Perfect Timing

The grappled man stared at his broken arm, wailing, "Th-threads?!"

"Blame yourselves for wasting our time." Scoffing, Ayse stepped into the hall, forcing the man to do the same. Only then did Ayse dismiss his ohra and let go of the dangling wrist. "You've got three seconds." 

"You don't know what you've done!" the second man cackled from down the hall. 

"Three." 

The first man swallowed his pain for a second. "You'll hear from our boss! And you'll die for this–"

"Two." 

Both men flinched. But the second man, with only a bruise on his chest, scrounged up the courage to shout, "Just wait! You'll die for sure–"

"One…" 

Staring down the dauntless young man, both would-be guards scampered down the hallway.

Ayse snickered as they fled. That haunting chuckle cast a sheet of shivers over the men. Especially when the man with a broken arm looked back. "W-what are you doing–"

Crack!