The sound was small, but the impact wasn't.
The first thug—loud, the kind who barked loudest when backed by numbers—jerked as if yanked by an invisible hook. A bloom of red opened on his chest. His mouth froze mid-curse.
Then he dropped—like trash tossed off a rooftop.
Then came the screaming.
"FUCK! What the hell was that?!"
"He's got some kind of magic wand—!"
"No, no—THAT'S NOT MAGIC!"
Kael moved forward slowly. Calm. The gun lowered, then snapped up again.
PFFT.
Another dropped—throat shot. The man gurgled, choking on blood, crawling backward as if refusing to accept death.
PFFT.
One through the eye. His skull smacked the stone like a melon dropped from a rooftop.
Chaos exploded. Screams, panicked footsteps. The gang scattered. They didn't understand. How could they? They'd never seen anything like it. Never heard of gunfire, never watched a man bleed out in seconds from a hole the size of a coin.
Kael exhaled slowly.
