Gravion did not back down. He hoisted his staff with both hands, and the very air within the narrow alley shifted.
It wasn't just heavy. It was as if the world itself sought to crush Dayat into nothingness. Stone fragments from the walls, shattered by earlier gunfire, began to hover, swirling into a vortex around them. Dayat felt his body being pulled in every direction at once—up, down, left, right—as if dozens of invisible hands were trying to tear him apart.
Dayat gritted his teeth. He released the .44 Magnum; the weapon dissolved into green particles and vanished. In his hands, something new began to take shape. Shorter. Sturdier. A Remington 870. A sawed-off shotgun. For point-blank devastation.
Bam!
The roar echoed through the alley. Pellets sprayed out, slamming into the gravitational vortex. But Gravion merely gave his staff a slight flick, and the lead shot froze in mid-air, spun momentarily, then fell harmlessly to the ground.
"Pointless," Gravion said flatly.
