The endless night, the endless downpour, the endless slaughter, ceaseless and unending, the desolate mountain ridges, the pitch-black camp, the air was thick with an unshakeable scent of blood, countless armed personnel howled as they charged, like hungry wolves on the hunt, Luo Zheng and Ghost Hand fought energetically, slaying each enemy that rushed forward.
If the armed personnel were a surging tide, ferocious to the extreme, crashing in with the power to destroy everything as if to devour the heavens and earth, then Luo Zheng and Ghost Hand were the cliff of the coast, blocking the tide steadfastly, causing sprays of blood to bloom, pushing back the tide, blood mixing with rainwater and flowing into streams, the surroundings seemingly painted red, appearing extremely eerie under the flickering lights.
