40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 773 61. Regaining Hope (, ) (I didn’t update before because of pneumonia, I’m sorry.)
Orikan clenched his hands, struck hard, and finally broke through the snow above and behind his head.

The blinding light poured down from the not-so-big hole, causing the astrologer to chuckle in a strange and empty way. He himself didn't know what was so funny about it, but he temporarily lost control of himself.
Half a minute later, he struggled to pull the remaining half of his body out of the snow pit, then looked around, but did not see a single person.

"You fools!" he immediately shouted. "I told you long ago--"

Before he could finish his words, he closed his mouth again. What if he had said it earlier? Judging from the situation at that time, even if they had prepared to escape an hour in advance, this avalanche of destruction would have drowned them all. At most, some would have been swallowed by the giant mouth of death at night.

The astrologer shook his head and wiped his face. The sensor array on his fingers gave him a cold feedback - suddenly, an impulse arose in his heart, driving him to sigh deeply as if he were alive.

This habit had been completely abandoned as soon as he was locked in the immortal coffin, and the reason was obvious: he was already dead, so why should he continue to maintain the habits of his life, and must deceive himself like others and declare that he was still alive, just enjoying eternal life?
But now
Orikan fell into deep thought, and many questions about life and death, philosophy and self flashed through his clever mind one by one.

Before it was destroyed, the Necrontyr society had explored these issues in depth, and new books or arguments were published every year. He had read them carefully one by one, hoping to get some answers from them. Of course, he didn't get what he wanted until the end.

As he was thinking, Orikan's hands moved quickly, and he quickly used his hands to forcibly form a fairly hard snow stick. The high strength of the high-level undead's body structure allowed him to easily mold the snow into the shape he wanted.

He raised the stick and gestured, then inserted it into the snow to test it, then he kneaded out sixteen large snow bricks in one breath, lined them up, grabbed a handful of snow and sprinkled it on his ribs, then turned up the output of the reactor and waited patiently for them to melt.
He bent down and let the snow water fall between his ribs, evenly sprinkling on the links between the snow bricks along the route he had calculated.

The cold wind howled, and in a moment, the snow brick became a whole. He put himself on it to try it out, and after confirming that it could bear his weight, Orikan pinched out the second snow stick without any joy.

With one stick in each hand, he lay on the ridiculously crude so-called sled, waving his hands and sliding in the snow with two sticks, just like rowing a boat. His speed was pitifully slow at first, but he only needed a slope to increase his speed.
Soon, he put away the stick, grasped the edge of the snow brick with both hands, and moved himself by adjusting his center of gravity.

If someone looked down from the sky at this moment, he would be able to see an undead with only half of its body left skiing in a very funny posture - regardless of whether this non-existent onlooker would laugh, at least Orikan himself laughed out loud.

He laughed loudly in the cold wind, then bent over and forced himself off the sled, landing heavily in the snow.

——Based on the maximum speed, he would have to slide for about one hundred and sixty-nine years before he could leave this world that was about to be completely destroyed by the dimensional fusion phenomenon within a few hours.

So, what's the point of struggling? Death is coming soon.
He looked up at the sky. The crack that was gradually getting bigger was given a different meaning by the vibrant light that filled the surroundings. If a poet was here, he would probably be inspired by the scene and write a masterpiece that would be passed down through the ages. Unfortunately, the only person who could see this scene now was the astrologer Orikan, and he had no interest in poetry at all.

He just wanted to sigh now.

Was this his end? The final fate of the pretentious astrologer? Buried in the snow and then completely lost in the annihilation of the dimension?
Doesn't sound bad.
Lying in the snow, Orikan fell into deep thought again.

Those questions came back, like ghosts from the past, he thought he had gotten rid of them, along with his life as Orikan the Necrontyr. But now it seemed that it was just wishful thinking, they had never left, they were just quietly waiting for an opportunity at the bottom of his memory.

Just like now, they slowly and neatly emerged from the water, drowning his reason.

Then he saw his father.

“You should join the Army.”

The old Necrontyr sat in the snow, looking down at him as per etiquette, his tone as stern as ever.

"You were born into a glorious family, Orikan. Your origins have brought you resources that commoners can hardly imagine. Because of this, you should give it back. Traditions must be maintained."

Orikan remained silent, but the man in his memory began to argue loudly.

"But I'll die!" the young man shouted to his father. "My body can't handle any kind of training!"

