The short spear was dazzling, and some kind of magic that Bishop Monroe didn't know much about was attached to it.

He guessed that the head, which was the former city lord of Pompedekar, had imposed mysterious magic on it. Magic, and a suffocating fear flashed through his mind. Everything around this, the terrifying end of the world, the dead, the roaring demons, and the golden eyes were all masterpieces of magic. At this moment, he longed to stay in the desert of magic and the city-state of thousands of lakes, rather than being in the sea of ​​hungry and thirsty sand in the hustle and bustle of evil magic. Here is like an old magic monster, devouring everyone's life to bury him.

Bishop Monroe saw his former subordinate, the now demon priest, wearing dark red horny scales, with a monster with big eyes erected. A silver light in the other party's eyes magnified rapidly. There was obvious fear in the priest's eyes and face, and there was no other emotion, only the purest fear and despair. An infinite pleasure suddenly arose in his heart. Taste it, and you can also taste my pain! He shouted in his heart, holding up his short spear.

A silver arc flashed by - he didn't like the cold light, but the silver light was always more red blood than the gloomy dark gold - a string of foul blood splashed out and flew into the sky, like tiny rubies against the back of the sky fire. The priest covered his throat in disbelief and fell down on his back. Monroe licked the corner of his mouth, rotten, sticky, disgusting.

Bishop Monroe held the increasingly brilliant short spear tightly, and the words of the head echoed in his ears: "You will use it." He said. It seemed that he had expected this long ago. However, no matter how he knew it, he did not know why the city lord with prophecy had fallen into such a situation and whether he had predicted his ending. He is extremely grateful to the other party now. I will mourn you after death. He silently swears, a grand and grand mourning. Now is the beginning.

Another pastor rushed straight towards the bishop in anger. His sharp fingertips opened and closed the crab mouth and hated eyes. Monroe was stunned for a moment. He was at a loss, and he was at a loss, not sure whether he should avoid or attack. His cowardly instinct made him escape. His claws tear open his clothes, shattered the bishop's robe, revealing his belly that was hanging down and shattered. A wound passed through his waist, and blood gushed out. But he almost felt no pain. It must be the fat on his body that saved his life. He thought in a mess and stumbled up.

The priest screamed and rushed over again. Several other priests were busy maintaining their spells, communicating and praying with the so-called gods. Monroe was glad that the fanatical believers were ignored. This time, Monroe easily avoided the priest's attack. This guy went back and forth and again and only knew this move. It seemed that the demon was a fool, no different from a beast. He thought of this and felt sure in his heart. When the other party rushed and grabbed him again, he hid to the left, and

The short spear was handed out straight. The priest watched him hit the tip of the spear. He hung on the other end of the spear like a pagan nailed by a spear. The priest held the spear with both hands and gasped in pain. A bright red spread out from his back, and blood gushed out of the wound on the front. Monroe was furious and stabbed in again. This time, the priest stopped screaming. His big eyes dimmed and his hands drooped.

Beautiful job. He said to himself, you haven't forgotten how to kill the enemy.

"Take others with the tip." The mercenary when he was young said to him. He found that he had never forgotten it.

Admittedly, he was old and became cowardly and incompetent, but his short spear was sharper than any weapon he had ever seen. It could take his life, which was enough. So he rushed towards another priest.

Two. He ran over the dead pastor's body, thinking to himself that he was enough.

Monroe found that the guilt and self-blame in his heart were retreating like a tide. A sense of relief filled his whole body, and he felt like he was about to fly. As recorded in ancient books left by the Miracle Age, the refreshing and joyful feeling of ascension to the Kingdom of God made him no longer afraid. In front of him, the pastors stopped praying and turned to him.

However, even if you die, you will have no regrets.

The bishop jumped up, his posture was ugly and ridiculous, but his short spear in his hand was invincible.

A clumsy battle was played out among them. The priest's fighting skills were even more unbearable than the lowest demons. They could only chirp, chew, and claw. One priest rushed towards him, followed by another, and then all nine priests rushed over. Monroe immediately realized that his chances were rapidly decreasing.

Faster, faster, he circled around the magic circle under his feet, trying to distance himself from the priest. However, his body was round and rolling, like a ball of flesh. The fat on his body was shaking up and down at every step, dragging down his actions. But the bishop obviously had no time and opportunity to hate his past pleasure. Quickly pick one, kill one and count the other. He kept telling himself, and then accept his death.

A pastor is right in front of him. It is you. He said in his heart.

He pounced over, despite his poor movements.

The priest's claws pierced, and his body instinctively tried to retreat...

"What is a warrior?" asked the mercenary.

He didn't know how to answer when he was young.

"I heard it clearly." The mercenary hit the ground with wooden strips, making a terrible sound. He said to the group of children in front of him, "The warrior is fearless of death. Even if the enemy's sharp blade is slashing at you, you must have the courage to meet it. Change one knife to another, and he will hurt you, and you kill him. The wound will always heal, but it will not be reborn if you die. The living warrior is the real warrior."

