The high of his successful counter-snipe was short-lived. A predator, once cornered, is at its most dangerous. And One-Shot Eagle was the apex predator of the Spire Nexus.
The respectful silence Shen Liang had sensed shattered into a storm of controlled, precise violence. Eagle abandoned his methodical, patient approach. He began to move, not like a ghost, but like a phantom—a blur of gray that seemed to be in two places at once. He used the terrain Shen Liang had so carefully altered against him, leveraging the new bridges and fallen pillars to create unpredictable angles of attack.
The first miss came without warning.
Shen Liang, tracking a flicker of movement, fired at a shadow that solidified into nothing more than a wisp of coalescing dust. The mana bolt vanished into the abyss.
[Shots Fired: 21]
[Shots Missed: 1]
The number glared at him, a digit of shame. The pristine zero was gone. The vise, which had loosened, clamped down with crushing force.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to bleed into his focus. He could feel Eagle's strategy shifting. The sniper was no longer trying to outthink him in a long game. He was overclocking the battle, forcing a tempo that was unsustainable. He was creating a sensory overload of false cues, feints, and near-subliminal movements designed to overwhelm Shen Liang's processing power.
The second and third misses came in quick succession. A shot aimed at a fluttering piece of fabric Eagle had shed. Another at a sonic decoy—a sharp crack of stone against stone that perfectly mimicked a footfall.
[Shots Fired: 23]
[Shots Missed: 3]
Seven left. Only seven.
"Think, Shen Liang, THINK!" he muttered to himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His Stamina, a meager 10, was draining fast from the constant, high-stress evasion. He was tiring, and a tired mind makes mistakes.
He tried to replicate his earlier success, listening for the tell-tale inhale. But Eagle had adapted. His breathing was now controlled, silent, or masked by the timing of his movements. The one crack he had found had been seamlessly sealed.
Miss four. A desperate shot at a glimpse of a rifle barrel that was already gone.
Miss five. A hopeful potshot through a narrow gap that Eagle had never intended to cross.
Miss six. He slipped on loose gravel, his shot going wide as he scrambled for balance.
[Shots Fired: 29]
[Shots Missed: 6]
Four misses left. The world narrowed to a tunnel. The majestic Floating Ruins, the humming energy currents, the observing millions—all of it faded away. There was only the count, the next hiding spot, and the phantom presence of the sniper who was systematically dismantling his sanity.
He was in a full-blown spiral, and Eagle was the vortex.