*SWOOSH*
*SWOOSH*
*SWOOSH*
Leo dodged every dagger thrown his way through instinct alone, as he utilised [Sixth Sense] to its maximum potential.
The daggers sang through the air, slicing past him within inches, but each missed by a hair's breadth, as though he had already seen their trajectories before they were even thrown.
His blindfold was soaked through with sweat now, his skin sticky, the chains on his wrists clinking faintly with every movement.
He could hear nothing, feel nothing, smell nothing, yet the world was still there, alive around him. Not in form, not in sound, but in pulse, a vibration that existed just beneath the surface of reality.
As that became the sensation which he moved to.
Casio's movements, though invisible to him, painted ripples in that field of rhythm, ripples that he could feel even through his dulled senses.
'Left. Three more incoming.'
