The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"Talos?"

Although the voices around him kept reminding him, the prophet did not answer. Instead, he gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, shooting out tracer bullets to illuminate the dark tunnel.

The digital text on the helmet tactical retina gradually disappeared, shrinking every second, and at this time the rotating barrel of the assault gun began to emit a brighter red light under the pressure of overheating.

"Talos."

The voice was hoarse again.

"Don't go too far forward."

The assault gun let out a roar, and then it slowly drooped.

Talos wanted to refute, but didn't know what to say-Cyrion was correct.

However, the frustration still exists.

Hunting has changed again.

Talos strode to a halt, letting the stabilizer and servo system on the leg armor help him achieve this goal.

The gun barrels hissed in the cold air, and alien bodies were scattered under his feet. Cyrion and Marku approached with heavy steps, and the sound of their joints rubbing and heavy footsteps filled the tunnel.

They all put on Terminator armor, and the double explosive bombs on their arms all showed the tainted Imperial Eagle.

"My ammunition is almost out."

Maku Shen said in a low voice:

"It's time to put on our power armors again. The slaughter is pleasant, but they are trying to avoid us."

Talos nodded.

"I will miss these armaments."

"I can do it too."

Marku answered with a smile.

"I can't remember how many such despicable aliens we killed. At the last crossroads... there were so many in this group."

Makushen used his twin blaster to shoot at the destroyed **** corpse.

"Probably ninety-four"

"These are just scum."

Cyrion turned his fangs helmet to Markushen.

"But what about those screaming bitches? I haven't hit it yet."

"I do not have either."

Talos said with regret.

"The first one was not hit. Only the weak died like worms. None of the howling banshees died."

Corosa, who was once a technical sergeant, walked at the end. His armor was washed clean with blood. His helmet was not of the Eighth Legion style, but a cruelly curved horn was exposed from the bridge of the nose of the panel.

"They are the priestesses of the alien **** of war."

The prophet turned his head to look at him, and no one said a word for a while.

"What did you just say?"

Corosa snorted.

"I have tortured the prisoners of the Spirit Race in the past, and I probably know some."

"No matter what they are, we should return to the Third Lie Claw to gather."

"Talos."

Suddenly, a voice rang in the communication channel,

The Prophet hesitated for a while, and no famous characters flashed on the display of his helmet.

But the voice is familiar enough.

"Valiel?"

"Brother, I'm in the ruins above, we must talk."

"No, please let this be a dirty joke. I ordered you to leave for a reason, fool."

"Listen to me, Talos."

Afterwards, Talos listened carefully to his brother's explanation, although Valer's explanation was rushed and fragmented.

It took a long time for Talos to roughly understand what he meant.

"Let's go to the Third Liejaw."

He immediately ordered the other fierce claws.

"Valiel, don't go down here. The tunnel is full of spirits."

"Will you come back to the ground?"

Talos himself was not sure.

"Possibly, you just need to stay hidden now."

When the first fierce claw and the third fierce claw finally converged, the howling banshees returned.

The Third Lie Claw has been reduced to four fighters, and their slain compatriots are left in the corridor.

This time, Lord Midnight is ready.

In the past few hours, they chased prey in the corridors, satisfying their hearts in a way that they had never done before, but now they are going to face off.

The alien howled through the eighth legion, only to see the vague blade and the fluttering hair bun.

Talos heard a growl from one of his brothers.

"We are outnumbered!"

But the limbs and blades pressing on him made all the information meaningless. The two banshees in front of him screamed and raised their swords. Talos felt a cold touch creeping in his muscles, slowing him down. speed.

"Hurray! King of the Night!!!"

Talos uttered a scream of his own, a roar from three lungs and an enhanced respiratory system, and with the help of the loudspeaker in the helmet, the intensity of the scream was increased tenfold.

The surviving night lord heard the shout and his heartbeat accelerated.

The tactics of banshees have always been to deafen the crowd with howling sounds, making the enemy soft before killing.

But now, Talos now uses it to deal with these screamers.

The three alien long swords shattered all at once, and when the harmonious and savage scream reached its climax, the eyepieces of several banshees also cracked.

Then the howl of the lord at midnight suddenly disappeared, and Talos slammed his fist, wounding the first banshee's head, smashing her skull and shoulder bones.

The second man staggered back amidst the yelling, but was immediately shot to pieces by the assault gun.

Talos put down the empty assault gun, reached for his blaster, and took a deep breath—preparing to scream again.

But suddenly, his throat seemed to be blocked by something.

Cyrion, who was on the side, punched the Alien's stomach and also broke her breastbone and spine.

When her two weak legs fell on him, he lowered his head and slammed his helmet into the opponent's body.

"Did you hear that?"

Everyone shouted loudly, Talos closed his mouth, he felt his heart speeding up uncontrollably.

"It's footsteps."

Talos said calmly, realizing that something was approaching.

"It's not the sound of footsteps, that's too fast."

Cyrion tried to refute, pushing hard twice before removing the twisted body from the horns.

When he stood up straight again, there was a cracking sound in his neck.

Then Cyrion also heard ~www.wuxiaspot.com~Talos was right, it was footsteps.

"what is that?"

There was a rapid rhythm on the steps gently hitting the stone, echoing in the corridor, as loud as the wind on the curve.

Talos stood on top of the two killed girls of the spirit race, blood dripping from his curled fingers.

Now, all the calls have stopped, and the only sound is the sound of footsteps.

"What is it?"

Cyrion repeated his question again.

Talos took a deep breath and replied tremblingly.

"A storm of flesh and blood, a rain of sharp blades, she walks in the void."

The Prophet licked his teeth with his tongue, tasting the sour taste on his gums.

"Just like a silent storm."