The Demonmetal creatures had only instinct and preloaded routines they moved fast, hit hard, but could not improvise.
Martin did.
And so did his creations.
"They're using their entire body as weapons,"
Martin commented as he dashed through a line of incoming enemies, cleaving down seven in a moment of speed.
"But no weak point doesn't mean indestructibility."
He moved again.
Within minutes, the tide had shifted completely.
What was supposed to be a challenging battle for a single combatant became a massacre through coordination.
Silver Swords were relentless, and Martin never stopped moving.
One by one, the Demonmetal Magic Hunters were destroyed.
Two thousand foes fell in under two hours.
The spinning sounds were gone.
Martin wiped the sweat from his forehead, though he barely felt tired.
He looked around.
"My creations..." he murmured, watching the Silver Swords float calmly once again in orbit around him.
"Fifty blades of my will."
