thefictionvixens Page 1383
Page 1383
Yes, it's over.
The man slowly turned around and took off his hood. It was an unkempt face with black hair, black eyes, pale skin, and impeccable manners, more like a scholar or eccentric genius than a cult leader.
The man smiled slightly: "You're already late."
Chapter 1719 Center
This man was the leader of the Knights, the center of all affairs on the island of Cortren. Helena scrutinized him from head to toe but found nothing "dangerous" about him. He was as thin and expressionless as his appearance suggested, just like anyone else on the city streets.
However, considering the identities of her interlocutors and the location of the meeting, she dared not show the slightest recklessness.
The leader glanced at the two men with a calm and smug look, his tone as relaxed as if he were having a casual chat: "Speaking of combinations, government agents and international mercenaries are quite an interesting pairing. If you had discovered yourself sooner, things might have been different... But unfortunately, nothing can change for you now."
“I don’t think so.” Helena put her right hand on her belt. “What I saw was two against one, and you don’t look like someone who can fight.”
The leader shook his head: "You don't understand. The ritual is complete, the center is about to awaken, and the destruction of '047' is destined to come. Nothing can stop it..."
He had only gone halfway when a loud, clear gunshot suddenly echoed throughout the cave, its sharp gleam appearing particularly acute against the continuous reflections on the enclosed stone walls. The Desert Eagle appeared in Desert Edge's hand as if by magic, its muzzle emitting a faint smoke. A bloody hole appeared in the chief's forehead, and his body collapsed, his last half-sentence cut short.
"Do you know what to do?" Deathstroke twirled his gun mockingly. "One bullet will stop him."
It seemed simple, but Helena instinctively sensed that things weren't so simple.
Her premonition was quickly confirmed. The leader remained slumped for only about two seconds before his body suddenly twitched, and thick black mist filled the loose sleeves of his robe. He mechanically and silently sat up, and the bloody hole on his forehead visibly tightened and healed until, when he stood up, there was not a trace of the wound.
Helena glared at Deathstroke: "What did you just say?"
"That's too...barbaric." But your approach is typical of human nature; you like to solve problems in a rough, direct way. I think that might be part of the reason the Center wants to destroy you.
"Center"—this is the second time I've heard this guy mention that word. What does it mean?
He continued, "Generally speaking, eradicating this part is the power and task of the central person, but given... the special circumstances, I don't mind replacing him from time to time. I don't mind replacing him from time to time."
The moment he uttered the word "representative," his tone suddenly rose an octave, and at the same time, black spiritual energy surged forth from his body. Helena stared intently at the man's limbs, but in the instant he leaped out, her reaction was still too slow. This body, which looked like that of a frail scholar, underwent a sudden and dramatic transformation, as if it had instantly turned into a ferocious tiger or leopard.
She instinctively took two steps back, the black robe flashing past her eyes in a split second, like claws wreathed in black mist digging into her face. Just as she was about to give way, a cold, silver arc unexpectedly struck her side; in an instant, she was drawn towards the leader's wrist. Although only a hair's breadth separated his fingers from Helena's forehead, if he persisted in his stance, her wrist would surely be severed first.
The leader reacted swiftly, his movements forced to a halt, and he shrank back. His actions were so quick and simple that Deathstroke's powerful attack immediately failed, but ultimately saved the Huntress from being surrounded.
"The world's strongest mercenaries." The leader coldly scoffed, "Let's see how much of that's just hype."
As he spoke, his hand paused slightly, and the black halo around him rose again. A burst of burning black substance erupted from the well behind him, as if echoing his voice.
“You will understand,” Deathstroke said, splitting his hands into a sword and a Desert Eagle, “proven it with your life.”
He stepped forward, wielding his sword as one, unleashing a set of advanced combat techniques that seemed to be his own creation, his attacks like a raging storm. Helena gritted her teeth, took out her most proficient compound crossbow, and began firing indiscriminately across the battlefield, incapacitating the enemy while searching for a suitable opportunity to strike.
But the leader of the Knights possessed astonishing combat prowess. He could dodge Helena's arrows while simultaneously keeping Deathstroke engaged in close combat—a feat no one else in the world could achieve unless the search area was expanded to inhuman levels. Perhaps what this guy used could no longer be called hand-to-hand combat: with his incredible movements and reactions more exaggerated than a computer, Deathstroke, regardless of the region or style of fighting, couldn't create a single opening.
The two exchanged hundreds of blows at speeds exceeding human limits. Suddenly, the leader unleashed a furious punch, striking Deathstroke's blade. At that moment, his fist, in sync with the well, erupted with a dense burst of black energy. The domineering force abruptly penetrated the sword, cleaving Deathstroke's blade in two. Deathstroke, along with himself, was trapped by the blade, and the broken hilt flew back.