One knife is replaced by another.

One life exchanges another life.

The pleasure of liberation drove him. Monroe greeted him, blocked his left arm in front of him, held his short spear tightly in his right hand, and rushed towards the priest with a low roar. The big eyes were filled with fear, and urged Monroe wildly, and he was fearless.

"The retreating person is destined to die first." The mercenary's words rang again.

The longing for young people, the wishes of childhood... Monroe thought he had forgotten them all. It turned out that they were not thrown away, but were hidden in the deepest part of his memory. When he needed help the most, when he knew that he was about to die, they appeared again, and were extremely clear. He regretted it. If I had left with the mercenary, what would it be like now? Maybe every day is the battle between life and death, just like now...

"The retreating person is destined to die first." Monroe repeated the mercenary's words and shouted loudly.

The priest was frightened by his might, and his claws paused, and he still grabbed a deep bone-visible claw mark on Monroe's arm. The muscles rolled up, and blood was dripping. Monroe endured the pain and roared and stabbed the short spear out. The silver light pierced the priest's chest like a meteor. He knew that he must have not hurt the other party's vital points. So he pulled it out and stabbed it again and again, until the priest fell to the ground. The blood spread into a puddle.

He gasped, and the third one, the rest of the priests surrounded him.

The bishop waved his short spear, but it was useless. The battle fell into chaos. He felt that he was enemies in front, back and left and right. He was at a loss and didn't know how to wave his short spear.

The claws scratched his back, shoulders, and a palm-long wound on his chest almost broke his stomach. The pain made him crazy, and the depression and irritability in his heart dominated his consciousness. He recognized another pastor and rushed towards the other party desperately. The claws stabbed, but there was only the other party's throat in his eyes.

Fourth, his chest was hit hard again, and he vomited blood; fifth, there was no good piece of flesh on his body, and half of his face was scratched. But he still shaking and did not fall down. The short spear in his hand, which had previously killed so many innocent lives, was gaze full of hatred by evil spirits - it was no longer cold at this time, and some kind of power was injected into his body, and he felt inexplicable motivation from it. However, just as he was trying to find another opportunity to fight for his life, he heard the incomprehensible language, the ups and downs and downs. Magic! He suddenly realized.

Then an invisible pressure pressed towards him instantly, tightly bound him, as if a big hand held him hard. His chest was squeezed and deformed, and blood gushed out of the wound. Suffocation made his head heavy and dull, and his hand could no longer hold the short spear and let it land on the ground.

He used to be afraid of death, but unexpectedly, when death was close at this moment, he felt extremely quiet. "I hate your eyes." He plucked up all his strength and spit out a mouthful of saliva.

Just as the sound around him gradually weakened and his eyes were getting darker, another unique voice sounded, which gave him a last bit of struggle. He felt the magical clamping suddenly relax, so he opened his heavy eyelids and turned his neck hard and looked in the direction of the sound. Then he saw the purified light as the head said.

☆

The demons were finally killed. They fell to the ground and twitched, leaving only the stomachs and internal organs full of the ground with fishy anger. Crows, vultures and flies must have loved this place to death.

A demon saw them from afar and screamed and fled, causing a group of chaos. It seemed that they were the unarmed civilians, while Leo and the others were the unyielding devils, enjoying killing.

"They must be calling Mommy." Rosie sarcastically, but she couldn't even raise the interest of a light arrow.

Bypassing the corner, the high platform on the square is right in front of you.

"Who is he?" They saw the fat body dodging the priest's slow attack in a ridiculous and sloppy manner. The two sides of the fight were more like children fighting each other, like young wolves gnawing at each other's ears and combing their hair. Although, despite... except their weapons are particularly dangerous.

"Who is he?" Rosie repeated the previous question from the Knight. "There are actually living people here."

"He is the bishop." Leo told him, and was also confused. "But why is he still a human, not a demon? He presided over the ceremony." He should have become more like a high-level demon.

"But why did they fight by themselves?"

The fat, stumbled bishop was facing the claws like a warrior. To them, he looked like a mysterious, fox-like power, and more like an octopus demon priest. They could all avoid the claws of the other party in various easy ways. But for a fat man who had more fat than muscles, all of them were as difficult as climbing to the sky. He rushed up and exchanged his life for injuries. Leo admitted that he felt some blood boiling, not about emotions, but only out of his desire for battle.

"I don't know why they fought. I don't know what happened among them," said Leo, "but the enemy is always friends. No matter what the reason causes them to have internal conflicts, you will know as long as you save the fat man. Hurry up!"

One, two, three, four... and eight more...

Li Oumo counted. Another one died. There were seven more.

