radicalducati Chapter 86 Wuhu~ Is this divine power?
Chapter 86 Wuhu~ Is this divine power?
Chapter 86 Wuhu~ Is this divine power?
Tom felt like he was flying when he rushed into Detroit City Hall.
It's not a metaphor.
The enhancement of the Blood Flag Domain made the feeling of body weight disappear by more than half, and each step could cover the distance of two steps for an ordinary person.
The burning sensation in my lungs was replaced by a cold, smooth feeling, and the trajectory of all moving objects slowed down.
He was carrying an ordinary AR-15 and fired seven shots before rushing into the hall.
Seven shots, seven targets.
It wasn't a person, but rather the remnants of glass, hinges, and lock cylinders from the city hall's main gate.
The bullet hit the intended spot precisely, and the trajectory of the shrapnel was clearly visible to him.
"Hahaha! Is this divine power?"
He laughed, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
There was no one in the hall.
The marble floor was dirty, littered with papers, broken glass, and an overturned reception desk.
The air was filled with dust and a sweet, rotten smell of some kind of food.
Tom slowed his pace and swung the gun left and right.
There were no people in sight, nor did they hear any sounds from any living creature other than their teammates.
"Why is there nobody here?"
He said in a low voice.
I just casually executed a black homeless man hiding behind a flower bed in the square; he was the only living thing I encountered.
The homeless man rushed out with movements as slow as a movie in slow motion.
Tom pulled the trigger, and the bullet pierced the man's forehead, splattering blood and brain matter onto the holly tree behind him.
Then he went into the city hall.
The expected resistance—neither uniformed police nor gangsters—took place.
There were drag marks on the ground and scattered personal belongings.
A high heel, a cartoon lunchbox, and a few coins. The electronic screen on the wall is still lit up, scrolling through long-outdated municipal notices.
"Did they run away?"
He was somewhat disappointed.
A static crackled through the walkie-talkie, followed by the squad leader's voice: "Team A, report the situation at City Hall."
Tom pressed the call button: "Ghost town. Nobody here, no resistance. Everything's been moved."
"Received. Remain in place for five minutes, then move to point B after confirming it is safe."
"clear."
Tom didn't intend to wait there.
He held his gun and quickly checked the main rooms on the first floor: the conference room, the archives, and the restrooms. They were all the same: messy and empty.
He paused in front of the bathroom mirror.
The person in the mirror had a flushed face, bloodshot eyes, and slightly larger pupils than usual.
He grinned.
Then turned and left.
Five minutes later, the walkie-talkie crackled to life again, this time on the public channel, the voice urgent: "South District under attack! South District under attack! There are still defenders in the central city! Repeat, there are still defenders in the central city!"
'
Tom's eyes lit up.
He pressed the call button: "Group A requests to move to the South Zone!"
"Approved. Proceed along Woodward Avenue and rendezvous with Group C."
"receive!"
Tom turned and rushed out of the city hall.
Outside on the street, the other three members of his team had already gathered.
They were all young people, with the same excitement on their faces.
"Walk!"
Tom waved and led the way, running south.
My footsteps pounded on the broken sidewalk, moving with incredible speed.
With the added buff of the Blood Flag Domain still active, he could clearly sense the location and speed of his teammates, and even predict the potholes on the road ahead.
As for the scattered documents in the city hall?
Let the people following up handle it.
Off to kill someone!
"For the Lord~"
He muttered something under his breath, a smile spreading across his face.
Stephen Taylor stood in the center of the Treasure Club courtyard.
The courtyard was small, with a bluestone floor. It should have been planted with bamboo or bonsai, but now only a few withered plants and overturned flowerpots remained. Above the main hall door hung a wooden plaque with gold characters on a black background that read "Jubaohui" (Gathering Treasures Association).
The plaque was broken in the middle and hung diagonally, barely holding on by a copper wire.
Stephen raised his pistol and aimed it at the three apples hanging next to the wooden plaque.
He just knocked one of them away, so there are two left.
The apple was tied with a braid and hung on the carved lintel. The braid was very long and the end was tied with a faded red rope.
boom.
One shot.
The apple on the left was hit and swung backward, its braid snapped, and it fell to the ground, rolled a few times, and came to rest on the edge of the steps.
-
"I must say, these black guys are actually quite strong in combat."
As Stephen spoke, he put away his gun and looked towards the center of the courtyard.
There were about thirty black Gundams piled up there.
They were arranged in a crude cross shape and doused with gasoline found in the garage.
One of the team members lit a match and threw it over.
The flames roared up and burned fiercely, sending black smoke straight into the sky.
The smell of burnt protein mixed with the smell of gasoline permeated the courtyard.
"Speaking of which,"
Stephen turned to look at the two heads still hanging there. "Why do these yellow-skinned monkeys cut themselves like that? Is it so they can hang them up and make candied apples after they're chopped off?"
He pointed to the two braids.
A young team member approached, carrying a shotgun.
"I know that, boss. They're a bunch of slaves from a destroyed country, just like those black devils. They should be planting cotton."
The team member said, his tone a little uncertain, "My grandfather said so."
Stephen glanced at him.
"What else did your grandfather say?"
"Uh—they say they wore queues because it was mandated by the emperor; those who didn't would be beheaded."
"emperor?"
"Like a king, but older."
Stephen nodded and didn't ask any more questions.
He walked to the entrance of the main hall and glanced inside. The hall was dark, with only a few rays of light shining in through the broken windows.
Scattered on the ground were fragments of porcelain, torn calligraphy and paintings, and several brightly colored silk clothes.
"Have you searched it?"
he asks.
"They've searched it. All the valuables were taken; only some broken bowls and paintings remain. There's some rice and canned goods in the basement, not much."
"Take the food away."
"Yes."
Stephen turned and walked out of the courtyard.
Two pickup trucks were parked on the street outside, with machine guns mounted on them, and several team members were squatting next to the trucks smoking.
"Let's go."
Stephen said, opening the car door, "There are still some Hispanics and Nicholas over there to the south, and those damn infidels!"
OK!
The team members threw away their cigarettes and jumped into the car.
The engine started. Stephen, sitting in the passenger seat, picked up the walkie-talkie: "Team D is clear. The Treasure Gang's stronghold has been eliminated, approximately thirty people killed, and a small amount of food seized. Requesting further instructions."
The walkie-talkie crackled for a few seconds before David Miller's voice came through: "Roger. Move south and rendezvous with Team E. Coordinates sent. Be aware of organized resistance in the south; the enemy appears to have heavy weapons."
"Heavy weapons?"
"Suspected to be a .50 caliber machine gun, at least one."
Stephen grinned.
"This is finally starting to get interesting."
The pickup truck drove off the street, its tires crushing broken glass and trash on the road.
In the rearview mirror, the smoke in the courtyard of Jubao Club grew thicker and thicker, the black smoke rising into the air and mixing with the smoke columns from other parts of the city.
Detroit is burning.
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