"If that's the case, you'll have died a worthy death, and you'll be honored."

"Honor?!" The young man sneered angrily. "I just want to survive. Do you know how talented I am in astrology, father? In time, I may even become the chief astrologer of the dynasty!"

"Perhaps, Orikan," his father replied calmly. "Perhaps, you are indeed gifted, but you are not the first person to think so, and none of them are as selfish as you."

Are you accusing me of being selfish? Orikan spoke these words for the young man in his memory, and then waved his hand to dispel the illusion.

However, the father’s ghost did not disappear. He was still sitting in the snow with calm eyes.

"I must be crazy to think of you at this time." Orikan said to him. "But at this moment, it seems meaningless to discuss whether I am crazy or not."

The father did not answer, but just looked at him for a while before asking the question.

"Did you get what you wanted, son?"

Orikan was stunned. Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, causing his reactor to passively increase its power.
The snow began to melt, and the white mist obscured the broken iron face of the Necrons, leaving only a hint of green still bright.

"No," Orikan whispered. "And you're right, old man. Immortality sucks."

He propped himself up with his hands, looked up at the sky, and his thoughts gradually calmed down. The illusion of father and son also disappeared completely, leaving only a primitive tranquility flowing through the only 160 remaining thinking cores of the Necrons.

He once had 200,000 of these cores, of which about 20,000 remained active all year round, and these cores were able to fully simulate the intelligence contained in the biological brain of Orikan the Necrontyr.
But now, the number of two hundred thousand has been reduced to only one hundred and sixty, all the others being blocked by the parliament using their power.

Orikan was still Orikan, his way of thinking, his personality, and even his ability to analyze logic were all there, but his former abilities to know the future and see the stars were gone. The skills he had spent his entire life trying to master were taken away in such a careless way.

Would a truly living being encounter such a thing?
Orikan reasoned for a while and finally came up with the word "impossible".

The naturally evolved brain is extremely sophisticated and fragile. Perhaps there is some means that can make them temporarily lose control of a certain area, thus causing false amnesia, but there is no way those things can really leave them.

It's like an assassin who kills for a living. Even if he forgets his name, his body will help him to use the killing skills he has practiced throughout his life at the moment of threat.
But he was different. Once the parliament said they would deprive him of his skills, they were really gone from him and he could no longer use them.

Orikan silently clasped his hands together, with his thumb and little finger clasped together in a lock shape, the tips of his index and middle fingers placed together, and his ring finger bent at ninety degrees.

This was a gesture he used to use when meditating. It had no practical meaning, but it had become a habit over the years and helped him stay calm.

In the past, it had always worked well and never let him down, but this time it failed to work as it should have.

In shock and ecstasy, Orikan released his hand and repeated the gesture over and over again.

Didn't they block my access to any astrological knowledge? He asked himself, but could not get any answer, and the gesture in front of him became more and more real.

From the meditation gestures to several complex and varied gestures related to specific calculations, he performed them all easily without any hindrance.

What does this mean? Orikan has no answer, and now he just wants to try another thing.

Taking a deep breath like a living being, he immersed himself in his own thinking array and pushed the power of the 160 thinking cores to the maximum.

The reactor in his chest immediately burst out with a violent heat. If his body was not damaged, this heat energy would be completely absorbed and fed back to him.

However, now that he had lost half of his body, this heat energy could only be released, melting the snow around him and turning it into boiling water.

Orekan trembled as he made the first gesture in the introductory stage of astrology. The stars of the Milky Way suddenly appeared before his eyes. As always, this brilliant star map welcomed him with its uncertain flickering.
He controlled his emotions, made a second gesture, and the star map suddenly zoomed in, accurately locating Solmes in an instant.

It was no longer the ordinary-looking world that Orikan had remembered in the past. Two fleets were coldly converging beside it, one belonging to humans and the other to the crowned general Zandrick.

What was strange was that even though they had completely entered the enemy's fire coverage range, not a single warship opened fire.

Orikan ignored this for the moment and trembled as he made the third gesture.
The star map did not move again, and he heard a terrible scream in his ears. Looking down, he saw the expanding reactor emitting an infinite deep green light, and the ribs gradually melting under the terrible energy.

At the critical moment of life and death, Orikan simply ignored the matter and just gestured again to drive the star map - in the pain brought by the gradual collapse, the scene in front of him finally changed again.

