Storm, his wrist now useless, transferred his remaining pistol to his left hand, ignoring the searing pain.

His eyes, usually cool and calculating, were now wide, filled with a cold, terrifying madness.

He had watched his entire defense shattered, his associates beaten, and now his last hopes destroyed.

Halmu turned back, raising the monstrous sword again, ready to finish Storm.

"Time's up, Gunslinger."

"No," Storm rasped, his voice raw. "Your time is up."

He didn't aim. He didn't use a specialized Aura skill. He simply unleashed the full, insane power of his weapon, overriding every tactical impulse he possessed.

KINETIC OVERLOAD!

Storm squeezed the trigger of his remaining pistol and held it down. The weapon, fueled by a torrent of raw, desperate Aura, erupted in a continuous, deafening roar.

It was no longer a gun; it was a screaming, sustained artillery cannon.

A continuous stream of blazing brass projectiles poured out, not in bursts, but in a solid, uncontrollable line of fire.

The air turned white-hot around the pistol, and the weapon itself began to smoke and deform under the impossible heat and pressure.

Halmu, for the first time, looked genuinely surprised. He was forced to bring the Annihilator up, holding the colossal blade vertically in front of him to withstand the sheer volume of the barrage.

The explosive brass rounds—hundreds of them, amplified by Storm's final, manic Aura surge—slammed into the Annihilator in a relentless, furious drumbeat.

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA-DAKA!

The impacts generated blinding sparks and a shockwave of heat. Even the dense, solidified black aura around the sword began to ripple and strain under the continuous, concentrated assault.

The figure's boots began to slide backward against the slick, bloody stone.

He was being pushed back!

Storm, eyes glazed with manic focus, walked forward, his left arm held rigid, following the target.

He didn't care about the consequences; he simply poured every last ounce of energy into the attack.

Halmu snarled, his eyes flashing with fury as the weapon's force drove him back one foot, then two, then three.

"You… insignificant pest!" he roared, the sustained attack jarring him completely. He finally put his immense strength into play, using his entire body to push back against the barrage.

The recoil of the constant fire was tearing Storm's own shoulder apart, but he did not stop.

He maintained the stream for a full, horrifying ten seconds, until the pistol in his left hand finally screamed and catastrophically exploded from the heat and pressure, leaving Storm's arm a burnt mess.

The deafening silence that followed was complete.

Halmu stood twenty feet back from where he started, his breathing heavy, his black armor scorched, and a hairline fracture visible across the flat of the Annihilator.

He had been momentarily driven back, his perfect defense finally tested by maniacal willpower.

Storm stood alone, his right arm shattered, his left arm mangled, panting, completely spent, but alive.

"I'll… be… back," Storm choked out, forcing the promise through gritted teeth, before he too, finally collapsed, falling unconscious onto the blood-soaked stone beside the bodies of his friends.

Halmu let out a sharp, mocking laugh that held a distinct undertone of simmering anger and fury.

His obsidian armor was scratched, and the minor, momentary retreat at the hands of a mere Gunslinger clearly stung his pride.

"You fucking humans," Halmu snarled, his voice tight with venom, his cold eyes fixed on Storm's unconscious form.

"Always trying to act smart and tough… let's see you stand up when I devour you."

He hoisted the enormous, toothed sword—the Annihilator—high above his head. As he did, the jagged teeth along the edge of the blade visibly lengthened and writhed, momentarily transforming the edge into a gaping, metallic maw, ready to consume the life force of its target.

The massive sword started its slow, inexorable descent toward the prone body of Storm Ashborn.

But just as the point of no return was reached, a tremendous distant boom rattled the already shattered buildings of the Old Market.

Halmu's brow twitched in annoyance; he despised interruptions. He didn't pause his strike, though, keeping his focus on the kill.

Yet, before the sword could travel another foot, a presence arrived.

In a blinding flash of golden-white light, a huge ball of concentrated Aura materialized instantaneously, defying speed and distance.

Before Halmu's mind—or his monstrous reflexes—could register the attack, the projectile struck him squarely in the center of his chest.

The impact was not just one of force, but of purification. The condensed, searing light clashed violently with his dark aura and organic armor.

A terrifying eruption of light and shadow occurred at the point of contact. Halmu was instantly blasted backward with impossible velocity, the Annihilator flying from his grip and tumbling away as he scraped a long, destructive trench into the stone ground.

A massive cloud of dust and vaporized stone rose high into the air.

When the dust settled, the sight was chilling. Halmu lay still at the end of the trench. The intense aura blast had taken a devastating toll: half of his body, including the left side of his face, was gone, completely vaporized, leaving behind only the grotesque, smoking remnants of his obsidian armor fused to shredded flesh.

He lay utterly lifeless, unable to move or even groan, his powerful Aura extinguished.

Between the unconscious Storm and the broken Halmu, two figures now stood, having appeared in the very moment of the attack.

One was a beautiful woman, floating effortlessly a few inches above the ground like a celestial maiden.

Her dark crimson hair danced around her like liquid flame, and she was clad in a stunning violet gown.

A long, flowing piece of white, shimmering mana-infused cloth was elegantly draped over her arms, serving both as decoration and a potent focusing tool. Her gaze, directed at Halmu, was serene but utterly powerful.

"Is he dead?" the woman asked, her voice melodic but carrying an immense weight of authority.

The second figure was a man who looked remarkably similar to the battered Storm lying on the ground, but older and harder.

He had a stern face, hidden slightly beneath a long-brimmed cowboy hat, and his flowing long grey hair spilled out from under it.

He wore a long, worn leather coat. In his hands, he held a formidable, humongous double-barreled gun—a weapon that dwarfed Storm's pistols and radiated raw, untamed power.

He walked over to Halmu's motionless body and nudged the Annihilator with the toe of his boot.

"Don't think so," the man answered, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. He glanced back at the wreckage of the fight, his sharp eyes catching sight of the fallen Gunslinger.

"Creatures like that don't die easy."

He leveled his massive gun at the ruins of Halmu. "But he's out of the picture for now. We need to focus on the boy."

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