Andrews died.

Died in a desperate harvest.

Died in a bloody snare.

——————

The pure black sword sliced through the air filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, and there was a piercing sound of breaking the air, and there was a faint tremor of the metal itself.

Firearms, which are difficult to explain by the principles of technology, constantly pour out deadly tongues of fire, and hundreds of bullets turn into a hunting net that cannot be broken free, allowing life and soul to burn together under its bite.

Thousands of panicked boots trampled on the ground, raising blood-soaked mud like a herd of wildebeest crossing a turbulent stream of hungry crocodiles, futilely dying in crowding and hunting.

Corpses, corpses everywhere.

The human defenses had collapsed, the last lines of defense dotted with fortresses and bunkers had been completely crumbled by the combined forces of the Randan army, and the organized defense had come to an end when the first Randan warriors stormed the trenches.

When the cruelty of war finally broke into everyone's chest, when the bad omen of defeat kept echoing in all minds, when the courage temporarily ignited by anger and arrogance was extinguished by the cold blood splashed everywhere, most people finally remembered something.

They are far less fearless.

The resistance is over, the battle is over, and this miracle of 20,000 against 1 million, after an hour of fierce battle and a minute of collapse, has finally come to an end as it should be.

All are crumbling, all are running, all are dying, even the most prestigious officers screaming to the point of smoke cannot muster any of the troops that can still fight, and in fact, no one will, those who are determined to defend their positions are the first to fall in every line of defense.

Blood, blood everywhere.

The strange dark energy streams of the Randan army roared in every part of the battlefield, and no one could stop their attacks and slaughter, and thousands of tall and twisted warriors pushed each other, hoping that they could rush into the fleeing enemy crowd faster than their fellow citizens, squeezing and roaring at each other, even brandishing their swords and bluffing.

Without the coercion of the Overlord, these most arrogant and reckless warriors are like hungry wolves struggling for food, treating all their heads and exploits as their own prey.

They marched, hunted, and shoved, a frenzied and disorderly assault that eventually overwhelmed the small groups gathered by the last of the resistors, and in front of them was the last stronghold of the human defenders, and a little further back was the bridge worth the blood.

Despair, despair everywhere.

The garrison commander sat in his place, his tent empty except for the thick fog that the papers had been burning, and he watched the books that were not really important burning in the fire, and then looked at the table, where his guns were placed.

He picked it up and took one last look at his former command room, empty and now littered with documents and maps.

The last force had completely lost contact fifteen minutes earlier, they were supposed to be holding the last position in front of the headquarters, and now, he could even hear the footsteps of the Randan soldiers.

The last staff officer has also been sent to the front, and now he may be dead or on the run.

Thinking of this, he glanced over the window and saw a soldier with a wounded arm running away from the crowd, and he seemed to have some impression of him.

He looked at the gun, and he thought about its origin, so long ago, that he thought he had forgotten it.

The footsteps of the Ran Dan soldiers were getting closer and closer, he planted the bullets one by one, practiced the shooting action a little rustily, and then pointed to the door.

His arms were shaking.

His chest too.

He suddenly realized that he didn't seem to have the guts enough to do it.

How terrible and brutal those aliens were, how could he fight them?

Thankfully, he seems to be able to do something else.

When the footsteps of the Randan soldiers sounded only a few meters away, he made up his mind.

The muzzle of the gun reached into his mouth, aiming it at his throat and brain.

"Bang-"

Shots rang out, and blood spilled out, staining the map on the table, soaking every inch of land in blood red.

——————

Eighteenth.

Andrews was almost desperate for the statistics.

The eighteenth wound is fatal.

But it makes no sense and it doesn't work.

"What a great opponent, and you remind me of the most memorable...... Head...... Skull...... Blood ......"

[Carmen the Overlord] was bleeding, bleeding almost endlessly, bleeding enough to bring any warrior and brave man to the ground, but to it, it seemed to have no effect at all.

A steady stream of blood flowed from those hideous wounds, and these huge cuts and holes were the result of Andrews and his fighting brothers' desperate battles, and in their memory and reasoning, it was enough to make any of the Randan Xenomorphs a threat again.

But now, the memories are doubted, and the reasoning is overturned, just because not a single drop of this flowing blood falls to the ground, it surrounds the scar of the Overlord, constantly approaching it, surrounding it, like a blood-red, flowing armor.

And it all stems from the whispers of this tall alien.

Skulls, blood, honor, battles.

Even in the fiercest of deathmatches, it sings them in a low voice, without any logic.

"Blood...... Come on...... Let's bleed ......"

As it spoke, its pupils filled with blood again.

Andrews and his fighting brother looked at each other, and the two warriors, who had fought side by side since the beginning of the War of Terra's Unification, split into two angles, and they almost simultaneously charged at the increasingly troublesome adversary, but with a near-undetectable distance from each other.

[Overlord Carmen] kept laughing, laughing, laughing, dragging its blade, fearless, and ran headlong into the two whirlwinds of destruction.

The battle broke out, not a duel of mortals, nor a duel of swordsmen, but a collision of the purest force and the storm, three great swords full of murderous desires wielding a bloody hurricane, mixed with angry roars, wanton laughter, flying shrapnel and the sound of blades grinding through armor.

"Yes, that's it! Fighting! Slaughter! ”

It's laughing, it's madness, it's crushing the two Angels of Death with one of its blades, it's smashing their helmets to pieces with scar after scar, sending their guns flying into the farthest corners.

