In Shawn's eyes, Hesta fought as she retreated at an unimaginable speed, gradually drawing the Chelated Being deeper down the road until she vanished from his sight.
Shawn lay prone on the ground, silently counting Hesta's gunshots.
Hesta carried two pistols. One was a practice gun from the base, loaded with fifteen rubber bullets and only moderately lethal. The other, a usable Beretta 92FS, appeared to have a magazine capacity of either fifteen or seventeen rounds.
Hesta had no other weapons. Once her ammunition ran out, she would have no choice but to fall into passive defense.
After the eleventh shot, the gunfire briefly stopped, but the sounds of fighting continued.
Shawn's heart sank—the Beretta 92FS in Hesta's hand had run out of bullets.
She should still have fourteen rubber rounds in her other practice gun, but at a distance of around fifteen meters, those bullets could not even penetrate his flesh and blood. Relying on something like that against a Chelated Being was pure fantasy...
Sure enough, when the gunfire resumed, it no longer carried the same deafening roar as before.
Shawn felt cold. The massive blood loss made him drowsy, and he truly sank into a state of calm—not the blankness caused by overwhelming terror, nor the certainty born from knowing everything. This hollow sensation was like drunkenness, making him feel detached, free.
Shawn sighed softly and closed his eyes without resistance.
Dying like this was not so bad. At least he would not have to endure any more terror...
Calvin's face suddenly appeared in his mind. Shawn furrowed his brow, grief rising in him again—when all was said and done, I could only leave you alone in this world...
Through the haze, Shawn felt a warm embrace opening toward him. He knew these were death's wings. The