Just going to ignore the weapon pointing straight at you, letting me make good on my shot? 

Even Snowy would have had trouble dodging a shot after it had left the barrel. Metz brushing of the trigger quickly became a squeeze as he had his pistol lined up, centre of mass, hardest to avoid. The bullet rocked out of the pistol, hurtling just left of centre at the swordsman’s chest, a nasty greeting by all accounts. It was a straight shot, the weapon briefly bucking in Metz’ hand as it fought his grip. The distance between them was probably about one hundred feet at that point, so his bullet would probably be arriving at its destination in about a quarter of a second, hardly enough time to be moving your entire body out the way. Metz couldn’t help but find it strange he hadn’t bothered reacting to the weapon being pointed at him, if he had moved then the evasion would be, if not easy, then a little closer to the realms of possibility. 

He cocked the pistol and downed the vial of mana off to the left side of his mouth, allowing him a clear view of his enemy and whatever effect his round had on him, either forcing him to reveal some burst of speed or unnatural resilience. Metz was hoping for option three, the round perforating his heart and dropping him dead as easy as that. His realistic side was expecting something more unnatural, and certainly more dangerous for his wellbeing. He had a fail-safe though, the shard nestled in the palm of his right hand.