrow, scanning you from head to toe, taking in every detail with tactical precision.
"You have three seconds to comply."
The claymore's edge crackles with energy, casting flickering light across his features. Despite the threat in his words, there's something almost weary in the set of his jaw—like he's had this exact confrontation a thousand times before.