Stray

Fortunately, this battle had a time limit.

After more than ten minutes of fighting, Oliver’s opponent finally gave up the fight due to efficiency considerations. He twisted his body halfway through attacking Oliver and neatly cut off the head of the death row prisoner next to him. The scattered death row prisoners seemed like crows who found carrion, and quickly gathered from the strong smell of blood.

People fought in groups, like beasts biting each other. Blood gushed and limbs flew everywhere. Black and red flesh covered the ground that was continuously bombarded with magic array. It smelled so bad that it was impossible to see what person or animal it once belonged to. Oliver suppressed the rolling of his stomach. His face became almost as pale as the skeleton helmet, but the hand holding the hilt of his sword did not waver. He retreated and guarded, struggling to pull himself away from the fanatical vortex of death.

With Oliver’s occasional care, Randy’s defense was airtight. That heavy shield was like a moving fortress wall. Few people were willing to waste more than five minutes to challenge it.

During the retreat, Oliver almost stepped on a mutilated body. The owner of the body was lying on his back, full of fear and unwillingness. His bloodshot eyes bulged, and masses of powdery blood foamed as he vague wailed.

“God, I won’t die,” the man shouted vaguely. “I won’t die in this hellhole…”

“Kill him, Ramon,” Randy said softly. “He doesn’t have much longer to live.”

Oliver shook his head gently, which made Randy sighed and stopped speaking.

As if a lifetime had passed, the announcement of the end finally sounded. The death row prisoners put away their weapons and gathered in one place again. Almost all of them had sticky and dark blood and flesh on their faces, except for Oliver and Randy, who looked cleaned and out of place.