dmims Chapter 43 The dam did not collapse overnight.
Chapter 43 The dam did not collapse overnight.
Boom!
The moment the explosion rang out, accompanied by the most instinctive screams of humans, it seemed to become a signal.
The heavy, dilapidated blast-proof steel door was kicked open and slammed heavily onto the ground.
Paris, sword in hand, charged forward fearlessly, leading the charge.
Following him were Sopa and a host of Dawnbringers. Paris's voice soared, echoing through the final passage: "For Hector!"
The battle cry received the same response from everyone: "For Hector!"
Just like Company Commander Lestrade, Paris charged fearlessly, and the infantry's weapons could only slow down the angle of his charge.
When Paris finally managed to reach the enemy's position amidst the chaos of the explosion, he abandoned his flashy and elegant sword skills, and every swing was for the purpose of killing.
His longsword sliced through weapons, his fists shattered the skulls of the resisters.
Paris is like a swiftly moving Grim Reaper, leaving death in his wake wherever he goes.
Behind him, Sopa delivered a perfectly accurate follow-up shot.
Every Astartes is a sharpshooter with perfect aim, and Sopa clears obstacles for Paris; the two work together seamlessly.
Feeling humiliated, Paris unleashed his potential and grew rapidly, while Sopa's extensive combat experience enabled him to handle potential problems that Paris couldn't address immediately.
Sopa’s voice rang in Paris’s ears after he killed a resistance fighter who was trying to detonate a high-explosive mine.
"Stop! Paris!"
His shout brought Paris back to his senses.
Paris held his sword, and around them was a mountain of corpses and sandbags. Apart from the two of them, there was no other living thing around.
He carried it on his person; the gift from the emperor emitted a faint heat, but Sopa thought it was just the warmth of his blood permeating him.
"What's wrong, sir?"
Sopa, who was still clearing out the remaining resistance fighters in the shadows, heard Paris's hoarse voice and turned around.
"What's wrong, soldier?" he said.
This time, he did not question or criticize Paris's stagnation.
Paris proved himself through killing and fearlessness, showing he was not a coward who feared death.
Furthermore, thanks to their perfect teamwork and Hector's miraculous blessing, the two of them had almost no marks on their bodies from being cut by heavy machinery.
"Is there a problem?" Sopa then asked.
"What did you just say?" Paris's voice was hoarse and dry.
"I didn't say anything, soldier," Sopa said, bewildered.
He was so busy clearing obstacles for Paris that he had no time to speak.
At that time, Paris was like a blood-soaked berserker, and there was almost no communication between them.
Paris was bewildered; he was certain he had just heard someone call his name, telling him to stop.
He surveyed the mountains of corpses and seas of blood around him, the torn flesh and smoothly sliced bodies, and muttered to himself, "Am I hallucinating?"
Paris touched his shoulder armor, where a wooden horse was engraved, which he had carved himself.
This symbolized shame in Trojan culture, and Paris viewed the stagnation and arrogance of the time as shameful.
At that moment, the wooden horse on his shoulder armor seemed to neigh, filled with disdain and mockery.
Keep going, keep going!
Killing for glory!
Killing to atone for sins!
Paris gripped the blade tightly.
He felt a distinct burning sensation in his abdomen, as if he were being pricked by needles.
Paris snapped out of his manic state once again.
"Keep moving, soldier, you've rested too long," Sopa's voice came.
Paris gently rubbed the helmet with the heel of his hand, and the force from the helmet cleared his mind.
He nodded, and the quiet gunfire behind him grew closer.
Now that things had come to this, Paris cleared his mind of all distractions.
"For Hector!" Paris raised his sword and shouted again from the mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
He killed for his brother Hector.
He killed to defend the legion's honor.
He killed to atone for his sins.
Sopa responded to his calls once again.
"For Hector!"
The sound spread out, and bit by bit, a deafening roar, like a surging wave, also echoed from the back of the passage.
The attacking force eventually gathered at the mansion, which had become a temporary fortress. The silver paint on all the troops had turned crimson, making them look like demons that had escaped from hell.
They have forgotten exactly how many people they have killed.
Each Astartes carries an almost excessive amount of ammunition when participating in combat, but they have already emptied that entire amount.
They had no supplies in this place.
The Kraf aliens' servants knew no fear, no dread of death. Even though they couldn't penetrate the Dawnbringer's power armor, they would still charge forward fearlessly, their eyes empty like lifeless objects.
For these, the Dawnbringer granted them the mercy from Hector: death.
Members of the Minotaur Heavy Squad of the 1st Company and the Harold Reconnaissance Squad of the 8th Company gathered around Lestrade.
They surrounded Lestrade, silent and reliable, each of them having reached almost the pinnacle of human martial arts prowess.
Looking at them, Lestrade was full of confidence.
His comrades were brave and skilled in battle, each one a leader in the legion, and were awarded the honor of being a special operations team.
"You should see what I found, brother." A rough, grating voice came through the comms. "An alien nearly three meters tall."
"What?" Lestrade asked warily.
As they fought their way through, they had been killing soldiers controlled by the aliens until they finally encountered the aliens themselves, when they had almost run out of ammunition.
"How many are there?" he asked.
"One, this beast is so leisurely, he doesn't even take us seriously."
"You really only saw one, Neville?" Lestrade said in disbelief.
"The eyes, the senses, the words can deceive, but the soul cannot, my brother," Neville, the company commander of the 3rd Company of the 17th Company, responded firmly to the call for help. "I see it, right there..."
Lestrade received the accurate landmark from Neville.
"Damn it!"
Just as he was about to order the soldiers in position to charge in, Neville's furious voice rang out again through the communicator inside his armor.
"What's wrong?" Lestrade asked calmly.
"He dared to desecrate the bodies of his brothers, dared to insult the great father of genes in this way."
Before Neville could continue, Lestrade, upon hearing the name of the father of genes, had already raised his plasma pistol, charged it up, aimed, and fired a shot.