Loma's eyes locked on the two figures approaching through the chaos. His breath hitched, his chest tightened.
Loma (thinking): So… they sent those two. It won't be that easy.
Even his men—battle-hardened killers—shifted uneasily under the pressure.
Loma snapped out his command.
Loma: "Everyone! Attack them all at once!"
For a moment, hesitation. A flicker of fear. Then the wave of Crimson Eclipse and Cho's soldiers surged forward, roaring as they charged the two monsters.
Juro cracked his neck, rolling his massive shoulders, his grin stretching wide.
Juro (growling): "Looks like the feast is coming."
Renzo, calm and detached, adjusted the grip on his stick.
Renzo (flatly): "Careful. They're not weaklings."
The horde descended.
BOOOM!
The first blow landed against Juro's chest like a hammer—and bounced off. He didn't flinch. Instead, his fist shot forward, a straight strike like a steel piston. The man in front crumpled instantly. Without looking, Juro spun his thick frame, his elbow whipping back—
CRACK!
The man behind him dropped unconscious, eyes rolling back.
Juro's grin widened.
Juro: "Two down!"
Another fighter screamed and lunged. Juro stepped in, eating a punch to the gut like it was nothing, then detonated an uppercut. The man's body lifted from the ground before collapsing lifelessly at Juro's feet.
Meanwhile, Renzo moved like a shadow. His stick flicked and stabbed with surgical precision—collarbones, ribs, temples, joints. Every strike carried intent to disable.
CRACK! SNAP! THUD!
One by one, men dropped around him. Not dead—but broken, gasping, unable to rise.
Renzo exhaled softly, almost bored, even as blood sprayed from his last strike.
Renzo (coldly): "Tch… boring."
The battlefield around them slowed. For the first time, even Crimson Eclipse's overwhelming numbers wavered.
Two men. Two monsters. And they were carving through an army.