"Blade! Chainsaw! Hatchet! ”

It bared its teeth like a hungry jackal, wielding its sharper and sharper knife in its arms, scarred by past and present, leaving a shocking wound on the side of Andrews's waist in a single blite.

But the Dark Angel didn't care at all, he seized this opportunity, and used all his strength to provoke the battle blade in his hand, blocking the alien long knife that was being withdrawn in mid-air, and the two powerful warriors began the competition of the most primitive power.

But this duel was not the plan of the Dark Angel, because at the same time, Andrews's battle brother had already rushed forward quickly, and before the [Overlord] in front of him could make any reaction, the power sword in his hand had already slashed mercilessly.

The sound of slashing and tearing shook the earth, and a huge wound that could kill a warrior three times was completely cracked in the overlord's chest with a perfect blow of rage, strength, and stratagem, like a trench in the soft plains.

It's done.

Andrews's heart welled with joy.

But the joy lasted only a moment.

Because at the same time as this fatal blow was swung, something that could break through all Andrews's imagination appeared vividly.

The cracked wound did not spurt blood, but out of thin air grew rows of snow-white fangs, and the fresh flesh on both sides of the wound neither trembled nor dried out, but kept expanding, widening, sticking out of the slender nose and bones, and in the blink of an eye, the head of a huge great hound appeared on the chest of the [Overlord], it stretched its neck without hesitation, and bit the arm of the dark angel.

Seeing this, Andrews immediately unloaded the power on his sword, and ended this duel of power at the risk of injury, and the next moment, his sword blade slashed at the head of the great hound like a sharp thunderbolt.

"Uhh

Unlike the imaginary flesh-and-blood cutting, both the sound in Andrews' ears and the vibration of the sword in his hand meant that the strange beast was not flesh and blood.

And at this moment, the head of the great hound spun wildly, and forcibly tore off the arm of the dark angel along with the armor, and the alloy shards and rivets flew in all directions, and in their shadows was blood like a mountain spring.

Andrews didn't try to attack again, he dragged his comrade back to a safe distance, and then carefully looked at his opponent in front of him.

【Overlord Carmen】......

No, it's not Carmen the Overlord anymore.

The huge hound's head had completely taken over its chest and lower abdomen, and hundreds of sharp teeth were grinning, and saliva longing for blood was constantly dripping.

And Carmen, the once great [Overlord], his head swayed from side to side like a fragile leaf, so thin compared to the big hound, only those scarlet eyes, never returned to their original appearance.

"Skull...... Blood ......"

It groaned, groaning about something it didn't crave.

Then, it came.

Andrews stood up and clenched his sword.

Starting with Terra, he has been in the service of the great Lord of Humanity for a century.

He always knew there would be such a day.

Right now......

It's time.

——————

Everything is burning.

It's all burning.

Whether it's the position, the bridge, or the Tigray......

Poor Tigray......

Latobis staggered down the entrance to the bridge, his mind chaotic and distorted, thinking of the scene at the moment, and the thought of Tigray, his only brother, whose final goodbye was a caring look from Tigray before he was taken for treatment.

Then, he died.

They were all dead.

All are dead.

As if stepping on something, he fell to the ground, and he no longer had the strength to get up.

But struggling, Latobis forced himself to raise his head, look at the sky, look into the distance.

Everything is burning.

Blowing in the wind, there was only endless laughter.

He clenched the gun in his hand, supported himself to his feet, and just stared blankly at everything burning in front of him.

He didn't want to run away or do anything else, he just stood here and watched the countless trenches and pillboxes disappear in the smoke.

It's all gone.

He stood, maybe for a minute, maybe for ten minutes.

He held his gun, the only thing he had.

From the broken ditch at the beginning, to the discarding of his armor by Ran Dan, to hiding in the wilderness, and finally to this burning place.

He lost everything.

Everything about him is gone.

He didn't do anything, and he didn't have anything.

Only this gun.

But the gun ...... What can be done?

For a moment, he couldn't figure it out.

It wasn't until the tall, rickety figure came out of the thick fog step by step that he couldn't help but suddenly realize.

What kind of monster it was, it looked like it was several meters tall, and under an ugly head was the head of a huge hound, which was constantly growling and barking, and when it roared, the head above it was screaming loudly.

Rows and rows of heads hung from its waist, human, Randan, and the helmets of two blood-stained Angels of Death.

Latobis trembled and trembled, his sweat glands dripping all the time, wetting his already dirty clothes, his teeth trembling and colliding with each other, and his right arm aching like worms tumbling into it.

But all this, all of it, is not an obstacle.

He clenched the gun and had two hands.

He had nothing left.

He couldn't do anything.

Because of these fucking aliens!

Because of these fucking wars!

He only had one thing left.

There was only one thing he could do.

Think about it, think about it, how Tigray said that sentence in the first place.

…… for…… for……

Eventually, he remembered.

——————

“For The Emperor！”

He roared, shouted, and charged.

This cannon fodder, this powerless mortal, thus launched the last, perhaps meaningless, and perhaps meaningless resistance of this war.

One last resistance.

“For The Emperor！”

He continued to roar and rushed towards the invincible monster.

The roar was blown by the wind, shattering, dancing, and finally merging into the billowing smoke and blood mist above the battlefield, and there was no more sound.