The intertwining of flames and darkness reflected the twisted figures of the walking dead. Behind them were the bloodthirsty ones armed with ramshackle metal, these vile creations of the Night Race injected with raging potions in their systems. Thanks to the Blood of the Night Race, flames could hardly harm them.
As for sunlight, the pervasive ashes and dust had long obscured the light, leaving only the Order Bureau and the monsters locked in a deadly struggle in the dimness.
Evan slowly drew his sword. He doubted that his team members could withstand this charge. These monsters would scatter their formation, leading to a bloody melee.
The high-ranking night creatures hiding would also act at this time. They would certainly find ways to kill him first. As long as he could hold them back, there was still a chance for a turnaround.
"What a pity..."