Nearly half of the thirteen priests had died, and the evil curse he was worried about would no longer exist. However, the bishop was already shaking and covered in wounds.

"He can't hold on for long. Hurry!" He urged again.

Then, Leo heard Monroe Celte roar like an explosion. He raised his head and saw the other party identifying a priest and rushing straight over. The other priests' claws grabbed him fiercely, tearing off one piece of skin and muscles after another. Monroe Celte did not stop him. He struggled hard in the fishing net of his claws. His fat hand grabbed a priest's neck and grabbed him tightly. The short spear of his right hand stabbed into the other party's abdomen. Three consecutive strokes, Leo only felt relieved.

No one will ever laugh at him for his obesity. “He is a real warrior,” said Knight Tario. “No matter what he has done before, he is worthy of the title of warrior.”

"Look at his weapons." The bachelor's lady pointed out sharply, "that short spear."

The short spear in the bishop's hand flashed with dazzling silver light, dazzling, and even made the demon priests dare not approach. Leo could feel the power of some magic that penetrated into the bishop's body, rejuvenating his vitality and vitality.

"An evil spell." Rosie said, "I can feel it. It stimulates potential and consumes life. Every minute of fighting, his body will grow old for ten years." A foul and dark magic. "But it's just right here."

"That short spear belongs to the temple." The desert warrior suddenly said, "It used to be. It has the symbol of the black sun."

"What happened later?"

"It was given to the lord."

There is no doubt that this is another good thing for the head! Even though he becomes that way, he can exert his own influence. "That thing must have been passive." Rosie said. Leo would think that what he did to that head was too humane.

The bishop should have turned into a combat machine that was not afraid of pain, but a whispering whisper broke his transformation.

"Magic!" Rosie shouted.

The invisible force bound Monroe Celte and squeezed rudely. Li Ou clearly heard the sound of the other party's ribs breaking, and saw blood gushing out of the bishop's body like raindrops, spilling down from the platform. He was almost dead.

They jumped onto the platform. The priests turned their heads—two stopped waiting for Monroe Celte, rushed towards them, the other maintained the spell, and three other guys began to chant spells and prayers in a low voice.

There were six more. Leo told them, "One person."

He found the priest who cast the binding spell and jumped up the stone steps in three steps. One priest tried to stop him, but was blocked by the crow man with an axe. The fierce cold light cut off the priest's hands. The priest shouted shrillly and rolled on the ground. The other priests pointed the magic tricks exchanged for prayer at Leo. However, several light arrows whizzing past Leo's ear accurately hit them and interrupted their spell.

A light arrow was inserted into the chest of a priest, burning his flesh and blood. Lu Yuewu, who followed Li Ou, immediately rushed over and sealed his throat with a sword, neatly. The axe of the desert warrior hit the throat of another priest at the same time as the light arrow, cutting off the other party's head. Only half of the body with the neck stood there, sprinkling hot and smelly blood like a fountain.

It was a beautiful job, and Leo couldn't help but applaud them.

The priest who tortured Monroe Celte was stunned. He stopped the spell and looked at the approaching Leo at a loss. "Hey, do you miss me?" Leo jumped on the last step, leaving only one priest. "I am the white devil, the mortal enemy of the demon." He waved his sword, and the runes shone brightly, like the stars at night. The priest stared at him in horror, retreated repeatedly, and spoke a series of fast words in his mouth. Leo was sure that it was not

It was a spell. "Sorry, I don't understand your devil words." He said, the blade jumped and flashed. He took a step forward, two steps, and then suddenly swung the sword. "But I want to say, my sword must want to kiss your head." The priest's head split into two and fell softly to the ground. Then Leo stepped forward and nailed the sword into the big hungry golden eyes that he refused to close. "I hate your eyes."

A slight laugh came from his feet. "I hate it too." The other party said weakly.

☆

Monroe was lying on the ground, his body was completely unconscious. He had used all his strength to say that just now. However, at this moment, his heart was peaceful. The wronged souls that had tortured him were now laughing in his ears like elves. All the self-blame and guilt turned into passing clouds and smoke, turning into a relief full of pleasure.

I did it. He thought with relief that I will come to see you soon, my friends. He felt that the white devil was trying to save him. But he could no longer use it. He wanted to say sorry to them and say thank you.

However, when he barely opened his eyes, he found that the sky above his head was gradually dissipating, the meteors no longer fell, and a golden door to the kingdom of gods slowly opened in the sky. Petals fluttered, and fairy music came. Is this my illusion? He couldn't believe it. But after a moment, the Tianma with colorful wings appeared in front of him, and the one riding on the Tianma without horses was the envoy of the gods he had worshipped and believed in before, and he had wiped the statue for him.

At the last moment when Monroe's eyes were all darkened, he saw the exploding gate of the Kingdom of God, and a cold and ruthless huge inverted golden eyes.
Chapter completed!