Chapter 21: The Tide of Darkness
After firing those few shots, Rast did nothing more but waited in the heavy rain, like a silent stone sculpture.
After a few seconds, the downpour indeed began to lighten, transforming from a torrential waterfall into fine rain, but the footsteps that had been obscured by the rain drew closer.
In the rain, beams of bl**d-red ghostly light flickered; losing the cover of the mist, the first batch of Iron Cross had already discovered Rast’s location.
Frantic gazes locked onto Rast’s figure, as if he were some rare delicacy, and consuming his flesh would grant eternal life.
Bang—
Close-quarters battle erupted in an instant; Rast dodged a steel sword swung at him by an Iron Cross, then used the reaction force of kicking it to leap high.
The next moment, the space he had occupied moments before was shredded by a dense barrage of bullets.
The barrage also covered several nearby Iron Cross soldiers. Under the stimulation of the Evil God sculpture and bl**d, the Iron Cross soldiers had approached madness and would not hesitate to harm their comrades. The bodies of those unlucky soldiers were instantly turned into sieves by gunfire, collapsing like broken sacks.
Rast took advantage of the air, leaping and flipping, skillfully concealing himself behind the metallic skeleton. The stray bullets struck the metal supports, sparking small bursts of fire.
During the dodging process, a few bullets were unavoidable for Rast; in such dense fire, even experienced fighters were limited by physics. However, he blocked most of them with his military dagger, and only a few bullets struck non-vital areas, tearing through flesh and flesh.
Though his injuries were not severe, under the vitality boost from the serum Rast had taken, he quickly began to heal without even bleeding; yet, such healing abilities were not without cost. Each healing instance drained a significant amount of his stamina, and if the intensity of firepower suppression continued, Rast would have only the option of waiting for d*ath.
Fortunately, in the era of Deep Blue Harbor, there were no perfected automatic firearms; the only prototypes of automatic rifles were still in the testing phase. The guns carried by these Iron Cross soldiers had limited ammunition capacity and fell silent after a round of concentrated fire, beginning to reload.
What Rast was waiting for was precisely this brief reloading interval.
He suddenly pushed off from the metal support behind him, darting toward the Iron Cross soldiers like lightning. He moved swiftly among the crowd, like a b*llet leaving the chamber.
The ear-piercing sound of metal colliding rang like a drumbeat, and with each collision, Rast stabbed his military dagger out, withdrawing it from the hearts or throats of his enemies, drawing arcs of bl**d.
The black military dagger flickered out in the rain, like black thunder spanning the sky, piercing, flickering, fading once more…
Until Rast stopped his movements, that black lightning that pierced the heavens finally ceased.
He halted beside his sniping position, the dagger hanging down, dark bl**d dripping from the tip of the triangular blade.
In front of Rast, the last few Iron Cross soldiers froze, then fell into the puddles created by the pouring rain, splashing small droplets of water.
These Iron Cross soldiers had attempted to counterattack; before being infected, they had been elite navy soldiers with years of service, skilled not only in marksmanship but also in military combat techniques. This combat experience remained even after their transformation into Iron Cross, and close-quarter combat was not their weakness.
But Rast was more seasoned than them; even the most elite navy could only train for a decade or two, while Rast’s combat skills had been honed for over two hundred years.
Once the Iron Cross serum compensated for Rast’s final weakness in physical attributes, his battle against these troops was akin to an adult overpowering a child.
The brief victory did not allow Rast to relax because new footsteps sounded from the outskirts of the port area—more Iron Cross soldiers were arriving.
…
If one were to stand high above the port area at that moment, they would see a rather shocking scene.
The outer Iron Cross soldiers surged forward like a tide of ink, layer upon layer, while Rast and his sniping position resembled a small pebble before the waves.
Pebbles were meant to be washed away by the tide, but Rast stood firm like a stubborn rock, shattering wave after wave that crashed upon him.
In the end, it was the waves attempting to engulf the stubborn rock that halted.
The Iron Cross soldiers gathered at the periphery, watching Rast within. Gunfire erupted continuously, but none dared to advance.
Around Rast, Iron Cross bodies piled up densely, and he himself was also covered in numerous injuries, both from bullets and blades, all costs for repelling wave after wave of Iron Cross soldiers.
Anyone could see that Rast was at the brink of exhaustion; both his physical ability and self-healing had reached their limits, yet no Iron Cross dared to land the final blow.
They were terrified of a single human.
The instinct for self-preservation is ingrained in every creature’s DNA, and the Iron Cross were no exception. At this moment, faced with Rast, fear and the instinct to survive overwhelmed their thirst for bl**d and sadism. No one wanted to be dragged down by Rast at the last moment, becoming a sacrifice for their fellow comrades.
In this situation, the Iron Cross soldiers were less fearless than mindless zombies; had they been zombies, Rast would have likely been overwhelmed long ago and devoured as if he were a delicacy.
The two sides fell into a brief stalemate; if this situation continued, Rast’s goal of buying time would soon be achieved.
But just then, Rast suddenly moved. He launched himself off the ground, even though it seemed empty beside him.
The next moment, a sharp blade grazed Rast’s neck, leaving a trail of bl**d—merely a hair’s breadth from severing his throat.
The muzzle of a revolver erupted with flames, unleashing all the full metal jacket bullets in the chamber in just one second.
With the relentless Iron Cross assault, Rast had no time to reload, so he had been engaging in close combat with his military dagger. The ammunition in the chamber was his last reserve for this battle, yet at that moment, Rast wasted it all into the air beside him.
This was not the end; at the instant the revolver finished firing, Rast hurled it away. Immediately, he kicked up the sniper rifle from a nearby stable support.
The long sniper rifle spun through the air before Rast caught it firmly. He aimed in midair and pulled the trigger at point-blank range.
The steel core b*llet spiraled out amidst the flames.
Then, accompanied by the sound of the b*llet piercing flesh, that pointed b*llet abruptly stilled in the empty air.
(End of Chapter)
