Adrian's bronze statue wielded a long sword with imposing presence. With a swift, merciless slash, it cleaved Lawrence in twain as easily as slicing through fish. The statue's sword then danced nimbly, grazing Lawrence's severed torso with chilling precision.
Meanwhile, Lawrence's legs, oddly still upright, were spared as the statue shifted its lethal focus. With a deft flick of its wrist, the sword carved a luminous arc through the air, hurtling toward Chris Mann like a comet in pursuit.
In that dire moment, Chris's instincts, honed from years as a scout, sprang into action. He executed a desperate roll, narrowly evading the deadly sweep of the sword. Yet, he wasn't unscathed, a searing pain flared across his back, a chilling reminder of the sword's kiss.