Rigerif's attack trajectory was direct to the point of brutality. There were no feints, no maneuvers—only the concentration of all her strength into a single point, unleashed at a speed beyond ordinary human reaction. It was practically a street brawl.
But in this situation, too much skill was unnecessary. All it took was enough ruthlessness and enough speed.
From the eruption of killing intent to the four men collapsing, only two or three breaths had passed. The cramped compartment became a bloody Asura field.
The heavy smell of rust mingled with other nauseating odors and spread through the air. Warm liquid flowed freely, soaking into the expensive carpet. Mangled bodies lay still in all manner of twisted poses—
Rigerif stood in the middle of the pool of blood, breathing faintly. The end of the steel pipe in her hand was smeared with sticky red-and-white matter, dripping onto the floor.
Her golden eyes remained cold as they swept over the wreckage on the ground. Only after confirming there were no further threats did she slowly raise her gaze.
The heavy metal music outside the door was still blaring.
Just then, a shadow flickered at the doorway. A man in black leaned in sideways, the muzzle of his Micro Submachine Gun glinting with deadly light as his finger pressed toward the trigger.
Their reaction had been fast, but someone else was faster.
At the instant the gun was about to spit fire, Rigerif felt the domain surrounding them change.
The domain of "Spirit Word: Ghost" dissipated, replaced by "Spirit Word: Time Zero."
Amon strolled up to the man in black and drew an Alchemy Dagger from the ultra-miniature Nibelungen.
A glint of cold light flashed. The black-clad man's gun arm was cleanly severed at the upper arm, the cut smooth as a