But Helena, who had been constantly circling and fighting, found the perfect opportunity. She fired three arrows in quick succession, using the arrows as cover to charge forward and fight them off. At this moment, her back was to her chieftain, and as she expected to turn and dodge the three arrows, a heavy counterattack struck Helena's chest through the open door.
The attack was indeed powerful, but it failed to achieve the desired effect. Helena's right foot slammed into the chief's chest, but the speaker remained motionless, as if kicking a steel plate. The chief's left hand lightly brushed across her calf, while his right hand swept through the air, causing the black gas to dissipate abruptly. Helena's body flew several meters through the air, slamming heavily into the black stone wall behind her.
That wasn't all: the chief gently beckoned with his finger, and an invisible force pulled Helena to the side, throwing her into the air, her legs dangling, frozen in front of the chief. Helena felt as if an invisible hand was gripping her neck, her face turning red, her body struggling in vain.
The chief pulled her to his side from afar, his pupils filled with darkness. The darkness in the well grew ever darker, and countless black flames continuously spewed from the well's mouth.
“I told you, you can’t change anything.” The chief looked at Helena’s beautiful face, which was contorted with pain and suffocation, and laughed. “To be honest, I even feel sorry for you, that you won’t live to see the day when the center sweeps everything away. That would be great.”
He felt smug as the piercing cry of the wild eagle echoed once more throughout the sealed cave. This time, the leader's expression suddenly changed, and black spiritual energy burst forth from his black robes like a scream.
He roughly shoved Helena aside, turned his head for the first time, and his face showed an angry expression: "What did you do!"
Deathstroke stood by the well, the muzzle of his Desert Eagle pointed diagonally at the well opening: "Oh, I wasn't sure if this would work before, but now I know. It seems that whatever your center is, it doesn't really like bullets."
As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled the trigger again, and the Desert Eagle let out a roar, spitting out a series of blinding tongues of fire into the darkness.
The trick worked: the darkness began to distort, something deep in the mine seemed to begin to slowly rotate, the ground beneath the three of them trembled, and piles of lime and gravel rained down from the cave ceiling, as if it were the prelude to a collapse.
"You're an idiot." The chief's face turned pale. "Everything you've done has angered the Central Government. Now, no one on the island can escape!"
Chapter 1720 Hell
The tremors in the cave intensified, as if a monster were trying to squeeze into the ground, and countless cracks crawled like thin snakes along the stone walls and the dome. A huge crack ran across the hall, tearing a jagged, dog-tooth-like gap that separated the chief and the well from the huntress and the death knell.
The entire spatial structure was collapsing rapidly; if they didn't retreat now, they would likely find themselves buried forever. Helena and Deathstroke simultaneously turned silently and rushed towards the exit. The leader turned back angrily, letting out a roar, his face already hidden behind the falling rocks: "Run, men, run! But you've angered the center; it's about to awaken. No one will leave Cortren Island alive!"
When it was all over, the main character was buried deep in the cave along with the well, and common sense told them he couldn't possibly have survived. Helena and Deathstroke sprinted like professional sprinters, traversing the crumbling cave to the outside and quickly returning to the elevator. Thank goodness, the two rusty chains holding the elevator frame in place were still working, and the sound of the elevator ascending made my eardrums buzz.
Gravel and limestone carvings fell incessantly from the dark ceiling, but they did not affect the elevator's smooth ascent. Silence reigned in the darkness, broken only by the steady breathing of the two people. Their ascent and descent were incredibly rapid; in three minutes, they would be back on the upper level of the shaft.
However, the reality is not so simple.
Without warning, dark claws reached out from the bottom edge of the elevator and seized the huntress's ankle. A tremendous force shoved her downwards, attempting to pull her off the elevator edge and drag her into the bottomless darkness.
Helena's right hand swiftly gripped the rusty metal frame of the elevator, struggling to stay afloat. When she looked back, she saw half a dark head protruding from the edge of the platform, with snake-like pupils and grotesque, twisted features; the sight made one sigh that God must have carelessly created such a hideous creature.
Deathstroke leaped forward and grabbed her, raising his right hand as if it held a military knife. Controlling his immense strength, he chopped off Helena's hand gripping her ankle like a cleaver. Helena seized the opportunity to squeeze back into the elevator, turned around, and as she exited, kicked the monster squarely in the face.
This wasn't the first time Deathstroke had saved her today, but Helena looked at him with a complicated expression, remaining silent.
“Be careful,” Deathstroke said nonchalantly, pulling out his Uzi again and whispering, “We still have plenty.”
He was right. Helena looked down from the edge of the elevator shaft: countless eyes gleamed like will-o'-the-wisps in the darkness; hordes of grotesque monsters clung to the pitted stone walls of the shaft, nimbly and swiftly climbing upwards. Unfortunately, they were much faster than the dilapidated elevator.
