As the thugs faltered, Cyrus seized the opportunity to press his advantage. His attacks, fueled by a surge of determination, intensified. The machete cleaved through the air, its gleaming edge leaving arcs of refracted light in its wake. Water surged and twisted, responding to his unyielding will.
The hallway, once a constricted space filled with the clash of opposing forces, began to tilt in Cyrus's favor. The thugs, realizing the shifting dynamics, grappled with both physical and psychological fatigue. Their movements became sluggish, their coordination faltering as Cyrus continued his relentless assault.
Despite the prevailing exhaustion, Cyrus maintained a focus that bordered on the supernatural. His senses, heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, allowed him to anticipate and counter every move. The machete, an extension of his intent, met the crude weapons of the thugs with an unwavering resolve.
