Chapter 187
Fudler's hand holding the knife was shaking.
Huffing and puffing, the air filled with the scent of sweat and blood, the thunderous sounds of battle reverberated in his ears. His vision blurred with blood, he could no longer make out the scenes around him.
Is this what Hell is like?
He asked himself. Yet, there was no one to provide an answer.
He brandished his knife, not knowing if his attackers were enemies or fellow comrades.
There weren't many enemies left around him, just the brethren trying to escape this infernal battleground. The road was blocked. The people in front couldn't advance, and more and more were surging from behind, cutting off the path for those yet to come.
So, everyone has become an enemy.
Therefore, kill.
He tightly grasped his knife, swinging it anxiously before gripping it and swinging again. It was a repetitive process as if performed by an unrefined machine or a beast.
Clang!