Without hesitation, Deathstroke pulled the trigger. A hail of bullets rained down into the dark space below like a raging hurricane, while gunfire echoed continuously within the elevator shaft. The Uzi submachine gun had a rate of fire exceeding 1,700 rounds per minute; this method of fire was clearly more efficient at suppressing enemies than at killing them. But if this was the case for ordinary people, Deathstroke was even more unpredictable. His specially enhanced brain had been 90% developed, giving him superhuman dynamic vision and reaction abilities. Each of the twenty-eight bullets he fired per second was aimed precisely at its designated target. Each time, the crouching monster was blown to pieces, and large amounts of black, unidentified liquid splattered from its body.
The twenty-five bullets in the miniature Uzi magazine were used up, and the heads of twenty-five monsters were blown off. Unfortunately, the monsters' physical strength varied greatly: some could be easily dealt with with a single shot, while others were completely unaffected by bullets, climbing upwards without complaint amidst the rain of tungsten alloy bullets.
Helena raised her crossbow and fired a volley of arrows loaded with explosives. A burst of flame exploded rapidly among the dark horde of monsters, the deafening explosions and the monsters' piercing roars echoing through the dark elevator shaft.
Deathstroke untied a weapon belt loaded with portable plastic explosives and tossed it towards the horde of monsters. He quickly grabbed a gun, the Desert Eagle, and fired accurately, igniting the explosives. A large amount of plastic explosives detonated about twenty meters away. The expanding flames squeezed into the enclosed tunnel, instantly engulfing the dark mass of monsters. Two monsters, still engulfed in flames, stubbornly climbed upwards, only to be thrown back into the fire by Helena. Helena then raised her crossbow and aimed at the capture nets of the two monsters.
The hoist ascended to the top almost painlessly, while the lower part of the mine was already engulfed in flames. The two men ran out of the mine shaft along the path they had come in, but almost the instant they gained their freedom, the shaft collapsed, burying them behind them.
But the violent tremors didn't stop; instead, they intensified. "The leader of the Knights wasn't lying. What's buried deep beneath this island is slowly awakening, and judging from its exaggerated movements, it's clearly reached a point where the guy in the red cloak needs to deal with it." Their only option now is to leave as quickly as possible.
"Over there."
"Deathstroke," he said in a cold, deep voice, leading her behind him. The tents and some living quarters the "Knights" had set up in the mine had collapsed. Helena followed Deathstroke to an abandoned truck. What they needed now was a vehicle for transport.
Deathstroke silently sat in the driver's seat and expertly started the engine. Helena hesitated for a moment, then quickly took the passenger seat. Deathstroke deftly shifted gears, released the handbrake, stepped on the gas, and roared out of the barrel truck, displaying near-mad driving skills.
The truck rumbled heavily on the dirt road, thick yellow smoke billowing behind it, leaving the collapsed, smoke-filled exit far behind. Helena leaned back in the passenger seat, calming her breathing: she was no match for the modified and enhanced Deathstroke, but she had been tense the whole time, only relaxing a little later.
Recalling everything that happened in the mine, it was truly a living hell; thankfully, they drove them away. Now, all that's needed is to get back to the landing platform...
Wait, this isn't over yet. They're not completely exhausted.
Helena's expression changed drastically when she saw something in the rearview mirror. She leaned out of the window and looked back, only to see countless towering monsters emerging from the thick smoke, like a dark army chasing them at full speed.
"To hell with it," she muttered through gritted teeth.
Chapter 1721 Despair
Deathstroke had emptied his magazine countless times, and the Huntress had fired almost every arrow from her explosive charges, quick-release gel, and capture net at the inhuman pursuers behind them, but these grotesque monsters finally caught up with the speeding truck. The snake-faced monster climbed onto the driver's side door, its sharp claws digging deep into it, its ugly, distorted face pressed against the windshield, leaving condensation of saliva on the glass.
Deathstroke fired a bullet through the car window into the arrogant man's head, then kicked the car door and monster out of the vehicle, while simultaneously jerking the steering wheel sharply, maintaining high speed to make the massive car turn ninety degrees. Driving on one hand, fighting the enemy on the other: two things done at the same time, yet both executed flawlessly.
“More are catching up,” Helena said, shoving a small vial of medicine into the open mouth of an ugly man huddled by the passenger-side window. White mist billowed from his gaping mouth as he groaned in pain, released his arms, and collapsed. She turned her head to Deathstroke and said, “We can’t shake them all off.”
“Yes, we can’t get rid of it,” Deathstroke said in a deep voice, switching his pistol to his left hand and drawing a sharp military knife in his right. “Then we’ll kill them all.” With that, he climbed onto the roof through the blown-open door, tossing out one last sentence: “You drive.”
What am I doing here?