The fleet disappeared, and Sollems zoomed in little by little. Countless dimensions that were merging flashed by at this moment, even the one where Orikarn was at the moment, but he remained indifferent until the picture froze on a staff floating in the air.

The Staff of Tomorrow, his weapon, proof of his knowledge. One of the honors taken away by the Council, it is temporarily stored in a room in Sollems in the form of a collection.
Orikan finally made the fourth gesture.

The star map disappeared, and everything returned to darkness. He fell heavily into the boiling snow water and sank down, as if he had returned to the dark seabed.

His reactor was on the verge of destruction, and the remaining 160 mind cores were reduced again. Now only the last 35 were still usable.
Despite this dire situation, Orikan let out a monotonous laugh.

He clenched his right hand tightly, and it felt heavy.

Back comes his staff.

With a contented sigh, Orikan activated it.

A bright light burst out from the top of the staff. The medical procedure that had been stored in it thousands of years ago but had only been officially activated now began to diagnose Orikan's injuries immediately. Living metal continued to flow out from the tail of the staff, and according to the strict repair procedure, Orikan's body was restored to its previous appearance in just a few minutes.

Despite this, the Astrologer still did not show any joy. He checked the status of his mind array and found that the available cores were still locked at 160, as if the parliament's blockade had never been lifted - but if this was true, where did the Wand of Tomorrow in his hand come from?

Hundreds of questions flashed through his mind. Orikan accurately found the most important one, put it clearly in his mind, and then asked himself: Where does the essence of the power of the parliament come from?
He came up with the answer without even thinking about it, and the answer made him feel ridiculous.

Where else could it come from? The Necrons are just a bunch of iron skeletons driven by a program. In this case, isn't it reasonable that they can be manipulated and changed at will by a higher-level program?

But why can I resist?
Orikan did not think any further. His top priority now was not to belittle this race that thought they had inherited the name of the Deathly Haunters, but to find a way to escape.

Now, the situation outside is very clear. That madman Zandrick is doing what he does best in his life, but he probably won't win.

And what is the most important thing for him to do now, a prisoner who has been declared a traitor, a criminal who disobeyed the order of the parliament and regained the power of astrology?

Orikan swam upward, leaving the water-filled cave that had been created because of him.

He stood firmly in the snow, raised the staff in his hand, and with great effort did something he often did in the past.

One hundred and sixty cores were not enough to support him in accomplishing this, but he was holding his staff, which was a genuine artifact. With its help, if he could confine the scope of time reversal to this small pocket dimension,
Green light burst out strongly from the tip of the staff—
-
From behind the cover, Cato Sicarius poked his head out to take a look.

The whole process was very quick, but his expression still changed very obviously, so much so that Pasanius, who was standing next to him, stopped loading the magazine and, like him, leaned out to take a look.

Interestingly, when he returned to his original position, his expression became the same as Sicarius's.

“What did you two see?” Uriel Ventress asked.

“Necromancer,” Sicarius said.

"A large group of undeads," Pasanius added. "Very many, at least several thousand, and they are not the lowly undead that can be deceived by simple tactics. They are all wearing armor."

Ventress sighed, grabbed the enhanced communicator that the technical sergeant had temporarily improved, and reported the news truthfully to the forward command post on the flank position. However, the reply he received made the three young battle brothers a little annoyed.

"We have no way to contact Marshal Alexito and Lord Morfreed for the time being," Ventress said in a dry voice.

"This is simply nonsense!" Pasanius, the most straightforward of the three, immediately expressed his opinion in a fierce tone.

"As soon as they come to the flank, we immediately deploy our formation and start to fight them. What good will it do to fight the Necrons head-on? Don't they often fight against aliens? Why do I feel like we are the chapter with the most experience in fighting against aliens?!"

"Watch your words, Pausanius—" Ventress shrugged and pointed to the communicator in her hand. "—If I hadn't hung up in time, you would have gotten into trouble for what you said."

"I will tell you even if I am punished!"

"Then you can just wait for the old priest to whip you out of bed and take you to the training ground every morning with a whip of punishment."

Cato Sicarius took over the conversation, and although it was a harsh sarcasm, his expression was still gloomy.

Half a second later, he picked up four loaded magazines and inserted them into his belt, grabbed a grenade launcher, stood up, and easily climbed over the cover.

