Sorry, Too Late
Killing intent flooded the space—dense and suffocating, like a rising tide that surged into a violent tsunami crashing straight toward Evan.
Nightingale, dressed in black, melted into the shadows. Only the cold flash of her dagger betrayed her presence.
Butcher raised a sniper rifle nearly as tall as a man and unleashed a barrage at Evan. This time, he had even loaded internationally banned dumdum rounds, determined to kill in a single shot.
Predator drove forward with a full-force punch—raw, destructive power paired with terrifying speed.
Specter's visor flickered rapidly, analyzing and predicting Evan's next move as his body dissolved into shifting shadows.