Toss, hurl. Run. Run.
Get to the window.
The reason didn't matter why it was so effective, why the Omen refused cut them down like he did the adults. All that did matter was these sacrifices were working. Only Jack's experience—the countless deaths he had thrown into the Omen's path—saved him.
Yet...
Every exchange was costing him. Every stool and every teenager and every full-grown adult. The Omen was catching up while Jack was only four feet from reaching the window and the end of the Heavenly Spell.
In total, six seconds had passed.
Clang!
No more teenagers. The window was right there and he did not have the space to do anything.
No, even with these bodies, the Omen was adapting. This meant nothing to him. With an anti-magic sword of that calibre, unlike with Sun-young, he might die almost instantly. Without darkness, without the terrain he usually bent to his will, Jack was losing inches with every clash.
