Enric Barbatos has lost count of the first xenomorphs to die at his hands, his hands turning a pure scarlet color. As is the case with everything, things must be reversed, and too much killing can also add some marks to people.

And for the members of the Eighth Legion, they have long been accustomed to this.

When it comes to the killing itself, they can already be numb and indifferent. But if the object of the killing is added to the discussion, the nature of the matter immediately changes.

Take, for example, Enric's current behavior - he's not judging.

He's taking revenge.

You can tell his true emotions at the moment by the speed at which he skimmed through the darkness, or by the alien who was screaming in his left hand. The latter was mutilated and screamed, and its voice echoed in the darkness.

Enric was unmoved, just coldly began to run. He jumped over the towering dirt slopes and the eerie altars built by these underground aliens, and the world lost its original color in his eyes, leaving only pure black and white, distinct. He continued to run, but he did not forget his original duty.

"The Third District needs support." A voice rang out in the communication channel, and it was Richtenall. "We've repelled a wave of attacks, but they've just used a kind of sorcery to weaken us, company commander."

Awesome, an hour ago they were gun-wielding aliens, and an hour later, they degenerated into primitive tribal xenomorphs who used witchcraft?

Do they still eat meat?

It's better for them to also eat meat.

Enric curled the corners of his mouth mockingly.

He stopped, briefly gathered strength, and leaped from the edge of the broken bridge, the sound of the wind whirring in his ears. He landed, noticing that the alien's screams had become much weaker, and that the blood loss was robbing it of what little life it had left.

He would love to see it die, but it can't die now. Enric took a needle from his belt and injected the alien inside. They have a heart and a circulatory system that connects them to the whole body, which means that stimulants will still have an effect on them.

After doing this, he began to move on a tactical level.

"I'll be sending two hunting teams from District 5 to support you."

Enric said as he quickly bypassed the glowing circle, the altar, and some of the alien corpses crucified on the ground. He did not want to and would not enter these areas, and for this he preferred to take a long detour.

"These things are urgent, you know, Richter? They need to get into the spire, and we're not going to let them get away with it. ”

"I understand." Richter said calmly. "However, the number of brothers with that symptom is becoming more and more numerous, company commander."

"You can add me too."

"What?"

"You can add me too, Richter. I had the same symptoms. Enric said. And just like that, I'll be back soon, and our plan has worked. ”

He was right – six minutes later, he was back in the third zone.

It's a very large underground space. The corpses of the aliens were scattered everywhere and everywhere. Many of them had been made into mines, and bombs were strapped underneath the corpses.

Enric only needed to see what was happening, and he deftly leaped over them and returned to the rear of the makeshift fortifications. Richtenor was the first to notice his return and the first to ask him questions.

"You're the only one coming back?"

"Yes." Enric said. He let go of his hand and threw the long-dead xenomorph to the ground.

It grunted strangely and tried to get up from the ground, only to be trampled on its back by Richter with an iron boot in the next second.

In appearance, this xenomorph is no different from its kind, but it is wearing a gold-rimmed robe, and even if it has been stained by blood, this dress still shows a kind of dignity.

The commander of the eighth company took off his helmet and smiled strangely: "The six brothers who went with me have all died, and this bastard has a lot of bodyguards. ”

He lowered his head, held out a finger, and sliced the sharp edge meaningfully across the surface of its skin, focusing on the mutilations. Richtenar frowned, and the force that had only stopped it from moving suddenly increased in the next instant.

There was a crisp thud, and he stomped on its back. An unpleasant scream followed, and the alien's limbs fluttered a few times, and then he fell into a coma.

"You're so cruel." Enric laughed. "Richter – I thought you wouldn't do such a thing."

"I'm a member of the Eighth Legion." Richtenar replied blandly.

"Where's the instructor?" Enric didn't answer the sentence and changed the subject.

"Inside the minaret." Richter picked it up and handed it to two other soldiers of the Eighth Legion.

When the minaret fell into the ground with two standard terras, the eighth company was stationed at the minaret, but the range was slightly expanded. The aliens' attacks were one ring after another, and they tried to get close to the spires almost recklessly.

