“Fire!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Fifteen streams of lights sprang high up into the sky under Qing Shui’s command. Along with the deafening thuds, the bombs began to descend at the area that Chang had pinpointed on the map.
The bombs accelerated and descended one by one, their fire tails illuminating the fog before drowning in the horizon. Chang absently stared at the vanishing fire tails from behind the special respirator that covered his face—they called it an anti-bacteria respirator now. He hunkered down, Jing wrapped in his arms.
The red fog disguised what was was happening that far away, so he could only imagine the aftermath on the banks of the Yellow River.
Without a doubt, the human soldiers would die in pain one by one. No one could stand against the hypermutable bacteria that was made under Qing Shui’s hands. He only wondered what was the last thing they would think of during their last breath.
