"A monster—"
His throat, being locked by a steel hand, screeched in fear. Petrov reflexively pressed the trigger and the automatic rifle around his waist fired against the power armor. However, the bullets only left a series of crisp sounds. Only a layer of paint on the surface was scraped off.
Through the holographic mirror, Jiang Chen looked at him coldly. He used slightly more force on his right hand and then heard the cervical vertebrae crack. Petrov rolled his eyes and relaxed his muscles. He couldn't be more dead.
The dust had dispersed, and more than a dozen armed men hid behind the bunker and began to fire back.
Jiang Chen released his minigun without hesitation and began to cleanse the battlefield bombarded with tungsten rods. The firepower turned the concrete and wood into fragments and the return fire of the special forces instantly disappeared.
