Hajin snapped his wrist as rain chased the knives, slapping strong links flat against both blades before coated edges arrived. Steel cracked and spun past his feet while spilled coating splashed across the wall, leaving poison wherever rain touched mortar.
'Two blades gone and zero holes in me, eat that,' he thought as a dirty streak crawled toward the gutter.
The sister flicked a soaked glove beside the cart and raised a fresh knife, keeping its point toward Hajin.
Behind him, her brother wrestled the tube's catch while grit jammed its mouth and his fingers slipped again.
"Reload faster, you useless lump!" she shrieked, stripping the ruined glove against the axle without letting him inside her reach.
"The catch won't open!"
"Then hit it!"
He smacked the tube against his palm instead of setting it aside, cursing when the catch stayed shut.
