Bad Timing

The bridge stretched over a hundred meters long—perhaps closer to one hundred and fifty.

But distance wasn't the real obstacle.

It was the abominations.

They crawled relentlessly up the bridge's metallic legs, clawing at each other in a savage frenzy—each one desperate to be the first to climb.

Below, at the river's foundation, the waters churned—littered with monstrosities writhing beneath the bridge, eager for their first taste of flesh.

It was only thanks to Kion, the bald Drifter, that they hadn't been overwhelmed.

Kion was undoubtedly a masterful shooter.

His barrel shots plummeted down like judgment from the heavens—eviscerating most abominations in a single strike.

For those that proved resilient, clinging to life even after a direct hit—

The second shot always finished the job.

By all logic, he should have been leading the cohort.

He was their best defense, their most reliable firepower.