Collide.

Fighting.

Wounds for injuries.

Fight for life.

In front of such an opponent, Hecht could not do much.

Morgan's heir breathed heavily, swung his blade feverishly, and again and again collided with the alien blades with his innate greatness, and countless slashes and clashes constantly rubbed new sparks, making this dark and deep room as bright as day from time to time.

In the only sight left, Hector observed the opponent in front of him, observing those rough arms and brave bodies, compared to the first alien forbidden army he encountered, the nightmare that made his team almost desperate, the one in front of him was not so strong, its armor also lacked exaggerated carving marks, its pace and strength, will and swing, and it was far from being so unstoppable, if what existed in Hector's memory was a colorful tiger roaring in the mountains and forests, then in front of him, It's just an overly ferocious leopard.

But despite this, it is still terrifying, as Ran Dan's forbidden army, and terrifying.

[Randan Forbidden Army], the Human Empire calls this kind of monster so, this is not because these alien creations have any connection with the golden guardians of the human lord, but simply in the summary of their great strength, the horror of these alien creations makes their comparison objects even higher than ordinary Astarte warriors, so many people are willing to call them by the powerful synonym of [Forbidden Army].

When human beings encounter new things that they have not yet understood, they always like to use the words they have understood to describe the whole picture or part of the new things, so as to transform the terrible unknown into a controllable known.

But for Hector now, all this is meaningless, he forced himself to forget all the debris in the hurricane, to forget the soldiers of Randan who did not dare to come closer, all his attention, all his spirit, all his pride as quality and strength, he kneaded together by the most compulsive means, and threw himself into the battle in front of him.

Under the influence of the gift that flowed in his blood, bestowed by the Mother of Genes, in the most violent, merciless, and deadliest hurricane, Hector kept his reason, his muscles trembling with tension and high speed, his dark green blade screeching from the craziest impact after another, but none of this bothered him, nor did he sink into a deeper irritability and eagerness, he rolled his eyes and enlivened his thoughts, Let his body become a brother who has nothing to do with his will, but he has a tacit understanding, holding hands and joining this battle.

The more dangerous his life, the stronger his enemies, and the worse his situation, the more he can keep his reason and calm, the more he can grasp every opportunity in his field of vision, and deduce every action of his opponent.

In the cold wind from the collision of blades, he felt as if he was in the most comfortable secret room, and he could think about things that he had never been able to calm down.

This was not his own personal possession, but the power carried in the genetic seeds of the Second Legion, but in Hecht's case, this was especially evident.

His silent rage, his contemptuous respect, his perfect recklessness, his blade tearing through the air, leaving behind one irreproachable void sword mark after another: he would have been almost impossible to do in normal times.

But now, he couldn't be more calm.

Calmness gave him strength.

Hector didn't know how long he had been fighting, he was leaning his strength unscrupulously in this purgatory where there was barely a glimmer of light, he didn't dare to imagine how distorted his face would be, what violent satisfaction and longing he would fall into because of his current brute strength and skill: in the increasingly impatient pupils of the Zandan's forbidden army, he could faintly see a twisted and crazy figure.

Calm down.

He said so to himself.

Hold your horses.

He swung his sword, and again, he could feel some kind of false voice echoing in his ears, he could feel some noble will overlooking his battle, and the mere fantasy of who that would belong gave him a power that would never dry up.

He's wounded, he's been wounded, he's hurt a lot, and he can feel countless wounds as the battle drags on, but whenever the alien in front of him makes him bleed, he bleeds these blasphemous things.

They are all bleeding.

But there's a difference.

Hector saw a trace of impatience building up in the eyes of Randan's alien shape, which was the most destructive emotion, both to the opponent and to himself.

But he, no.

He fought.

He roared.

He longed.

He saw impatience.

He saw doubts.

He saw madness.

He saw fear, and fear.

But this time, it wasn't his.

——————

No one knows exactly how long the battle lasted, maybe half an hour, maybe only five minutes.

Ran Dan's army was depleted after the last madness, and perhaps in this dark corridor and hall, the Xenomorphs invested more than five hundred or even a thousand men, but the exact numbers didn't matter anymore: the victory belonged to the Empire, to the Second Legion, to the scarred Hecht Squad.

