"How many have we lost?" Dante’s voice was like sandpaper scraping against tal. When the dic began reporting the casualties, he raised his hand to stop: "Just tell how many Angels can still stand."
The dic’s beaked mask drooped down: "Counting those Blood Drinking Ghosts that awakened yesterday... Blood Knight Battle Group, currently, 4,721 remain. Of those who can fight..." The red light of the artificial eye suddenly blinked rapidly, "not more than three thousand."
The tent flap was suddenly thrown open, and the bandaged Holy Blood Guard rushed in: "My lord, Chapter nine hundred and eleven! The Steel Snake Battle Group is confronting the Alliance officers again! They say..."
"Saying we allowed heretics to tread on sacred ground?" Dante ripped off the lines attached to him, the artificial lungs letting out a bellows-like roar. As he stood, everyone in the tent instinctively stepped back half a step — even severely injured, the first Battle Group Leader’s presence was still as fervent as a furnace.
As Dante crossed the scorched earth of the camp, his boots occasionally stepped on hardened artificial microbial mats. These Insect Race secretions shimred with rainbow-colored sheens under the sun
glint under the rainbow-colored sheen, reminding him of the Spirit Race Ark World purified three hundred years ago. In the distance, chanical hymns and the buzzing of chain-saw swords resonate as eight gold-painted Knight chas are clearing the battlefield, their ion cannon muzzles still emitting smoke.
User Comments
0 comments from readers