A second had passed. The beowulfs, after surviving in this land that could be no further from hell, had honed their senses to the point that they possessed a reaction time even faster than a fly's. But the woman was faster.
7 of the canines were pierced instantaneously. She struck their hearts in one swift, fluid motion in precisely the identical spot.
The air shrieked. In the next instance of available time that the beasts could perceive, they could finally see her midair upside-down just mere centimeters above them along with her weapon. A chrome spear. It was obnoxiously decorated. Filled with unnecessary ornaments. It looked like something inefficient for combat and more of a prop you would see in a play.
That spear was felt on the canines' necks. She twirls her waist in a 180 degree motion and swings her rigid weapon like a whip.
25 of them were cleaved into two. Their heads sliced from their bodies. These corpses were picture-perfect. Reflections of one another.
In what feels like only a small window of time that is that slower than even a millisecond, almost half of them had been butchered.
By now, the canines should have reacted and quickly tried to dispatch the danger in front of them. Yet, they didn't. They relied on their instincts to tell them what is prey and what is predator. To tell them when to hunt, when there is danger, and when to run. It was their only lifeline in an unreasonable world such as this.
But their instincts told them nothing for the first time.
The woman felt like invisible gas. As if she never existed. There was no hint of emotion or any faint sense of living intent that came from her spear. To the canines, it was like having a steel skewer suddenly hover in the air, and tear them to pieces. The giant wolves were genuinely stunned for the first time in their lives. They became stiff gears unable to turn, and could only blankly stare at the carnage that unfolded before them. Just like the many humans they have viscously preyed on.
She elegantly lands on the rocky terrain not causing any cracks in the ground despite the lethal amount of force she has exerted. Like a dancer who has performed the same premeditated movement for decades.
She literally shoots towards her next targets. Like a homing missile, she pierces the necks of the canines one by one in a terrifying mechanical-like manner. Her strikes are unnaturally precise. The exact same as the last one she delivered.
If there were onlookers, she would have appeared to be a grinder of meat that left the identical bits of roadkill every time.
The remaining beowulfs finally manage to snap out of their brief reverie, and try to avoid the incoming maelstrom of steel utilizing the limited intelligence they have. But their movements are sloppy and sporadic. With their instincts scrambled, the huge hounds cannot manage to use their bodies as precisely as they could before.
And they are cut down mercilessly by the tempest of raging metal created by the graceful instrument of murder.
It had only been around 5 seconds, yet all 84 canines were dispatched like ants. Rendered into pathetic corpses. No blood is spilled. The maiden of death looked perfectly the same as she was prior to the slaughter standing in the center of her carnage. Even her spear still looked brand-new. Vacant of any signs of use. Her blank, crimson-red eyes started to twitch as if thought returned to them.
It was a brilliant and dreadful sight.