Even without facial features that can reveal expressions, these things are extremely fanatical when attacking. They didn't care about their lives at all, they just blindly pounced on the soldiers of the Eighth Company.

Some of them even had explosives strapped to them, frantically trying to destroy the rudimentary fortifications that stood in their way by exploding them.

Frankly, this incident was puzzling to the fighters of the 8th Company - there is no doubt that it was a premeditated and organized act.

Enric was the first to realize this, and based on the experience of the Eighth Legion, any enemy who is thrown out to be cannon fodder must have a ruthless master behind them.

Now, the cruel master has been found - as for if there will be more? According to Enric, the answer is yes.

Since the beginning of the war, their original questions have not only not been answered, but have encountered new questions one after another. If you insist on saying it, it's like being dragged into a quagmire.

The strange technology used by these subterranean xenomorphs, the altars, the sudden sinking of the minaret itself, and the kind of . Symptom.

Enric lowered his head thoughtfully, he raised his helmet and closed the eyepiece, revealing his current eyes through its reflection.

The dark eyes of the Terra descent vanished, and at this moment, there were two pitch-black flames surging in his eyes, with only a touch of scarlet in the deepest part.

He sighed and put on his helmet: "Keep on guard, they should organize another wave of attacks soon, although I captured that bastard, but who knows how many of them there are?" ”

"Where are you going, company commander?"

"I have some questions for the instructor." Enric Barbatos replied calmly.

——

Carlil clenched his hands and exhaled a heavy breath of cold air.

The war was ongoing, death was spreading endlessly, the power in his chest was beating with his heart, the power itself was being called, and Carlil was handing over these energizing powers to others of his own will.

Some who didn't call them.

What are the consequences of doing so? Carlil didn't know, all he knew was that he couldn't let an army of the dead actually appear on top of Harcosus One. The Eighth Legion had shed enough blood today that he didn't want to see more.

Kalil senses the situation of Harkosus One through the connection of forces, the minaret itself as a medium is still functioning, and the aliens who inhabit the underground are still charging it.

Once the war has begun, it will never be skewed by the will of the individual, and Carlil has the intention of ending it, while the other side of the war does not want to. Or, in their eyes, it's not a war at all, it's a sacrifice of happiness.

Realizing this made Carlil sigh, and he closed his eyes, and the blue light escaped, wrapping around his armor and starting to beat.

The minaret obeyed his will, and would obey anything but to stop the sacrifice. In the next second, he came from the very top of the spire to the first floor. When he opened his eyes, he saw the silent Enric Barbatos.

"Instructor." The commander of the eighth company gave a greeting, his voice was calm, and the voice change of the breathing grille was not activated. "We've set up five defensive zones outside the minaret, and for a short time, they won't be able to reach the minaret."

"Well done, Company Commander Enrique," Karil bowed lightly at him. "But I think you have more to say than just report back to me."

"I do." Enric Barbatos said. "But I'm not sure you'll answer."

"I will." Carlil looked up at the very top of the spire. The towering building had been above the surface since the seventieth floor, so he could now 'see' the sky of Harcosus through his senses.

The smoke and fire had obscured the original blue without a trace, and what was left was completely incompatible with peace.

Enric was silent for a moment, then took off his helmet, his burning eyes completely exposed to air, and Carlil lowered his head to meet him.

"Do you want to ask this, Enric?"

"Yes, instructor. I want to know what it is, and I want to know." Enric pursed his lips. "What are you?"

The darkness gathered, the skeleton stared at him silently, and a shrill chirp gradually came from Enric's ears. His vision blurred, and in the midst of it, he saw the storm.

"It is a blessing in the eyes of some people or things, a reward for loyalty. But, in my eyes, it's a curse. And I, Enric"

The storm whispered.

"I'm Karil Lohals."

The voice fell, and the ground began to tremble.

There is another chapter, it is not recommended to wait, it is estimated that it will be twelve o'clock

(End of chapter)