The three remaining men were paralyzed with fear, their faces drained of color as they struggled to comprehend the brutal deaths of their comrades. The once smug confidence they had flaunted was now replaced with a raw, palpable terror that clung to them like a shadow.
Their eyes darted to Lucy, who stood motionless, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos she had unleashed. The realization that they were facing an overwhelming and seemingly unstoppable force gnawed at their resolve.
The man with a ponytail, his voice shaking with barely concealed panic, turned desperately to their leader, the spiky-haired man. "Boss, what do we do now?" he asked, his words coming out in a rushed, anxious whisper.
The spiky-haired man's gaze flickered between his two remaining allies and Lucy. His eyes, usually sharp with arrogance, now betrayed a growing sense of dread. Lucy's cold, unwavering stare bore into them, as if daring them to make their move.