They are currently in an outpost, but strictly speaking, it is already in a semi-abandoned state. Although various supplies are still stored here, the troops stationed here have already retreated.

After the Black Templars arrived at the flank with Robouti Guilliman's orders, the first thing they did was to ask the Ultramarines to evacuate and take the lead. The reason they gave was impeccable: You have done enough, please prepare for a while.
Of course, not everyone agrees with this, such as the three people who are continuing their reconnaissance mission in this outpost.

They were one of the few Ultramarines squads that had been granted permission to still move around the front lines, while the other troops had been gathered together, waiting for the right moment to support the Black Templars as surprise forces.

But, at the end of the day, it's just a very simple tactic, so Sicarius doesn't think it will work at all.
He put on his helmet with a sullen face, grabbed a camouflage cloak and wrapped it around himself, then turned over and left the outpost on the top of the cliff, and landed halfway on the cliff using a rope.

There is a carefully concealed platform here with a wider view and observation equipment prepared in advance.

Sicarius placed his left hand on the edge of the observation mirror, spent a few seconds verifying his identity and unlocking permissions, and then immediately linked his eyepiece to the observation mirror.

He lay in the darkness at the innermost part of the platform, motionlessly controlling the observation mirror through neural signals, monitoring the army of undeads marching in formation from afar. The more he watched, the more he felt that the plan of the forward command post could not be implemented at all. Not to mention whether the Black Templars could hold back this group of undeads that were obviously elite at first glance, the various war machines following their formations were definitely not for nothing.
There are three ways to launch a surprise attack: teleportation, air strike, and quickly reaching the designated location by various ground vehicles.

These three methods each have their own advantages and disadvantages, and Sicarius has already seen the power of the Undead weapons. He doesn't think those dark war machines will be inferior to the rifles in their hands in terms of power.

In other words, even if the Black Templars really implemented their tactical ideas, the Ultramarines, as the surprise force, would definitely suffer heavy losses.

After realizing this, Sicarius did not stay any longer and immediately returned to the outpost along the same route. He personally used the communicator to contact the forward command post.

".In summary, this operation must be stopped." He said slowly and seriously. "The enemy cannot be without any preparation, not to mention that we are on the flank. If the tactics fail and the front line is breached, the front line will definitely be affected."

There were some hoarse voices coming from the other end of the communicator, and Pausanius and Ventress stared at Sicarius' face without blinking, trying to get an answer from him.

The latter did not disappoint them. After the hoarse sound subsided, the corners of his eyes began to twitch immediately.

"but--"

Sicarius frowned and tried to speak again, but the hoarse voice sounded again, so he closed his mouth and stopped talking.

After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and replied in a deep voice: "——I understand."

He put down the communicator.

"How is it?" Pasanius asked immediately.

"The command center still cannot contact the Black Templars. We cannot change the planned tactics without notifying them. Therefore, the surprise attack will continue."

Sicarius spoke clearly about the command post's thoughts, and a depressing atmosphere began to spread in the outpost.

After a long moment, Uriel Ventress gave a wry laugh.

"Then let's do this." The most rational of the three said, rubbing his brow. "But."

"But what?" Sicarius looked at him.

"I feel like the situation with the Black Templars isn't that simple."

"Go on."

Ventress sighed and pressed her hands to her temples.

His face was pale and covered in dust due to the recent heavy bleeding. He used to be a handsome young man, but now he was covered in blood. There were even ashes on his shoulders from his brother being vaporized by the enemy's weapon.

He closed his eyes, groaned, leaned back, slumped against the wall of the post and spoke slowly.

"They have always been known for their fanatical style, remember? But fanaticism does not mean stupidity. I don't believe that the tenacious descendants of Rogal Dorn would really choose to confront a group of elite Necrons at this time."

"Besides, we are clearly at the front line. Even we can contact the command post, so why can't they? Moreover, we haven't seen any of them until now. You know, they have been on the move for a full 20 minutes."

Ventress opened his eyes and posed his last question seriously.

"Where are they?"

Sicarius and Pasanius looked at each other.

Three minutes later, fully armed and wearing camouflage cloaks, they left the outpost from the other side of the cliff and returned to the dry and cracked land.

As soon as they landed, they began to run wildly, and their formation was extremely scattered. They did not form a wedge formation to move steadily. Now was not the time to talk about this. If the situation was really as Ventress speculated, then hundreds of people might die for every second they stayed up late.

