The Death Knell

Bang bang bang!

Bang bang bang!

Gunshots were heard in the streets, and the Holy Killer had tried his best to fire, but every time his bullets either missed or hit the bodies left behind by others.

You must know that he has unlimited bullets, and the opponent still has to change bullets, but the result is nothing compared to this.

Monster? If the smell is correct, the person on the other side of the street is just an ordinary person. When did such a freak appear in the world?

Shoot faster than the Saints, and the bullets are perfect?

The Holy Killer was unwilling to give in, but had to accept the reality, because the competition between the two went from this street to other streets, from horse to horse, and he did not grab a single head.

More than 600 people in the town were all killed by name, and every time the Holy Killer aimed his gun at someone, that person would be snatched away.

The targets were all dead, and the dream was about to be reset again, but the Holy Killer stopped this process. He dismounted silently and walked towards the opponent slowly.

The town was quiet, with only the tumbleweeds running by and the bright midday sun above witnessing everything.

The saint put away his weapon and put his palm on the holster, his face expressionless, but his heart was not at peace.

"You're a good shot."

The two approached slowly until they were twenty yards apart.

He stopped and called to the other party loudly. He hadn't spoken for a long time, and his hoarse voice was like opening an old bellows.

"You're not bad either." The mysterious man shrugged, acting very relaxed. The two pistols kept spinning in his hands, and he put them back into the holsters with a snap.

The saint shouted again, "Who are you?"

I saw the other party lifted up his long windbreaker and pressed the cowboy hat on his head: "Who are you?"

The mysterious man returned the question, his voice full of playfulness.

But just such a simple question almost stumped the Holy Killer. He knew who he was. He was a killer raised by God and angels to avenge all evil spirits. He was a saint among killers and could kill. Killer of the Dead Saints.

But just when he was about to blurt out his code name, he stopped, because in the depths of his memory, he remembered that he should have a name, a human name.

It's just that this almost endless nightmare and an unknown amount of time have made it impossible for him to say that name. It's obviously right next to his mouth, and even his muscles have opened his mouth according to the previous pronunciation, but he just can't make a sound. .

He was confused, frightened, and then furious.

God and angels deserve to die. They actually made themselves forget the evidence of their former human status. If they continue like this, will they one day forget their dead wife and daughter? Forgot the most important thing?

Endless fear overwhelmed his mind, but soon the cold touch of the two guns transformed it into murderous intent. His anger could only be vented through killing. As long as there was a chance, he must kill both angels and God. !

Not only for revenge for what happened to him, but also for the ruthless God who took away the person he cherished the most.

"I am the Holy Killer, a bounty hunter, and the best gunman in Texas." He could only reply. He could put aside the matter of recalling his name. The uncertain variable in front of him was still waiting there. As for him.

But living in the last century, the simple-minded Holy Killer couldn't think of the death knell's routine.

When Su Ming heard his answer, he knew that the fish was hooked. He pushed down the brim of the hat that had been transformed into a strangled hat, and said in a surprised tone: "Strange, I am the Holy Killer, a bounty hunter, Dirk." Sars’s best gunner, why did you say my lines?”

"..."

The killer saint never expected that this stranger would not only take away all the targets for him to vent his anger, but also take away his code name and identity?

If you take away your identity today, will you take away your memory tomorrow? Are we going to snatch away our dead wives and daughters the day after tomorrow?

Everything must be God’s arrangement, what a God!

So, he was scared, he was angry, and his fingers jumped on the handle of the gun like playing a piano.

As if he had read through his thoughts, the other party also began to move his fingers, stealing what he wanted to say again. Only the narrow voice on the other side said:

"It seems that our goals conflict a bit, so why don't we use a man's way to resolve the dispute? Noon has arrived, and life or death is a matter of fate."

"Very good, but I have to control my life and death myself."

The Holy Killer lifted up a corner of his trench coat, revealing his gun holster.

Noon is the fairest time for a duel. The sun will not tilt in any direction and no one will be blinded by the sunlight. Although some people will cheat by sticking mirrors on their boots, the Holy Killer disdains to play those tricks.

He's just the best shooter.

The opponent was indeed very strong, his gun was as fast as lightning, and his sense of combat was as sharp as a wolf in the wilderness, but he was very sure of it.

Because his gun is different, as long as he shoots, he will definitely hit the target. Whether it is a god or a demon, he will die, let alone a mortal?

A British-style duel is more like aristocratic etiquette. Both parties will use one of a pair of pistols. Before the duel, a notary will inspect the firearms and bullets, sign various documents and leave a suicide note.

But Western cowboys don't follow that routine. In the Wild West, if you have a good gun, that's your ability. No one will have anything to say if you win with weapons.

The two came to an intersection with a wide view. The two men in windbreakers stood on each side, with their hands on their thighs.

The air seemed to be frozen, and for some reason, a bucket suddenly rolled over and hit the pillar in front of the bar.

The Holy Killer took a glance and found a monkey in clothes in the barrel, probably from some circus.

Then he began to concentrate, waiting for the town's automatic bell to ring, which was the signal for the duel.

The hands moved closer, closer. When all the hands overlapped, the copper timer played its due role.

"Dang! Dang! Dang..."

The first bell almost coincided with the sound of the gunshot. Just when Bobo in the bucket was still grabbing the lid in panic, the winner of the duel was already decided.

Unlike previous duels, no one fell in this duel. Who won?

Bobo put his eyes on the hole in the barrel.

Then a smile appeared on Mao's face, because he knew Deathstroke never disappoints.

The Holy Killer is a powerful gunner, a former soldier, and a cowboy. This is true, but how can he be as fast as the super soldier Deathstroke? That's a man who can catch The Flash with his bare hands.

There is no fastest, only faster. The moment the saint touched the gun, the death knell had already drawn the gun and opened fire, knocking off the holy killer's weapon with one shot.

And he not only fired one shot, but fired both guns in a volley. The other gun also knocked off the spare gun on the belt on the other side of the saint's body, leaving only a round hole in the windbreaker.

The two guns fell to the ground, and the Holy Killer froze on the spot, as if he had been spiritually shocked.

Seeing his devastated look, Su Ming shook his head and smiled. This was a tactical victory. The Holy Killer lost in a daze, and it was normal for him to be in a daze.

He can kill people with a gun, but he can't shoot the gun out of his hand, so all he has to do is not give him a chance to touch the gun.

Why anger the other person? Why lure the other side into a Western duel?

Just because according to old tradition, the weapon must be in the holster before the duel!

From drawing the gun to firing, it is all part of the competition. This is a complete duel process!

Deathstroke took advantage of his opponent's mindset and took advantage of the opportunity for his hands to leave the gun, directly knocking the pair of terrifying weapons out of their holsters.

If the Saint Killer's gun had always been in his hand, Su Ming would not dare to bet on whether the strangulation could withstand the DC law of causality. But if it was faster than drawing a gun, then I would have already won when the Holy Killer accidentally fell into the pit...

It’s not like you’ve been watching Western movies in vain, is it?