The moment Vonjo felt the tingle on his skin—the kind of primal sensation that whispered ambush—he stepped sideways without hesitation.
A crashing noise followed, then the screech of metal bending and drywall shattering.
He didn't flinch, didn't blink.
The world slowed around him as the corner of the apartment erupted in debris and dust, a grotesque hand-like shape made of concrete and bone scraping past where his throat had been a second ago.
They were already here.
Vonjo landed lightly on the floor, knees bent, hand already reaching back—not for a blade, not for his gauntlet. But for the old longbow strapped diagonally across his back.
The weapon clicked into his palm like it was born there. He grinned.
"So you guys are that desperate to get a kill?" he muttered, flicking his fingers and drawing an arrow.
