She is the ancestor Anshela who leads the Lord of the Flies!

"God who protects us, please grant us the favor of the 'queen'!"

Cooperating with Anshela's verse, the people surrounding her sang in low voices.

A chorus of prayers.

The people who gather here, their faith, their piety, are pure and unblemished.

However, the object of their belief is the "witch" of disaster, and the teaching of dedication is a miserable cult. As evidence of their own belief, it can be said that it is a **** action.

One after another fell, and one died after another.

"God who protects us, please grant us the favor of the 'queen'!"

The chorus was uninterrupted.Another explosion, another death.

Every time a believer breaks, the one standing on Anshela in the center heals one.

The red and black scars gradually became smaller, the purulent skin was covered, and the bleeding stopped.

I don't know when most of the witch's scars, except the ones on the back, have disappeared.The beautiful white skin bounced off the silver moonlight.

There are three or four remaining believers who are safe and sound.

Jack made up his mind.

In this case, he could only use his own hands to knock Anshela down, and then leave from here.

He drew his concealed automatic pistol.

The distance to Anshela is about ten meters.

Aim for the stomach.

Next is the right foot.

left foot.

All the bullets hit.

However, not a single wound increased!

This witch, the pistol level attack is completely ineffective!

"I thought some dastard got in, and it was you. It was John Pluto Smith's dog."

Stared fiercely by the fierce face of the young and beautiful girl, Jack's mask shattered.

The sense of terror lodged in the pitiful voice froze the heart.

"My servants, offer your lives to this concubine! This is an imperial order!"

Contemptuously looking at Jack with eyes like looking at a lowly piece of trash, Anshea told.

Immediately, the surviving believers were thrown away together.

The head, body, and limbs were all perfectly blown up, and the stench of blood and death was everywhere.

"Ah."

There is no wound left on the witch's slender body.

No injuries at all.

In this way, Anshela came back to life gorgeously.

A witch who proudly dominates a space full of broken and overlapping corpses, stained with crimson blood.

This is the embodiment of death and tyranny.

In front of her, Jack Milburn could only be a humble and weak fish.

There is no reason for victory.

Jack dropped the pistol on the deck.

But even so.

No one will lose their only hope.

Putting your hand inside your cloak, you pull another pistol from its holster.

Steel 'colored' magic gun.

The bow used by the hero in black to launch the magic bullet.

Aim the gun at the witch.

"Hey, still ready to struggle? But what can you do?"

Ashera's fierce look distorted and laughed.

Don't regard the magic gun pointed at yourself as a threat at all.

"I know. This piece of steel is a toy used by John Pluto Smith. Not for people like you. See the facts!"

The relics of the dead heroes were in front of him, and the witch sneered.

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