Magical Girl's Knight Brother

Chapter 532 Amidst the Chaos

The Epochist's snow-white figure had just surged into the passageway through the flames of the explosion, and the uniformly raised muzzles of his guns, gleaming with dangerous energy, had not yet fully locked onto their targets.

"Beat him for me!!!" A furious roar, so shrill it cracked, burst from the mouth of an old chimney's henchman.

A flicker of fear instantly ignited the ferocity in the desperado's bones. Whether it was Hawke or the resistance, these white-robed figures who rushed in were the devils who would take everyone's lives!

The old chimney's lair, this enormous oil tank space, instantly transformed into a boiling, blood-and-flesh-and-blood furnace!

Da da da da!

Whoosh! Boom!

Gunshots, explosions, screams, the tearing of metal... all combined wildly in the enclosed space, shaking one's eardrums to the point of bursting. The pungent smell of gunpowder, blood, and burning engine oil, along with the cold, incense-like scent emanating from the cult members, blended into a suffocating fog that quickly spread.

Old Chimney's men, those ruthless outlaws, were now completely enraged. Some rushed to the nearest cover, grabbed whatever weapons were at hand, and unleashed a barrage of fire at the white figure pouring into the passage.

Bullets and energy beams rained down on the church ranks like water, instantly riddling several cultists at the front with bullets, their white robes crackling with blinding blue lightning as they groaned and fell to the ground.

The church's "Dust Cleansers" reacted with astonishing speed. The moment they were attacked, the front-row believers immediately ducked for cover, while the shield-bearers in the middle instantly deployed a pale blue force field barrier, deflecting some of the bullets with a series of piercing "bang" sounds.

The cultists in the back row calmly raised their guns to retaliate, their precision and efficiency as the blue beams of their pulse rifles, like the scythe of death, silently sliced ​​through the air, instantly vaporizing the upper bodies of several thugs exposed outside their cover, leaving only their smoking lower bodies to crash to the ground.

"Suppress the heretics! Prepare for mental shock!" The cold command rang out again.

hum!

The two mental suppression field generators that were brought in instantly increased their power to the limit, and an invisible but extremely strong mental shockwave transformed into a tangible hammer, slamming heavily into the chaotic nest.

This is not a physical attack, but it is more terrifying than any laser, because it cannot be defended against even when hiding behind cover.

The thugs were the first to be hit. Many of them instantly felt a splitting headache, their vision went black, and they felt nauseous. Their frenzied firepower suddenly stopped, and some even rolled on the ground in pain, screaming.

Even the three rebels were affected. Hawke felt a surge of intense irritation and dizziness, his movements noticeably slowing for a moment. "Ugh!" Rayson groaned, his mental fortitude forged through countless life-or-death trials also experiencing a wave of nausea and disorientation. But he instantly bit his tongue, the sharp pain forcibly dispelling some of the effects. He couldn't stay any longer; his eyes instantly locked onto the angle formed by the nearest pile of fallen weapon crates—a relatively safe cover.

Like an enraged bull, he roared and shoved aside a thug who was blocking his way and was disoriented by the mental field. He tumbled and crawled forward, bullets and energy beams whizzing past his back, sparking blinding sparks on the metal wall.

Hawke also realized that the situation was completely out of control.

Plan? Deal?

Heh heh... Now the only goal is to survive.

He exchanged a glance with the male and female soldiers beside him, and the three of them rolled to the side in perfect unison, their movements swift and fluid, demonstrating a combat skill far superior to that of thugs.

Meanwhile, they threw out several stun grenades and smoke grenades while rolling.

Thud! Thud! Pfft

A blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion erupted in front of the church procession, sending thick smoke billowing into the air.

This brief respite gave them a chance to catch their breath. Hawke growled, "Retreat! To the scrap yard!"

Without hesitation, the three of them, under the cover of smoke, moved like ghosts, quickly leaving the central battlefield and rushing towards a dark corner behind the lair filled with large, abandoned machines.