Salieri's hand had broken again, for I don't know how many times, and beside him, Ajax and Eris were also covered in scars, their weapons on the verge of being scrapped, and perhaps in the next fire, they would fall apart completely due to the more pronounced shaking and force.

In contrast, Chiron and Ezio were in significantly better shape: the latter was able to retract his attention and find Hector in the first moments after the battle, while the Shadow Champion was more swift, and the quickest shadow rushed forward the moment the Legion Ancient Warrior pointed the way.

By this time, Hector was covered in scars, and his opponent was not much better, and the two terrible warriors were like two bloodthirsty beasts, constantly throwing all their strength into it, eager to knock out their opponent with the next blow.

No one could be sure whether it was a calm duel or the craziest of battles: spittle, acid, sweat, tears, swearing, gasps, and untold blood echoed in this dark corner, until the vicious words poured out by the two words came to a point of exhaustion.

And just then, the Shadow Champion arrived, and his appearance was to knock over all the balance of chips: this swift shadow made the terrifying xenomorph subconsciously distract himself.

And Hecht didn't miss that opportunity.

He gritted his teeth and roared, the dark green greatsword in his hand as if sensing something, and it also emitted a light that could make anyone feel uneasy, a light that symbolized silence and death.

There was only a split second, and Hector grabbed it, his greatsword turning into thunder in the sky, piercing the alien's armor in the blink of an eye, and stabbing the blade into his chest.

Astonishment, anger and violence were the responses of Randan's forbidden army to all this, and dozens of swings were poured on Hector in an instant, but calmness prevailed over the senses of pain, and Hector quietly watched as the alien sword light advanced towards his neck, and he did not dodge, but completed his mission.

With a bend of the shoulder and elbow and a lift of the wrist, the great sword that had pierced the heart and chest followed the direction of the breathing duct and the skull, and completed the hunt in an instant, cutting the monster's chest, neck and skull in half, and even the strongest armor could not save it all.

The Praetorian Army fell, in front of a scarred opponent.

Its greatsword swung in an instinctive gesture at Hector, who had no time to dodge, and just as he was about to strike, a jet-black blade struck the inertial killer, causing it to deviate from its tracks, cutting the most hideous twisted curve across Hecter's armor and falling to the ground staggeringly.

Shadow Champion, arrived.

Ezio withdrew his blade, glanced at the massive corpse on the ground, then at Hecht, who could not have been more miserable, and a whisper came from the mouth of the Shadow Champion.

"You're crazier than I thought."

"It's like ......"

"Those guys from the Fifth Fleet."

Hector smiled, the only expression he could make right now.

——————

The squad moved on.

They walked past mountains of alien corpses, through gates that had long been forcibly opened, with Hector and Ezio at the front and Chiron behind.

Soon, they could faintly see the giant engine, and Astarte's superhuman senses allowed them to confirm that Randan's electrovirus hadn't completely contaminated the place.

There is still time.

I couldn't help but hurry.

But at that moment, Ezio stopped abruptly, and he grabbed his fighting brother to the side, his gaze constantly shuttling back and forth in the shadows in front of him.

He glanced at Hecht, who immediately pulled out his gun and fired several shots into one of the shadows.

No whimpering.

There was no ranting.

No moaning.

There was only a metal dagger, and the sound of a bullet was easily sliced.

From behind them came the creepy sound of the gate being somehow closed, the sound of iron boots stomping on the ground.

On all sides, there are all of them.

Hector blinked, and he tried to keep himself calm.

Until he saw the truth.

In the four directions of the squad, in each shadow that surrounded them, four tall figures walked out one after another.

Their sights are more arrogant, their armor is more ornate, and their bodies are larger and larger.

Other than that, they were with the alien Praetorian who had just fallen at Hecht's feet.

Same.

——————

Hector breathed.

Take a deep breath.

The shadow of death hung over his head.

Faintly, there was also a kind of laughter that made him feel familiar.

It was like some kind of blue-blue flame that was coiling in his chest with interest.

(End of chapter)