Death Guns In Another World

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.

Yet, the remaining guards pressed on, their resolve forged in the fires of unwavering loyalty. They knew the danger this lone figure posed, the potential for their entire operation to be derailed by his presence. But years of conditioning and indoctrination had instilled in them an unwavering obedience, a willingness to sacrifice themselves for the cause they blindly believed in.

In Alex's eyes, however, they were nothing more than obstacles, pawns on a grand chessboard whose lives held no intrinsic value. He was a force of nature, an unstoppable current carving a path through their ranks. As the smoke slowly cleared, revealing the carnage wrought by his attack, a chilling truth became undeniable. The hall floor was now a grim tapestry of charred flesh and shattered weapons, the acrid scent of death hanging heavy in the air.

But the path forward remained contested. The tide of guards, though thinned, had not been broken. Their unwavering loyalty and sheer numbers presented a formidable challenge.

Bang! Bang!

The slaughter continued.

A few minutes later.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a thick, cloying sweetness that clung to Alex like a second skin. He surveyed the scene of carnage with a detached indifference. The hall floor was a gruesome tapestry of charred flesh and shattered armor, the smoldering remnants of the once-proud guards now nothing more than silent testament to his power. Yet, amidst the devastation, a single thought flickered in his mind – a chilling premonition that this was merely the prelude to the true battle.

He had expected resistance, of course. This wasn't a casual stroll through a field of daisies. But the sheer number of guards, their unwavering loyalty, and now, the emergence of this elite force, spoke volumes about the lengths his adversaries were willing to go to in order to stop him. Something worth doing all of this must be hidden in the depth of the laboratory, the patient zero must be that valuable.

A muscle in his jaw clenched involuntarily. They underestimated him. They saw him as a lone wolf, a maverick to be easily dispatched. But they were about to learn a harsh lesson – he was a storm, a force of nature that wouldn't be easily quelled.

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. Novel Fire - novelfire.net

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.