Chapter 94: Reinforcements Arrive

At the residential area entrance, Wang Zhangzhi was shouting hoarsely while directing the defensive line.

More than ten special police officers formed a human wall, frantically dumping bullets at the tide-like surge of monsters with the most intense firepower.

Several flamethrowers spewed orange‑red fire dragons, plowing scorched black gullies through the monster horde; the air reeked of burnt plastic and the foul stench of denatured protein, making one nauseous.

But this steel line constructed from heavy firepower appeared so flimsy before the endless monsters.

Those fake persons feared no death.

They stepped on their fallen comrades, braving the hail of bullets and raging flames, wave after wave charging the defensive line.

The special ammo could tear their bodies and repel their movements.

But what oozed from their wounds was not blood, but writhing tentacles that could recombine in moments.

Flames could not burn them for long; they only temporarily slowed their movements.

Under the monsters' assault, the defensive line was already on the verge of collapse.

The helicopter carrying Jiang Yuan and Mo Shu soon landed on the open ground behind the defensive line.

Having survived the ordeal, Jiang Yuan and Mo Shu had no moment to rest; they jumped from the aircraft, gazed at the purgatory‑like scene before them, and their just‑calmed heartbeats went wild again.

Fear, anger, and a hint of post‑survival relief intertwined, ultimately boiling into a fervent fighting spirit.

Mo Shu ran to the nearby supply crate, flung open the lid, grabbed a few fresh magazines, and swapped them out in a flash.

The sweet dimples that usually graced her lovely face were gone; now only coldness remained.

"It's our turn to strike back."

Jiang Yuan said nothing, merely supplementing a brand‑new set of dark playing cards.

The two locked eyes.

Without a word, they had already read everything in each other's eyes.

They turned and, without hesitation, charged toward the crumbling defensive line, turning all fear and dread into bullets and blades aimed at the enemy.

The battle continued deep into the night.

It was a desperate war of attrition.

The special police's ammunition was being depleted rapidly, and their strength was nearing its limit.

The flamethrowers' fuel tanks were swapped out one after another, yet the number of monsters showed no sign of decreasing.

"Fall back! Fall back five meters! Re‑establish the line!"

Wang Zhangzhi's voice had already grown hoarse.

Forced to retreat repeatedly, the line shrank; everyone's eyes turned red as they mechanically repeated the cycle of shooting, reloading, and shooting again.

But a feeling named helplessness was spreading through everyone's hearts.

"We can't kill them all."

"We simply can't kill them all!"

"No."

"Or rather, we can't kill them!"

After a while.

Just as Wang Zhangzhi was about to order abandoning this last line and falling back to the main thoroughfare,

A heavier, more piercing engine roar split the night sky.

That sound was utterly unlike the transport helicopter Jiang Yuan and Mo Shu had just ridden; it carried a metallic, domineering pressure that tore through the air.

Everyone instinctively looked up.

In view was a pitch‑black armed helicopter, its shape brimming with harsh sci‑fi flair, appearing like a ghost silently over the battlefield.

It had no navigation lights on, perfectly blending into the night; were it not for that tremendous roar, no one would have noticed it.

The armed helicopter hovered suddenly about three meters above the ground, its powerful downdraft even knocking the monsters on the ground sideways.

"Shh—"

The hatch slid open to one side.

A figure leapt directly from the cabin without any protective gear.

Upon landing, he made no sound, as light as a feather.

The newcomer was tall and slender, clad in an extremely streamlined black combat suit that outlined his leopard‑like explosive physique.

Most striking was the long, rod‑shaped weapon wrapped in black cloth on his back.

He glanced at no one; the moment his feet touched the ground, his icy, sharp eyes locked onto the black sea of fake persons ahead.

On Wang Zhangzhi's weather‑worn, iron‑clad face, a hint of near‑mad relaxation appeared at that moment.

"Finally here!"

In the communications channel, the ghost who had silently been providing data support also rarely let out a breath.

That breath carried a sense of relief.

Merely the appearance of a single person instantly steadied the morale of the collapsing defensive line.

"Sister Mo Shu, who is this?"

Jiang Yuan gazed at the man's aloof back and asked in a low voice.

He could feel an indescribable powerful aura emanating from that man, even suppressing the fear brought by the monster tide opposite.

"He......"

In Mo Shu's eyes lay undisguised admiration and awe.

"He is Ouyang Feng, one of our Federal Weird Investigation Bureau's strongest individual combatants."

She spoke softly, yet her voice carried a sacred feeling.

"Captain Ouyang Feng once served as the Federation's top martial arts and cold‑weapons instructor, a true master of swordsmanship."

Legend has it that, during a test, he used only an unsharpened Tang sword to consecutively cut through twenty custom rubber bullets fired at him from various angles.

If we say that the ace of the Ninth Division who died in the line of duty, "Mad Dog" Mo Zixuan, was the king of the mercenary realm, the king of modern firearms.

Then Captain Ouyang Feng is the absolute emperor of the cold‑weapon realm!

When it comes to close‑quarters combat and cold weapons, even Mo Zixuan at his peak is no match for him.

In Mo Shu's narration.

The man named Ouyang Feng slowly raised his hand and untied the long strip wrapped in black cloth on his back.

The black cloth slipped off.

It revealed a Tang sword of simple design, yet exuding a murderous aura.

The scabbard was pure black, unadorned, but the golden pattern on the hilt radiated an indescribable nobility.

Ouyang Feng grasped the hilt and slowly drew it out.

Clang—

A clear, resonant blade sound.

It was a sword entirely black as ink, its blade slender and long, lines smooth and deadly.

Most bizarrely, the black blade was covered with spiderweb‑like ultra‑fine blood‑red markings.

Under the helicopter's searchlight, those markings flickered in and out of view, giving the illusion that they were breathing slowly.

Ouyang Feng's fingers lightly brushed the cold blade, and in a voice only he could hear, he whispered:

"'Death Dragon,' are you hungry?"

"Rest assured, you'll be filled soon."

He turned and looked at Wang Zhangzhi.

"Open a path for me."

"Thank you."

His voice was not loud, even a bit flat, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Wang Zhangzhi nodded solemnly, without any hesitation, and immediately issued the highest command through his earpiece.

"All units, attention! Focus fire straight ahead! Tear open a gap for me!!"

"Open fire!!!"

In the next second, all muzzles, including the heavy machine guns mounted on the helicopter, aimed at the same coordinates!

Rat‑a‑tat‑tat‑tat!

Bang bang bang bang bang!

The dense metallic storm instantly ripped a narrow gap about three meters wide and ten meters long through the oppressive sea of black monsters!

The Fake Persons within the gap were instantly shredded into a sieve, tumbling in all directions!

A moment later.

As the firepower ceased.

Ouyang Feng moved.

Without any hesitation, he, wielding the vicious blade named "Death Dragon," stepped into the death corridor carved by the hail of bullets.

He walked slowly, steadily.

Strolling at ease.

And in the very next second after he stepped into the gap,

the Fake Person monsters on either side, like sharks that have smelled blood, surged wildly toward the middle!

It was only an instant.

The gap that had just been torn open was instantly filled completely by countless writhing flesh and tentacles.

Ouyang Feng's figure was completely engulfed by that nauseating sea of monsters.

Everyone stared dumbfounded at the scene, forcefully swallowing a mouthful of saliva.