Asher resumed his hunt with immediate, almost casual ease, his form cutting through the air like a sharpened arrow loosed from a divine bow. Although he carved through the assassins as though they were nothing more than fragile silhouettes, the assassins themselves were far from helpless. They were elite killers, trained, conditioned, and sharpened for one singular purpose.
But whether their struggle would matter, whether their resistance could alter the outcome in even the slightest way… only time would be the judge of that.
Asher's fingers shot forward like an obsidian spear, piercing through the skull and brain of one assassin with such ease it seemed the man had been made of brittle paper. Asher twisted his wrist, then flung the corpse aside like a discarded rag.
