Warlord

He slammed the tracker to the ground and used his own body to exert a gravitational force to hold the lizard in place. Johnny put his hands on the tracker’s head, let out a roar, and spun around. With a “kacha” sound, the Tracer’s neck was broken. No matter how soft his bones were, it was impossible for him to avoid this kind of physical damage.

When the nerves of the bones were broken by Johnny, the trackers gradually lost all sound. The liquid on the surface of his body quickly solidified, no longer concealing its effects, and he revealed himself beneath him. Johnny staggered away from the monster and looked at his body. Countless bone-deep wounds and damaged organs had already sent him a death notice.

Johnny sat down on the floor and untied the walker with a trembling hand. He lit a cigarette and put it in his mouth.

He was still carrying his gear. He grabbed something else and held it tightly in his hand, then looked up at the sky.

The sky was still a thick, radiating cloud, but wherever you looked the sky was the same, with the exception of the kind of electronic image that would be projected from a holographic plate. Now Johnny missed the false view.

At least in Asgartree he could forget the cruel apocalypse for a while.

Johnny didn’t turn around to look. Actually, he did not need to look to know that more living corpses had come.

It turned out that he was right. The executioners, the blasting men, the ripping men, the butchers, and the ordinary living corpses came from all directions. They surrounded Johnny like a swarm of locusts, and the smell of the blood from the battle was enough to excite the senses of the living corpse. Two of the trackers, hidden from view, were wandering around Johnny.

Johnny couldn’t move. He forced himself to lower his head and smile at the living corpses. “Let’s go to hell together, you bastards!”