They moved southwards, and the gathering point marked by the Black Templars when they set out was there. Twelve minutes later, they arrived at a dirt slope near the gathering point, and the sight they saw made the hearts of the three of them sink suddenly - Ventress's speculation was correct, the Black Templars were indeed attacked.

Hundreds of undead warriors holding huge battle blades were fighting with them. The ground was full of corpses.
"Pasanius." Sicarius immediately began to make tactical arrangements. "We need your long-range firepower."

Pasanius, with his messy blond hair, nodded silently and lay down on the edge of the slope.

Ventress walked up behind him and pulled out a huge metal beast from a weapons box on his back that was half his height, then took out many parts and installed them.

In just a few seconds, a sniper rifle with a large caliber and a bit scary was handed to Pausanius, and Ventress even checked whether the cloak completely covered the edge of the armor for him.
"Remember to hit it right, big guy."

Ventress said half-jokingly, and he got an unusually serious nod from the 'big guy' he called. Sicarius was not idle either, he squatted down and took out the communicator, intending to contact the forward command post directly, but found that the enhanced and improved instrument still did not work.

With no other options, he could only hand it to Ventress, signaling the latter to stay away from the battlefield and report the news.

"What about you?" Ventress asked, reaching for the communicator.

Sicarius didn't answer, but simply pulled out a power sword he had obtained from the outpost.

The bright blue light illuminated his face, and also highlighted his eye sockets that had sunken a few hours after the battle began. Those eyes seemed like a pair of glass beads stuck in gray-white stones, glowing with turbid light.

“Answer me, Sicarius,” Ventress urged gently.

"They need backup. Look over there."

Sicarius raised his hand and pointed to the center of the battlefield. At this distance, without the help of eyepieces, the remaining two people could clearly see what he wanted to point out with their naked eyes - the Black Templar's Marshal Alexito was fighting a particularly large undead.

The latter's body was specialized, with two legs turned into four legs, like a knight riding a metal horse. The battle between them was extremely fierce. Just during the short observation, the blade in the hand of the undead broke through the defense of the giant sword in the hand of the marshal three times, and he was just one step away from cutting off his head.

"You're crazy." Ventress said coldly, looking away. "Let alone how you're going to reach them, even if you can get close, this level of battle is not something you can intervene in. We're just fucking recruits, Sicarius!"

"You are, I am not."

"Oh? Really?" Ventress stepped forward and said in a low, stern voice. "You have only served for eleven years. According to statistics within the Chapter, battle brothers who have served for less than half a century still have many deficiencies in combat experience and mentality, and can hardly be considered truly reliable combat forces."

Sicarius shook his head and spoke softly.

"You have been asking me why Captain Ideos appointed me as his lieutenant in advance, right? Now, I will tell you the answer - because I have fought a war that neither of you dare to imagine."

He raised his right hand. Ventress and Pasanius both knew what was covered under the indigo metal.

"This prosthetic arm is a gift from the war, but it's just one of many things I got."

In front of the two of them, Sicarius dodged and used a stealth technique he learned from the Raven Guard Serral without any evasion, and left the place in the blink of an eye.

Ventress was stunned, but he reacted quickly and it took him only a second to realize what Sicarius was up to.

A burst of real anger appeared on his pale face, but he suppressed this sudden rage and forced himself to step back and carry out Sicarius's order.

"Hit the target!" Before leaving, he still reminded his brother, but his tone was very gloomy.

"I know," Pasanius Lessani replied in a low voice.

He lowered his head and observed the battlefield through a sniper scope.

In a world divided into simple black and white colors, all the Necrons were automatically marked with pure scarlet, which was very dazzling, but it was commonplace for him. Soon, he placed the cold crosshairs on the head of the Necron that was fighting with Marshal Alexito.

He can shoot at any time, and the specially-powered gun in his arms will definitely not let him down.
In fact, it's even a little unfair to call it a gun. Judging from its caliber alone, it's more like a cannon.

It is one of the works of the Konor Forge World, specially supplied to the Astartes armed forces in the Ultramarine. It has a variety of uses. In addition to beheading extremely powerful enemies, it can also be used to block armored units.

In other words, Pasanius didn't believe that the gun couldn't pierce the undead's head.

But, just in case
He removed the magazine and quickly replaced the normal ammunition designed for flesh and blood with armor-piercing explosive shells. After doing this, the world within the sniper scope changed at the same moment as if to conform to his actions.

