Sentient beings were defined by their reflexive nature.
From humans to every other race, it was the same. Should an object be suddenly hurtled towards one's face, their first reaction would almost always be to evade.
It was instinct. A natural reaction.
It was this same reaction that the Roman soldier expected when he threw his spear.
His will wrapped around it, spiraled towards the tip like a drill burrowing underground. The speed was so absurd it zipped through the air as a streak of light.
As Atticus raised his head and narrowed his eyes at the spear, the Roman soldier's eyes gleamed.
'We've got him.'
Atticus would dodge left, where his companion, the knight, waited for him with the next attack. And if he somehow managed to dodge that, the monk would descend from the sky.
It was foolproof. One that hinged on a single thing, reflex.
'Come on… dodge.'
But Atticus did not move. As his crimson Will blazed around him, the Roman soldier's pupils shrank.
'Don't tell me…'