Helena quickly grabbed the steering wheel with her long arms and nimbly moved to the passenger seat. At this moment, more monsters had risen from the back seat, appearing from the roof like a dark wave crashing down from above. Deathstroke stood imposingly on the roof, a gun in one hand and a sword in the other, the two-tone straps behind his mask fluttering in the wind.
A half-crawling, lizard-like monster suddenly leaped from behind the car, lunging at Deathstroke with a "whoosh." Deathstroke remained motionless, a pickaxe tip on his blade flashing silver. The monster was sent flying into the air, its abdomen pierced by a punch, black liquid spurting from its open mouth. The monster let out a murky, mournful howl, and Deathstroke's blade trembled slightly as he hurled it from the car like a thrown stone. His single eye swept over the remaining monsters, filled with a sharp killing intent, as if asking, "Next?"
If these hideous creatures could feel fear, perhaps they could transform at this moment. Unfortunately, their brains seemed too simplistic; even a basic function like fear wasn't programmed into them. The remaining ring of monsters on the machine let out a low growl in unison, lunging at it with bared fangs and claws.
This is simply beyond human combat capability. No matter what field of close combat one practices, or what expertise one holds, facing such non-human beings, even one person could not possibly prevail. And what about such numbers? Any normal human would be torn to shreds in an instant.
Coincidentally, the person standing on the roof of the car was also no ordinary person to them.
His Uzi submachine gun ran out of ammunition immediately, and with the pace of the battle, there was no way to reload. So he threw his empty weapon, hitting a monster that had just poked its head out from behind the car on the head. With a powerful sweep of his hand, he decapitated another monster beside him, while simultaneously drawing his spare Desert Eagle with his other hand. Another monster's claw dug into the flesh of his left leg, but he merely gritted his teeth, turned around, shoved the muzzle of his gun into the monster's mouth, fired three bullets, and then delivered a knee strike that knocked the monster off the vehicle.
This was no longer a fight, but merely an exchange of blood with these savage creatures. His custom-made military knife was blackened by the monster's bodily fluids, and its tip was bent. Wild Eagle's few bullets were also emptied in an instant, and then his superior pistol was thrown aside. He was covered in blood, his body torn apart with many holes and cracks, but he still stood tall, like an immortal war god.
Although Helena knew that Superman's self-healing abilities were what allowed Deathstroke to hold on until now, she couldn't help but feel a sense of respect, even though she and Deathstroke were on opposite sides. She couldn't see what was happening on the roof of the vehicle, but from the sounds, she could easily imagine the intensity of the battle. Because Deathstroke had drawn 90% of the enemy's attention, Helena was sitting quite comfortably, with only the occasional monster trying to squeeze into the driver's seat, but this was the first time she had managed to drive them away.
The truck drove through almost all of the jungle, approaching the coast. By this time, the thick white fog that had enveloped the island had mostly dissipated, and heavy, limestone-like clouds appeared in the sky. They were about 500 meters from the landing point, where they would receive support and assistance.
Right there in the pavilion, only 500 meters away, change began again. A new monster climbed onto the back seat of the car, opened its huge mouth, and shot out a long tongue that pierced the rear window of the driver's side like an arrow. Helena heard the whoosh and instinctively dodged, but the long tongue turned the steering wheel. The monster in the back seat suddenly twisted its head and convulsed. The long tongue grabbed the steering wheel and slammed it shut, sending the entire monster off course, crashing through the bushes and tumbling down the hillside.
All the monsters on the roof, along with Deathstroke, were violently thrown out of the truck as it overturned. Helena reacted quickly, rushing out of the cab. The truck rolled seven or eight times down the slope before crashing heavily to the ground. The windshield shattered into pieces, the cab was completely crushed, and the rear of the truck flipped in mid-air before finally landing upside down with all four wheels raised.
Helena rolled on the ground until she hit a tree stump, then stopped abruptly, collapsing to the ground, possibly with broken bones. She struggled to her feet, squinting as she saw the death knell falling not far from her. Another woman, covered in blood, seemed to have fallen harder, but quickly rose again, her many wounds healing rapidly.
She also noticed a small, transparent bottle lying not far in front of the death knell, containing some black substance, which appeared to be liquid and gaseous, seemingly from the well buried deep underground.
Helena stood up, frowning slightly: "...This is your mission? Who needs this?"
Deathstroke picked up the small vial and put it back in the hidden compartment of his belt. "Sorry, it's a trade secret." He paused, then added, "Besides, now is definitely not the best time to dwell on this issue."
He was right. The rollover accident did not stop those inhuman creatures; they appeared one after another on the hill near the top, like a black army surrounding them.
“I’m starting to wonder who taught you to drive.” The death knell was still low, so it was hard to tell if he was joking. “If we’re leaving here today, I suggest you learn from me.”
Helena rolled her eyes at him: "Are you serious? You're not dead in the water yet?"