Orc Tyrant

MacArthur could feel his body temperature boiling like a high fever.

Since the start of the fight, he has been injured in eight places, including a pierced right thigh muscle, a fractured forearm, and a broken little finger.

Others are falls and severe concussion bruises.

During the violent gasp, his metabolism greatly increased, trying to make up for the fighting needs, trying to suppress or delay pain, maintain peak physical performance, and accelerate healing and repair.

Energy consumption has increased his body temperature by several degrees. He is rapidly burning the fat reserves in the body. He knows that he will soon need hydrolysate and additional analgesics to maintain an excellent combat state.

He glanced at the Flesh Messenger again, why didn't it fire a cannon? why?

Suddenly, the monster with his large-caliber weapons held flat in both hands stepped away from its legs, and a cloud of steam spewed from the joints, and it began to retreat quickly.

MacArthur could hear the gears turning.

The huge body trembled, the body began to turn to the left, and the arms gradually rose.

The large groups of rebels gathered around hurriedly dispersed so as not to be crushed to death.

What is it doing? Is it turning? Is it aiming?

There is something in the thick mist, coming from the northwest.

The Flesh Envoy turned on its artillery, and a violent impact came from the muzzle, shaking up a large area of ​​dust around, and the flashing shells burrowed into the dense fog, leaving a spiral track that slowly dissipated.

MacArthur didn't hear it hit anything.

But he heard the sound of counterattack.

A scream of energy and pressure suddenly sounded, and subtle electromagnetic oscillations came at the same time.

A heavy beam of scorching energy cut through the dense fog and hit the Flesh Messenger.

The shock shook the monster weighing several tons, shook it, like shaking a tin toy.

It bounced from the ground in an instant and slid to the side. Dozens of rebels died under the huge body that suddenly shifted.

That beam of energy made a loud noise when it hit the target, and the large armor plate flew horizontally and ejected into the air. The flesh and blood envoy's body was annihilated in an instant, and the filthy pus and blood spewed out, and then slowly moved from the damaged position. Flowing slowly outwards.

A few seconds later, the same bright second beam of energy penetrated the dense fog and hit the Flesh Messenger a few meters away. It hit the ground, instantly dug a hot molten ditch, and burned more than 20 rebels. And four sons of dawn.

Traitors and deformities who were unfortunately near the target area screamed, and their flesh and ammunition were ignited by the second burn.

The third beam of energy that followed completely killed the Flesh Messenger.

It hit the target and hit the bottom of the neck, and the monster suddenly exploded.

Within a millisecond, it flew off the bracket like a target used by an imperial army in basic training, twisting the painted outline into a ball.

Three suspended tanks with streamlined shells rushed out of the dense fog. The fog circulated on their cobalt-blue armor, and the drop-shaped turret was still emitting blue smoke from the amazing-caliber plasma cannon.

On both sides of the cobalt blue shell, the emblem of the Citizen Temple in platinum and gold shines.

Airborne armored personnel carriers and suspended assault vehicles rumblingly then appeared, there were three anti-aircraft infantry vehicles, and finally hundreds of soldiers in exoskeleton combat suits.

As they opened fire, they marched from the north to the Purple Palace, passing by the dark pit tomb of the envoy of flesh and blood.

More than a dozen floating motorcycles whizzed from behind the huge battle tanks, raising a piece of torn-out mud, and the large-caliber live ammunition mounted on the front of the vehicle projected a dense rain of bullets forward.

The rebel forces at the bridgehead were attacked from both sides, immediately at a loss.

Some of them jumped into the trenches full of corpses to avoid the fierce fire. The three tanks continued to fire into the dense fog, targeting those high-value units. Their main turrets neighed and emitted energy beams, penetrating the thick fog.

The flames rose into the sky, and the smell in the air changed, like midsummer and autumn.

New energy, new machinery, new chemical reaction.

The battle was in full swing. Since the palace was attacked, the arcanists were forced to adopt a defensive stance for the first time. This sudden appearance of the mobile force caused them to suffer heavy casualties.

The morale of the rebels was ruined, they stopped chanting and were exhausted.

The pure black exoskeleton combat suit of the Citizen Temple looked dim in the bad air environment, but still shiny.

Salvation has never looked so magnificent, and death has never looked so noble.

The rebels began to flee. They ran south along the trenches, or got into the thick fog. Those who fumbled along the trenches attracted fire from the walls, MacArthur’s soldiers and guards guarding the palace. Take the opportunity to open fire and put them down like wooden sticks.

Some of them fled back and forth, were suppressed by fire, and eventually died, with their bodies slid into the trenches.

Nutans sent an order to stop the shelling, and he hoped that the counterattack could penetrate into the enemy's position without hindrance.