At this moment, the old chimney, sitting on the throne, had a withered old face that was now deathly pale, devoid of any of its previous ruthlessness. When the first explosion rang out and the white figures of the church surged in, he tumbled off the throne like a rat scalded by boiling water, screaming. "Protect me! Protect me! Get the hell away from me!!!" he screamed hoarsely.

Two trusted henchmen, their bodies clad in heavy metal armor, lunged at him, using their bodies and armor to withstand several stray bullets fired in their direction, producing dull thuds and groans.

They erected the old, muddy chimneys on either side, and one of them roughly pulled a disc-shaped object from his pocket and pressed it against the metal wall on the side.

Sizzle! Boom!

A powerful directional blast blasted a hole in the wall, just big enough for one person to crawl through. Behind it was a dark, foul-smelling sewer passage. "Boss! Run!" The confidant shouted, frantically firing at the swarming cultists while shoving the old chimney into the hole.

The old chimney scrambled up the stinking hole, disregarding his appearance and only wanting to escape the slaughterhouse that had instantly turned into a living hell.

The cultists, clad in white robes, moved swiftly through the smoke and fire, efficiently eliminating every target. The remaining thugs, under psychological pressure and precise strikes, were forced to retreat like felled wheat. The three-man resistance fighter moved quickly through the complex terrain, trying to find a way out. Leisen, huddled behind cover, fired at the approaching white figure with a gun he had picked up. The old chimney had already squeezed half of its body into the escape hole.

The entire nest was in complete chaos, like a pot of boiling, bloody hot oil.

Like a wounded beast cornered in a desperate situation, Leisen huddled behind a riddled, spark-sparking ammunition box. He breathed heavily, each exhale a torrent of burning anger and helplessness. Sweat, blood, and grime streamed down his face. In his hand, he clutched a pulse pistol he'd picked up from the corpse of some unfortunate soul; the barrel was scorching hot, and the energy bar was nearly empty, mirroring his current predicament.

His reckless sprint had not only failed to close the distance to the possible escape route at the rear of the lair, but had also exposed him. Several Epoch Cultists' cold, scarlet prosthetic eyes precisely locked onto his face, a face that was worth a fortune on the wasteland's wanted list.

"High-priority target detected—Raysen, locked." A cold, emotionless synthesized voice pierced through the deafening gunfire. In an instant!

As if an invisible baton had been waved, a portion of the firepower on the chaotic battlefield was instantly and forcibly redirected.

Like iron filings attracted by a magnet, at least half of the pulse rifle beams, the dense rain of bullets, and even a small rocket with a trail of flame abandoned their original targets and poured wildly toward the bunker where Leisen was hiding.

"I'll f*** you!!" Leisen only had time to utter a furious curse.

Boom! Boom!

The next moment, the ammunition box in front of him was riddled with energy beams and bullets, like a wrecked ship in a storm.

Metal fragments, wood chips, and unexploded bullets flew everywhere, scorching metal grazed his scalp, leaving charred marks. An energy beam struck the edge of his hiding place directly; the massive shockwave sent him tumbling backward, his back slamming heavily against the cold, scorching oil tank wall. The excruciating pain made his vision go black, and he nearly suffocated. The scrap metal pulse pistol flew from his hand, rolling into a dark corner. He was doomed!

Leisen had only one thought left in his mind.

My vision was filled with the flames of the explosion and blinding beams of energy, and all I could hear was the shrill scream of death.

He tried to roll to the side, searching for a last glimmer of hope, but a piercing pain shot through his left leg, freezing his movements instantly. He could clearly feel the cult's cold, precise laser beams scanning every part of his exposed body.

Death had never been so clear and imminent. He could almost smell the sulfur of hell. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with a frantic, unwilling madness. He could only watch helplessly as the crimson light representing death focused on him.

At this critical moment.

A voice, so calm it was almost eerie, sounded like a ghost, right next to the back of his head without warning, carrying a hint of inexplicable mockery.

"Did you miss me?"

The sound was like an ice pick piercing Leisen's chaotic and violent consciousness—it was Tang Zijun!

He didn't even have time to think about how Tang Zijun crossed the entire battlefield to get to his side. He only knew that by the time he reacted, that seemingly unimpressive figure was already standing in front of him.

【Masked Drive!】