At first, Rex's [Instinct] was keeping up effortlessly.
He stood in the center of the web with a cool, cocky demeanor, dodging every strike, every swing, and every thread the cultist threw his way.
A tilt of his head, a smooth pivot of his foot, a slight lean backward— Rex moved like a phantom in the storm, completely untouchable.
Until the web tightened.
Suddenly, the commands from the ethereal woman's voice inside his head began firing like a rapid-fire machine gun, stacking on top of one another at terrifying speed:
[Instinct]: "Left! Right! Right! Left! Duck! Shift backward! Tilt left! Jump!"
"Wait— which one?!" Rex grunted under his breath.
There were simply too many in play.
Thousands of threads vibrated through the narrow corridor air, intersecting from every single pillar, window frame, and floor tile.
The sheer amount of incoming trajectories completely overloaded his spatial awareness.
Rex was being utterly overwhelmed.
SCHWING! THWACK!
