Devil Slave (Satan system)

Chapter 678 Our Escape

Blood bathed the earth in all directions from Perseus's empty neck.

It gushed and poured out of his neck like a volcano letting lose its content. The body, now empty of a neck staggard a bit to the left and right, but before it could even fall, two other creatures, one aiming for his legs and the other for his upper body dived on him together, finishing the process.

Perseus's body was ripped into little pieces.

"NO!" father Black screamed in annoyance as he immediately gave one of the dogs that he commanded an order to self destroy.

*BOOM!*

Everything in that area went up in smoke. As limbs and guts of the undead creatures scattered everywhere.

The battle raged on relentlessly, a desperate struggle for survival against the seemingly endless undead horde.

The loss of Perseus, a valiant fighter, at the hands of the enemy only fueled the determination of the remaining defenders. They fought with a mix of rage, sorrow, and an unyielding resolve to protect their home.

Insect-B and Crusher stood side by side, a formidable pair against the onslaught. Crusher, with his mighty hammer, was a force of nature on the battlefield.

Each swing of his weapon sent undead skulls shattering into pieces, his strength a vital asset in the fight. When the situation called for it, he unleashed his darkline magic, sending blasts of dark energy that tore through the ranks of the undead, creating pockets of respite for the beleaguered defenders.

Insect-B, with the strength derived from Lenny's blood and her own formidable abilities, was a whirlwind of destruction. Her bare hands were deadly weapons, her strength and speed allowing her to tear through the undead with ease. The wings on her back, sharp as blades, sliced through anything that came too close, her every move a dance of death for her foes.

Together, they carved a path through the undead, a team whose combined might brought hope to their fellow fighters. But in battle, even the strongest warriors can find themselves caught off guard.

A giant worm, an abomination of the undead army, emerged from the chaos. Its size was monstrous, capable of swallowing a bus whole. Its wide mouth, lined with uneven, long spikes that seemed to reach down its throat, was a gaping maw of death. With a sudden, unexpected lunge, it sprang at Insect-B and Crusher.

The pair, caught by surprise by the sheer speed and size of the creature, had no time to react. The giant worm engulfed them in one fell swoop, its body closing around them with a horrifying finality. The sounds that followed were chilling – the crunching and crushing of bone and armor, and Crusher's screams of agony. The noises were a gruesome testament to the brutal nature of the battle and the peril each defender faced.

The other fighters, witnessing the horrifying scene, felt a surge of fear and anger. The loss of Insect-B and Crusher, two of their strongest, was a blow that shook their resolve. But even in the face of such despair, they knew they couldn't give up. They fought on, their weapons and spells a testament to their refusal to let their home fall to the undead.

As the battle continued, the air filled with the sounds of combat, the cries of the wounded, and the unceasing advance of the undead. It was a fight for their lives, their home, and everything they held dear.

And even as they faced overwhelming odds, the defenders of Glenn's territory fought on, their spirits unbroken, their will to survive as strong as ever.

Elder Isaiah, a figure of authority and wisdom within the werewolf community, watched the chaos unfold with a heavy heart. He knew it was time to call upon his kin, the werewolves, known for their strength, agility, and most importantly, their teamwork. He looked to his Alpha, Victor and Victor understanding what he meant, nodded. With a deep, commanding howl to the sky, Victor rallied the werewolves to the fight.

The werewolves, responding to Elder Isaiah's call, leapt into action. They were impressive creatures, each one a formidable fighter on their own, but their true power lay in how they fought as a pack. They moved with a coordinated grace, each one watching the other's back, a seamless unit of fangs and claws. Their strategy was to circle the undead, take them down with swift, precise attacks, and move as one fluid entity.

However, the reality of the battle quickly dampened their initial rush. The undead, relentless and seemingly impervious to fear or pain, were a different kind of enemy. The werewolves' strength in unity, which had always been their greatest asset, seemed almost futile against the overwhelming numbers and the unyielding advance of the undead. Many werewolves fell before they could even realize what hit them, their howls of pain and rage a somber melody amidst the chaos.

Father Black, witnessing the valiant but struggling efforts of the werewolves, felt a pang of despair. The battle was turning into a massacre, and he could see the futility of continuing the fight. But he wasn't a man to give up easily. He had always known that in a situation as dire as this, a backup plan was not just an option, but a necessity.

His foresight had led to the creation of portals, gateways to a safer plane, prepared by the werewolves who possessed the knowledge and magic to create them.

These portals were their escape route, a chance for survival in the face of certain doom. As the battle raged, Father Black gave the signal, and the portals were activated, their swirling energy a beacon of hope.

Simultaneously, helicopters and other flying vehicles were readied, offering another means of escape for those who could reach them. The air was filled with the sound of their engines, a promise of safety for those who could make it aboard.

The civilians, caught between the terror of the undead and the prospect of escape, rushed towards the portals and the waiting vehicles. It was a desperate, chaotic scramble for survival. Families clutched each other's hands, trying not to be separated in the turmoil. The wounded were helped or carried by those still strong enough to assist them.

Father Black, overseeing the evacuation, directed the flow of people, his voice a steady command amidst the pandemonium. He knew not everyone would make it, but every life saved was a victory against the darkness.

As the citizens of Glenn's territory made their escape, the air was filled with a mixture of relief and mourning. Relief for those who had found safety, and mourning for the home and the lives they left behind.

The battle against the undead continued, the defenders fighting to hold them back long enough for as many as possible to escape.

The territory, once a place of refuge and community, was now a battlefield, a site of loss and desperation. But even in the darkest of times, there was still hope, still a chance for a future, as long as they kept fighting, kept moving towards the light.

(Author's note: Wow, without Lenny, the hardwork is falling apart and it is falling apart fast)