Ross took another step.
And another.
Each footfall made the hunters retreat a half-step without realizing it.
Ross's eyes gleamed with a disturbing calm—like someone who had already decided what everyone's fate would be.
The hallway felt smaller suddenly, as if the walls were closing in around the intruders.
"Come," Ross said softly. "Let's dance."
His voice held no excitement—only a quiet, chilling anticipation.
"It's been… far too long since I felt blood warm on my hands."
The leader's heart skipped.
The telekinetic's jaw clenched.
The big man instinctively raised his fists.
And Ross kept walking, unhurried, unstoppable, stepping toward the six men who realized—far too late—that they hadn't cornered prey.
Prey didn't smile like that.
Predators did.
"Well, if you want to die that badly, then be my guest! I'll help you get to hell myself!"
The telekinetic's voice cracked with rage as he thrust both hands forward, veins bulging on his temples.
Pffft!
