In the lexicon of elite snipers, there is a golden rule engraved into their minds before they even learn how to pull the trigger: "When the position is exposed and weapons become ineffective, survival equals a free death. Tactical retreat is not cowardice; it is a reset of the battle equation."
Eva Blackwood knew this rule by heart.
She was kneeling on the crumbling metal grating on Floor (B1), "The Purifier," as scorching heat lashed her pale face and singed the tips of her black hair.
In front of her, across the dark gap, stood "The Executioner"—an S-rank nightmare—swinging his blazing steel chains.
In a fraction of a second, the fire-aspected Eitra condensed within those chains erupted into a massive tsunami of orange hell, surging toward them like a wall of inevitable death, devouring oxygen and melting everything it touched.
Eva glanced right and left.
There were no walls to hide behind, no side corridors.
