The jungle air was thick with smoke and ozone.
The stench of roasted bug flesh lingered in the wind, and the crunch of insect chitin beneath boots echoed in grim rhythm as Elius and his group moved deeper into the dimensional rift.
Every few steps, another electric insect would leap from the leaves—sometimes small beetle-sized pests discharging sparks from their wings, other times thick-legged hornets buzzing with volatile thunder, like living storm-clouds with stingers.
But they were no longer afraid.
Clint, now affectionately dubbed "The Bullet," had honed his dual-handed shooting to the point where he could fire six simultaneous energy rounds, three from each hand, like a living revolver turret.
His movements were rapid and unpredictable, sliding between trees, ricocheting shots off surfaces, and striking bugs out of the air mid-flight.
Each shot rang out like a cannonball through the jungle.
