Chapter 95: The blood clan (2).

Words : 1166 Updated : Sep 23rd, 2025

The first shadow slammed into the side of the vehicle with bone-crushing force, denting the reinforced armor of the car and sending it skidding off the dirt road. Carlos barely had time to react as the entire vehicle careened into the forest, smashing through thick undergrowth before colliding head-on with one of the massive trees. The crash echoed through the forest, a deafening mix of metal grinding and wood splintering. Carlos was thrown forward, his seatbelt keeping him from being hurled through the windshield, though the force still left him gasping for air. His beloved car groaned under the strain, smoke beginning to rise from the engine as the vehicle's systems struggled to function. Carlos shook his head, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. "What the hell...?" he muttered, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. His instincts kicked in, and he reached for the weapon holstered beneath his seat, his breath ragged. But before he could arm himself, the shadows moved again. Outside, the red-armored figures circled the wreck like predators stalking wounded prey. Their movements were unnaturally fluid, almost graceful, as they closed in on the vehicle. One of them, clearly the leader, approached the driver's side, their crimson helmet reflecting the faint light filtering through the trees. Carlos tightened his grip on the weapon, his heart pounding as he tried to steady his breathing. "Looks like someone finally caught me," he muttered to himself, his tone a mix of defiance and grim humor. The leader of the dark crimson assassins raised a gloved hand, making a silent gesture toward two of his subordinates. Without hesitation, the pair stepped forward, their movements confident, almost lazy. "Check if the target's dead," the leader ordered through his communicator, his voice calm but commanding. Humans were a notoriously weak race, after all, fragile creatures who could rarely survive a direct attack, let alone a violent crash like the one that had just taken place. A collision like this should have been more than enough to kill any ordinary human or leave them heavily wounded and helpless. The two assassins moved toward the wreckage of the car, their heavy boots crunching against the forest floor. They didn't bother with caution, strolling up to the mangled vehicle with the confidence of predators certain their prey was already dead. One of them leaned down, peering through the cracked and smoky window to confirm the kill.Suddenly, the quiet forest was shattered by the deafening roar of gunfire. A hailstorm of bullets erupted from within the vehicle, the muzzle flashes lighting up the wreck like fireworks. The two assassins didn't even have time to react. The first was riddled with holes, blood spraying as the bullets tore through his crimson armor, severing limbs and leaving him on the ground without moving. The second fared no better, his torso practically disintegrating under the relentless barrage. Both collapsed to the ground in pools of their own blood, their bodies twitching for a brief moment before going still. "Quickly, dodge!" the leader barked, his voice sharp. The remaining assassins reacted instantly, their reflexes honed by years of brutal training. They scattered into the shadows, moving with incredible speed and precision as the storm of bullets continued to pour from the car. It was clear this was no ordinary group; they were elites, highly trained killers who had faced far worse than a stray gunman. For several tense seconds, the gunfire continued, the sound echoing through the forest. Then, abruptly, it stopped. Smoke rose from the car, the silence thick and foreboding. Before the assassins could regroup, the driver's side door was kicked off its hinges with a loud metallic clang.The twisted hunk of steel sent flying several meters before crashing into the undergrowth. Carlos stepped out of the wreckage, his silhouette looming in the faint moonlight. His power armor, usually a sleek gray design, was bulkier than usual, reinforced with heavier plating that gleamed faintly beneath the layer of dirt and scratches from the crash. In his right hand, he held his trusted shockwave hammer, its head humming faintly with stored energy. Where his left hand should have been, there was now a smoking minigun mounted directly to his arm, its barrels still glowing from the intense heat of the earlier gunfire. Carlos' energy shields flared brightly as they absorbed hit after hit, but even with the armor's enhancements, he was beginning to feel the strain. His breathing grew heavier, and his movements slowed as exhaustion began to creep in. After nearly three hours of nonstop combat, Carlos was showing signs of fatigue. His armor's energy reserves were running low, and the cracks in his defenses were becoming more apparent. The leader of the assassins, who had been watching the fight from a distance, finally stepped forward, his crimson sword glinting ominously in the pale light. "Well, well," the leader said, his tone dripping with disdain. " It seems the mad dog is finally out of breath." Carlos smirked, his breath coming in labored gasps. "Hah! I'm not tired, you idiot," he shouted, his voice tinged with defiance. "I'm just old!" The leader chuckled, shaking his head as he walked closer. " Don't worry," he said coldly. "After today, you won't feel the passage of time anymore." Before Carlos could respond, the leader vanished from sight, moving faster than Carlos' eyes could track. In the next instant, a powerful strike landed on Carlos' energy shield, sending him staggering backward. Carlos barely had time to recover before another blow came, this one slamming into his side. The force was tremendous, and though his shields held, the impacts rattled his body inside the armor. The attacks came faster and faster, the leader moving like a phantom, striking from every angle with brutal efficiency. Carlos was being toyed with, his once-imposing form now reduced to a battered figure struggling to stay upright. Finally, a devastating blow sent him crashing to one knee, his hammer slipping from his grip as he gasped for air. The leader of the assassins stepped forward, his crimson sword resting on his shoulder as he looked down at Carlos with contempt. "That's more like it," he sneered. "On your knees, just like a good dog. You should have done this when we first arrived. It would've saved you the trouble." Carlos let out a weak chuckle, his shoulders shaking as he lowered his head. The leader's eyes narrowed. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, his voice sharp with annoyance. Carlos glanced up, a defiant grin on his dirt-streaked face. "I'm laughing because... looks like I'm not dying today after all. Guess I've got an angel of luck shoved somewhere deep inside my arse!" The leader opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the forest suddenly erupted in a blinding cascade of golden plasma fire.

Chapter 95: The blood clan (2).

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