Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
The Russian fired four bullets in one swift motion—each aimed to corner Alexander, converging like a steel net meant to snare the wounded boy.
But Alexander's eyes caught them.
With a twitch of pain in his brow, he launched himself upward on one leg, twisting midair to evade the two bullets slicing vertically along his left side. In that suspended moment—blood pulsing, breath stolen—a truth he hadn't known flared into being: the pain in his leg wasn't enough. Not enough to dodge them all.
Two bullets struck.
They punched through flesh like needles through wet paper, carving twin tunnels beneath his skin, severing fibers, shredding muscle.
"Aaah!"
Alexander screamed—a raw, guttural sound torn from his chest. Veins bulged at his temples. His ears rang like church bells in a storm. He was trapped in agony, pinned by the cruelty of the moment.
"That's what is representing your clan ?" Captain Blue mocked, voice slick with theatrical cruelty.
