Chapter 59
The bullet slid from the man's forehead and hit the ground with a soft plink.
Ezren's grin dropped.
"What... the hell?"
The man who took the shot—bald, lean, eyes dead like a doll's—smiled wider. He tilted his head slowly, his neck cracking again. The wound closed completely, not even leaving a mark.
"You done?"
A blur shot forward.
Ronan.
He didn't wait for orders. His body reacted the moment danger was confirmed. The ground cracked beneath him as he shot off, blades forming in both hands like shadowy fangs. His speed sent a pressure wave ahead of him.
The bald man moved.
Too fast.
Their clash sent out a shockwave. Metal scraped. Ronan's dagger had collided with the enemy's arm—and the arm didn't snap. Instead, it held firm, pushing Ronan back with brute strength alone.
"Interesting," the man muttered, twisting.
Ronan leaned low, spinning under a punch, his foot kicking up to break the man's jaw. But his leg was caught mid-air.
"What the—"
