Chapter 1612 Chapter 1433: Slaughter

Chapter 1612 Chapter 1433: Slaughter

The hall reverberated with the chilling screams of the trio, their desperate cries swallowed whole by the inferno Alex had unleashed. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackling of dying embers and the steady drip of water from unseen crevices. Alex, his face a mask of grim determination, didn't allow himself a moment of respite. He knew this was merely the opening act of a far grander performance.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, he transformed the Wrath's sword back into its firearm form. As he aimed, the single gun in his hand shimmered and duplicated, becoming two.

A low growl rumbled from the depths of the hall. The silence had been a mere illusion. From the shadows emerged a tide of guards, hundreds strong. Unlike the first group, these warriors were a diverse lot, their various weapons glinting with a cold promise of violence. Swords, axes, and even the occasional staff, all wielded by individuals whose eyes burned with a fanatical gleam. Their levels, hovering around 110, indicated seasoned veterans, formidable opponents in their own right.

But Alex remained undeterred. A humorless smile played on his lips, a predator eyeing its prey. He raised both guns in unison, his finger tightening around the triggers.

Bang! Bangs!

A hail of special flame bullets erupted from the twin barrels, each one a miniature inferno leaving a trail of searing black fire in its wake.

The hall echoed with a thunderous symphony as the bullets met their targets. The front lines of the charging guards were instantly consumed by the inferno, their screams merging with the roar of the explosions in a macabre chorus.

A low, rhythmic hum filled the hall, emanating from the depths of the shadows. Alex narrowed his eyes, his senses on high alert. From the other side emerged another contingent, their movements a stark contrast to the previous rabble. These were the elite, clad in gleaming obsidian armor etched with intricate crimson runes, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly blue light. Their imposing stature and the aura of raw power they exuded left no doubt about their formidable nature. Level 160, the numbers pulsed faintly above their heads, confirming their status as seasoned veterans, hardened by countless battles. They are Saint realm Experts.

Before the elite guards could react, Alex unleashed one of his trump cards. With a flick of his wrist, a shimmering bubble of warped reality materialized around him – his Time Domain. The world within the bubble slowed to a crawl, the guards' movements sluggish and deliberate like marionettes controlled by an unseen hand. He, on the other hand, moved with preternatural speed, a whirlwind of motion within the distorted flow of time.

His twin guns roared, each shot a testament to his mastery over opposing elements.

Bang!

One bullet, imbued with the searing fury of a sun, melted through the elite guards' armor like butter, leaving behind gaping wounds. The other, infused with the biting chill of an arctic winter, encased them in an instant, transforming them into grotesque statues trapped in a frozen prison. The scene within the Time Domain was a macabre dance – Alex, a blur of controlled chaos, his guns spitting out elemental fury, while the elite guards, frozen in time, met their gruesome demise.

But even within his accelerated timeframe, the limitations of his ability gnawed at him. The Time Domain was a powerful tool, a strategic advantage, but it was also a draining one. Each passing second within the domain felt like an eternity, the strain on his mana was no joke. He knew he couldn't sustain it for long.

As the final elite guard shattered into a million glittering ice shards, Alex deactivated his domain with a ragged breath. The world lurched back to its normal pace, the echoes of gunfire and shattering ice filling the cavern. He stood panting, his body screaming in protest. The adrenaline that had fueled his actions ebbed away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. He had achieved a pyrrhic victory, eliminating a significant portion of the enemy force, but the cost was undeniable. In just a few minutes he had slaughtered more than two hundred men, thirty Saints. It was by no mean a small feet, so it was natural for him to be slightly exhausted.

The silence that followed was not one of peace but one of deadly stillness.