You leap out in front of the others, immediately taking three direct shots to the chest that would have killed a mortal on the spot. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as your body mends the wounds in a matter of seconds. It's been decades since you've felt this powerful. Perhaps Corliss was right to send you out on the hunt with Qui and the others. Is this what she wanted you to remember?
You're marginally aware of Lucca dashing off in the opposite direction, charging the sentries on the east end of the factory while you concentrate on clearing out the west. Chunks of burning-hot metal score your face, neck, and limbs, but you barely feel the impact thanks to your supernatural gifts. The feeling of bullets ripping through your undead flesh and tearing a ragged hole out the other side one after the other is a curious one, not unlike the sensation of being lightly tugged backward by a rope tied around your chest. The sentries—less than a dozen feet ahead now—begin to panic, and you realize with relief that they aren't vampires at all. They're mortals! Your job just got a lot easier. You laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Who would have thought you'd feel so alive charging a firing squad single-handedly?
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