Every vulture immediately focused, while Solis and Shawn grew even more focused than the rest.
However, no one was as focused as Aza'zel.
His running blood boiled a bit, distributing immensely concentrated power in his hands.
Swiftly, his palms struck like a viper's sting, dislocating Shawn's wrists with a painful snap of the bones.
Shawn's grip over the great momentum of his blades had hardly loosened a flimsy bit when Aza'zel wrestled the handles from the former's hands, redirecting the momentum while the blades spun like mad.
A glaring flash of sharp light reflected in everyone's eyes as the two machetes ricocheted beautifully, a thin line of viscous red tainting the edge of each blade.
Aza'zel maneuvered underneath Shawn's armpits, lightly taking a few steps forward while adjusting his numb, hot palms.
