The rain became heavier, with the sky as if cracked by countless fissures, cascading as a waterfall toward the earth.
"Zzt-zzt——"
Streaks of light like thunder flashed across the high-altitude glass platform, the crimson tubes twisted and tugged, and raindrops fell, flickering blood-red, resembling droplets of seeping blood.
Su Ming'an felt everything before his eyes was so fragile—the glass platform beneath his feet, the sword in his hand, and even... himself. They all seemed like a small boat that could capsize at any moment in the pouring rain.
The strong wind enveloped the entire high altitude, the bullet rain even finer than the drizzle. By now, over a hundred units of the Mechanical Army had fallen before him, each with a sword wound on their chests, their internal energy sources completely destroyed by him.
Yet, an unending stream of Mechanical Army continued to surge towards him from the shattered windows, like a dark gray river.
