A/N:
As Atticus saw the imposing figures of the individuals clad in sleek purple futuristic combat suits, the world seemed to slow as Atticus rapped up his perception to the highest level it could reach in his current weakened form.
No words were spoken; they had each already tried to kill Atticus, and that was all that mattered.
Atticus watched as each of them slowly pulled the trigger of their respective guns, the nozzles lighting up in a crimson glow, four distinct laser beams shooting towards Atticus's figure.
Atticus's mind spun, his gaze moving at fast speed as he mapped out the exact trajectory of each shot.
With lightning fast movements, Atticus's hands on the floor suddenly clenched, his legs tensing as he shot forward, his form suddenly adjusting in an awkward position in the air.
