Metal Slug Soldiers นิยาย & เรื่องราว

members used the counters as cover, firing precisely to temporarily hold off the first wave of attacks. But the “puppet” soldiers felt no pain; they charged forward, the silver “Silver Core” bullets tearing through Marcus and his men’s cover. “Damn it! These monsters!” Marcus roared, his arm grazing from a stray bullet, bleeding profusely. On the second floor of the mall, in the children’s clothing section. Jack lurked like a ghost in the darkness. He could smell the distinctive stench of the “puppet” soldiers, a mixture of preservatives and blood.

“I am still unable to locate the Systems Contoller.” The three guys cheered as they moved down to a bombard position over town. Their excitement went unchecked as they aimed their turrets at the lines all around the settlement’s defensive perimeter. Then, they began to rain down fire. Each gun flung hollow cylinders of tungsten carbide slugs at supersonic speeds down towards the ground. Worse, each one was highly charged with stabilized plasma. They fell to the ground like dark red balls of electric fire, but with smoky gray cores inside. The slugs slammed into the ground with devastating force, and waves of energy flung outwards, in every direction.

Some of them got down from their broomsticks and walked towards the soldiers but the profound soldiers slit their necks as soon as they crossed the round balls. Frustrated, the Dark Lord sent his soldiers towards the enemies. The Magna troop pulled out another weapon and threw it on the ground. This time it was a small metal knitted square piece. The pieces started expanding themselves and connected themselves with the other pieces around it. Soon a huge metal knitted blanket covered the battle ground. One of the enemy soldiers stepped on it gathering great courage. He smiled looking down as nothing happened. As he turned around to inform his fellow soldiers, he found his ankle being stuck o

no one could give him a plausible reply as they were all lost in their very own thought. one of the soldiers with a spear faced head straight with one of the creatures, we could tell it was a dark creature with a bull horn and a rocky skin, it eyes were bloody red and the fangs dripping some gluey fluid and its long finger-like claws very long and sharp, the soldier who was a werewolf decided to take his speed ability as an opportunity but was caught off guard by it, as he was the first soldier to die by those creatures hand. Marek and Kingu could no longer watch the manslaughter of the soldiers, they unsheathed their swords, ready to join in the fight with the rest of the stand-by soldiers.

Amy tried not to let the maniacal Joker-like laughter distract her. The woman soldier ignored the pain radiating through her punctured wrist. She had another trick up her sleeve, hoping her crazed laughter would distract Amy. The soldier almost captured Amy when she pulled out her Ruger SR9 semi-automatic pistol, aiming it at Amy. But the Death Row Infantry-woman forgot to reload her magazine, which meant her gun was empty. The soldier pulled the trigger, only to hear her gun respond with a click.

They are in their formal attires with good grooming, some with heavy make-ups on their faces. Clive had a low-profile. He wore a black suit with a matching striped necktie, combed his hair a little and wore his shiny-black shoes. Celeste, on the other hand, wore a navy blue, full-length, turtle neck, sleeveless gown fitted perfectly to her body curves, matched by a silver high-heeled pumps. Clive was astounded when he saw Celeste. She is a goddess sent from heaven. She wore light make-up, enough to show her dark-brown eyes with long-lashes and blushing cheeks.

Sir Tyler sounded the alarm, and his men did exactly what he told them. They stood firm, and as the slath soldiers got close, they threw themselves at their formation. The first few hundred fell on the spares of the Wahala soldiers and died. It was a good thing, but after a few did the same, the spears got heavy and broke, and while a few tried reaching for the sword, the slath soldiers took advantage of the weakness, slipping into the formation and cutting off the soldiers’ legs with their silver daggers. With the formation broken, Wahala soldiers had to face the slath.

Others were mid-shift, terrifying hybrids of man and beast, marching with a slow, disciplined lethality that we had planned for weeks. Sledge soldiers poured out of the side entrances, their black tactical gear sleek and modern. They levelled silver-charged rifles, but they weren't fast enough. The wolves on our flanks were blurred shadows, hitting them before they could even find their triggers. I watched a soldier’s throat get torn out before he could scream, his blood spraying hot against the glass walls of his own office. We kept the formation tight. We weren't just a mob; we were an army. We reached the central passage—the grand hallway that separated the outer administrative wings from