"Citizen Temple?"

Silas pointed to the war machines he had never seen before and said in a dazed tone.

"The Hydra Armored Task Force."

MacArthur nodded. The emotion that surged in his heart surprised him. It was not just the relief of the rest of his life, but also the intense pride caused by the sense of belonging.

His compatriot, his comrade-in-arms.

In fact, it was a mixed unit. The combat array of the Hydra Armored Task Force included several soldiers from the 7th Infantry Company. Because of the emergency assembly, the commander of the task force used reinforcements from other units to fill it. For example, one of the anti-aircraft infantry vehicles belonged to the Eighth Infantry Company, and five suspension motorcycles belonged to the Third Company.

MacArthur also noticed the flag of the Eighth Company.

The palace defenders watched the battle with limited vision. Most of the enemies had returned to the thick fog, and the long-distance battle of armored vehicles continued to tear the fog.

Close by, the defenders finally annihilated the stubborn traitors, and launched a brutal close combat with the intruded Son of Dawn.

Those monsters did not have the morale collapse like Ban, they had a considerable number-Nutans estimated that there were about a hundred people.

And even if they were suddenly flanked, they still persevered.

Judging from the fierce offensive launched by the Purple Palace, coupled with all the atrocities that have been witnessed today, it is enough to make them understand that they don't need to be compassionate.

Arcanists did not dare to open the battle upright, they seized all the advantages that surprises, tricks and traps could bring, and they planned to kill them with one blow before the enemy realized the hostility.

This didn't work, this didn't work!

In the past half an hour, the empire has suffered so much in its capital that it may never recover and sink forever.

But the arcanists failed to complete the kills as expected. They messed up and underestimated the power needed to do so. They left a mess, but there were still wounded opponents that were worth a battle.

An opponent who was seriously injured, but was pushed by pain, hatred, revenge, and fierce anger.

Make sure that your enemy is dead.

If you must fight someone, you must kill him as soon as possible. If he is still alive, then you are dead.

This is the first lesson for the secret guards.

They are dead!

"Did you say something?"

Silas turned to Nutans, with a worried expression on his face, as if afraid that his friend would be traumatized during the upheaval.

Nutans himself wasn't sure if he had spoken.

"No."

He replied like this, taking off his jacket and wiping a blood stain from the damaged shoulder armor, most of the painting has been worn out.

Similarly, Silas was covered with scratches and wounds all over his body, and his gorgeous breastplate was covered in blood and dust.

Around them, scarred, exhausted, and dirty soldiers gathered and watched the cruel battle across the trench. Secret guards, soldiers, and wizards stood side by side with their weapons hanging down beside them.

The remaining black smoke lingered from the ruined wall of the vault of the gate, the assault of armored vehicles shook the ground and shook the gravel from the walls. A handful of medical personnel seized the precious ceasefire time to take care of the wounded. Almost every palace defender was injured. stretch

There are not enough belts and medicines to distribute to everyone.

Boom~!

The impact caused by armored vehicles in the battle was so strong that the dense fog to the west of the palace rolled like a rough sea, and blazing light beams suddenly flashed in the dim environment.

An assault vehicle was lifted off by a rather violent explosion, emerging from the fog like a whale jumping over the sea, and then it turned over and fell back into the ocean of fog, and fragments were scattered from the burning wreckage.

On the edge of the dense fog nearby, the temple warriors and the approaching Son of Dawn fought hand-to-hand, with no mercy on both sides.

Nutans replaced the pistol with bullets, checked the sword, and then straightened the flag beside him. There were blood stains and bright red handprints on the flagpole.

"I'll take someone to clean up the miscellaneous soldiers below."

He looked at Silas as if recounting a small matter.

"Defend the outer wall well."

Suddenly a figure ran over, and Nutans responded instinctively, turning around abruptly and raising his hand.

But the trigger was not pulled, because he saw Peguedo.

"I received a message from Master Jacqueline!"

"Jacqueline?"

"Wuqiu's message, they have already defeated the enemy, and the shadows are coming."

Those two words made Nutans stunned for a few seconds, then he turned to face Silas and the other officers.

"change plan."

He said.

"Silas, you and I go back to the main building of the palace. The others are stationed at the defense line. If the situation outside changes, you will immediately notify me."

He turned and strode away, walked through the gate, through the courtyard full of bullet holes, and Silas stepped towards the devastated purple palace.

Green smoke swirled in the air, and a pungent smell came from the artillery position.

He now has hope, and for the first time today, Nutans has real hope in his heart.

If there is anyone who can solve the current predicament immediately, or if he had been there before, what happened today would not happen at all, no matter what, he has finally returned.