A sudden power sword came from behind the tall undead and slashed at its hands. This attack should not have been noticed, but the alien was obviously very experienced in combat. It turned around and used its armor to block the attack.
It was at this moment that Sicarius' figure was completely exposed in the ground formation.

Pasanius held his breath, moved the muzzle of the gun gently, and then pulled the trigger without hesitation.

"boom--!"

A violent gust of wind burst out along with the flicker of flames at the muzzle of the gun. The gunfire was only a flash, but the wind blew Pasanius away from the slope.

The camouflage cape was blown up and down, and his golden hair danced wildly in it. He didn't dare to stay, and immediately left the place with his gun in hand, without even observing the results of the battle - the facts proved that his choice was correct.

In the third second of his retreat, a volley of fire from the Undead destroyed the earthen slope where he had been staying, but Pausanius still could not look back. He had to keep running until he reached another commanding height, then he re-set up his gun and observed the battlefield.

In the world of black and white, he saw Cato Sicarius fighting a desperate battle with the undead.

He immediately pulled the bolt and loaded a new bullet into the chamber.
-
"Despicable!" The undead roared angrily. "Ambush, sniping, what else have you not done to me, you despicable little bug? Look at the warrior behind you, he chose to face me upright, you should do the same!"

Sicarius did not respond to the other party's provocation. His current energy only supported him to do one thing - to dodge in a miserable manner.

The huge sword had already brushed past his body more than ten times, and the heavy horse hoof had even kicked him away once.
It's not that Sicarius didn't think about using the power sword to engage in a sword fight with the opponent, but his strength was completely no match for this monster. It only needed to press down with both hands, and he had to withdraw his sword and retreat, otherwise he would be cut in two by the blade that pressed down on him.

However, this is the result of it being severely damaged.

The bullet from Pasanius shattered its helmet and destroyed half of its head. Its lower jaw, the right half of its face, its right eye, and the back of its head either disappeared or turned into a pool of twisted rotten iron, hanging on its head and swaying in the wind.

For a normal creature, this kind of injury would be serious, if not fatal, but this undead acted as if it had only been stabbed by a sword.

With its actions, it proudly announced to everyone: Yes, I am indeed injured, but I can still fight.
What a monster!

Sicarius cursed inwardly, and once again took two steps forward in a panic. He rolled over to avoid the blade's stab, then immediately stepped back, avoiding its subsequent slash with difficulty.

At the same time, a low and weak voice came from behind him: "Get out of here, Extreme Warrior, let me deal with it"

"what!"

The undead laughed loudly and swung his sword again, using a powerful horizontal chop to force Sicarius to completely leave the battle circle. Then he raised his sword seriously to the Black Templar Marshal who said this and nodded slowly.

"Look, a true warrior!" It praised him without reservation, its voice was excited and sincere. "Then come, Alexito, I, Osuntefe the Cruel, will be honored to take your life and witness your glory!"

The marshal slowly stood up.

He was not wearing a helmet, and the iron halo behind his head was broken. His armor was covered with sword marks and bleeding in many places. One of the most dangerous ones spread from his left shoulder to his waist and abdomen. It was so deep that the bone was visible. Blood kept flowing from the inside to the outside and there was no way to stop the bleeding.

After Sicarius intervened for only a short while, blood gathered into a pool under him.

But he still stood there, even pulling his sword out of the mud with one hand and then carrying it on his shoulder.

He took a deep breath, and the sound was as loud as a bull running, and Sicarius heard it clearly. He was startled, and instinctively realized that the marshal was going to fight to the death, but he was powerless to stop it.
The undead's horizontal chop turned into a slap at the last moment and landed on his chest. The huge impact force made him spit blood before he hit the ground. Now he felt that his internal organs were constantly shaking.

Not to mention stopping it, he couldn't even speak now.

He could only watch Marshal Alexito leave the spot.

He walked slowly but steadily. He stepped into the attack range of the undead, used one hand to knock the giant sword off his shoulder, and then lifted it up with both hands.
"Come." said the Marshal of the Black Templar, with a sinister fire burning in his blood-soaked eyes.

"Okay!" The undead laughed loudly, and rushed towards him with all four hooves, with the hideous-shaped blade raised high.

One thousandth of a second later, when the giant sword was about to collide with the battle blade, a bullet came from a distance.

(End of this chapter)