The brief respite ended quickly. The trees, which had given him a semblance of cover, turned into lethal traps. Julius adapted his aim, no longer targeting Dylan directly, but anticipating his movements, felling the trees toward which he ran. The very landscape became a weapon.
A massive oak exploded to his right, shattered to splinters by a projectile the size of a melon. Dylan barely had time to hurl himself aside, an instinctive, desperate dodge that sent him rolling into a thicket of thorns. The brambles tore into his skin, adding sharp agony to the symphony of his wounds.
He staggered back to his feet, but the path behind him was now blocked by the crushed trunk. To his left, a steep ravine dropped down to a stream. Julius advanced methodically, reducing the space for escape step by step. He no longer unleashed volleys, but single, precise shots that cracked like gunfire, each stone forcing Dylan to spend outrageous amounts of energy to avoid them.
