Bullets tore through the air, a relentless hailstorm of lead converging on me from all directions. The sheer velocity of each round blurred them into streaks of death, but my blade was faster. Ayuru whistled through the air, its edge cleaving through metal like paper, splitting the bullets before they could reach me. My body moved instinctively, each slash a desperate act of survival, my muscles burning from the sheer speed required to keep up with the never-ending barrage.
Time itself seemed to slow, my mind accelerating to perceive every detail—each bullet's trajectory, the shifting shadows, the sharp glint of metal slicing through the dimly lit space.
