Mysteries: Arcana Wars

Why! There are missiles!

The shockwave and violent impact of the explosion once again interrupted Fors's thoughts.

What a strange development!

Because the stranger named Gehrman protected her, Fors was not hurt too much, but she felt pain all over because of the close contact with the floor.

If it were a TV show, this would definitely be a very ambiguous scene, but unfortunately this was reality. Fors felt that she was going to die, and that the disobedient weirdo opposite her was probably a lunatic.

The power of the micro-missile was not very strong, and it only blasted the entrance of Fors's apartment into ruins, and the house next door was not greatly affected. However, after the wall of the gate was blasted, thick smoke immediately filled the entire corridor.

No way, this is just a smoke bomb!

Before Fors could react, she felt an irresistible force. She was picked up from the ground by the waist like a sack, thrown emotionlessly in the air, and landed on someone's shoulder.

“Wait… wait… ah!!”

Several fierce gunshots interrupted Fors's shouting. Fires lit up from the smoke, and several fully armed terrorists rushed out of the smoke, advancing towards Fors and the others with whistling submachine guns.

Compared to Fors's panic, the man named Hermann was not affected by this absurd development at all. He ran nimbly in the hail of bullets, then turned around and quickly killed two gangsters with a few bullets. The heavy sack on his shoulder seemed non-existent to him. As for how evenly the brain mixture in the sack was thrown, it had nothing to do with how he shot several gangsters with one shot.

Then, a scene that Fors could not understand happened. The remaining assault bandits seemed to be suddenly moved by our dire situation. In the blink of an eye, they turned their guns and rushed into the depths of the smoke, and inexplicably began to exchange fire with their companions. After a series of screams and gunshots, the corridor fell strangely silent.

Fors was about to ask a question, but Hermann, who was carrying him on his back, turned around and ran away without saying a word.

“…You…what on earth are you going to do?!”

Hermann did not answer, but rushed into the fog in silence.

The teacher who raised me once said that poets are liars. We use fictional stories and emotions to deceive readers, making them believe in the existence of some kind of spirit, so that both parties can gain real emotions.

But Fors felt that no matter how great and romantic a poet was, he could never write about the absurd experience he was experiencing now.

Hermann carried Fors down the stairs of the apartment and soon walked out of the choking fog. Before he reached the bottom floor, Hermann walked out of the stairwell, ran to the corridor, jumped over the handrail, and then flipped down from the fourth floor.

"Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!"

The two men successfully jumped off the building amid Fors' screams, and after landing safely, they continued to flee in the city. Fors opened her eyes when she realized that she had not turned into a meat pie, and saw more gangsters rushing out of her apartment building. Apparently, Gehrman's jump disrupted their rhythm, and even after turning again, he was already one step slower than her.

A bullet flew towards Fors, but due to a shake, it wiped off a clump of hair.

"They're chasing us from the apartment!" Fors screamed.

"Thank you."

Why are you still saying thank you to me at this time?

As he spoke, Hermann stretched out the two boxes, one large and one small, behind him.

"Take it."

By the time Fors realized what was happening, he had somehow taken over the two suitcases. Unlike Hermann, who had the strength and skill to carry two suitcases in one hand, Fors could only carry one in each hand.

Sure enough, these desperate criminals would travel around with some luggage...

and many more!

When will you pack my luggage?

The second round of pursuit began again amidst the hail of bullets. This time in an open space, Hermann seemed to have no more concerns. He nimbly jumped onto the sun visor of the store in a few steps and parkoured between the street and the building, causing the people around to scream.

Fors's dinner was playing the bungee jumping machine in her esophagus. A shriveled hand stretched out from the shadow on the wall and waved to grab her hair, but German suddenly threw himself back like a noodle, raised two fingers to pretend that he had a gun, pointed at the hands with his backhand, and shouted calmly:

"boom!"

? No, your gun is clearly in your other hand!

But her confusion immediately ceased.

Fors swore to the God of Steam and Machinery that she really heard the cry of a shadow, and deep red and almost black blood flowed out from the edge of the shadow, soaking the soles of Gehrman's shoes. Lying on his back, Fors could clearly see every bloody footprint Gehrman left behind.

Your "gun" is actually useful!

From this moment on, Fors felt that his worldview of more than 20 years suddenly began to collapse. Hands that could bleed grew out of the shadows, trees that could bite people grew out of the flower pots, and the people chasing them not only had submachine guns that emitted blue flames, but also had magic ice balls, light balls, fire balls, water balls, and so on.

Everything was running at full speed in a crazy and absurd direction. Fors had never left Backlund since she was born, but now this familiar city was like a stage backdrop that suddenly collapsed, revealing an ugly and abrupt piece of tattered foam padding in the familiar and realistic environment, abruptly telling you that the true face of this city was actually a crazy collapsed stage play.

There were several more sharp whistles, and several familiar micro-missiles once again streaked through the sky towards them, but were cleverly dodged by Gehrman's flexible movements. The explosive power of this micro-missile was completely disproportionate to its flying ability, as if an extremely paranoid madman had flown across the sea from the West Road to Backlund, just to use a spoon to hit you on the forehead to see if the baldness of the Backlund people was really as hopeless as the legend said.

She actually began to get used to these absurd things, and even began to report the location to Hermann involuntarily. There were several more screams in the sky, and this time a group of intercepting drones came from the direction they were heading, biting the flying missiles and leaping into the sky, and at the moment of embracing, they and the missiles formed a gorgeous firework.

In this extreme fear and helplessness, a tiny inappropriate joy was aroused in her heart, as if it was whispering to her: Maybe, perhaps, it seems, it seems... she is really about to leave that numb life this time.

Forethought tried to raise her head, but she couldn't. Perhaps because she was too frightened, the annoying tinnitus rose again, slowly eroding her reef, and some muddy sentences gradually became clear under the scouring of the waves.

"...Everything follows the established trajectory, and the jump will fall into the starry sky..."

"…Rupert…normal…"

"...waiting for command...number...command completed..."

The pain gradually crept up to her nerve endings, and as Fors's consciousness faded, she began to subconsciously repeat the fragmented words she had heard.

"... I don't need an embroidered robe or an exquisite spear. I just hope there is a passing bard willing to share a cup of poetry with me..."

Fors seemed to hear someone reciting her poems. It was clearly an auditory hallucination, but the shame and embarrassment she felt was still real.

People trapped in this city always hope that one day someone will lead them out of this quagmire with no future in sight. Maybe it will be a prince on a white horse taking Cinderella’s hand and taking her to a distant castle. Maybe it will be a wandering circus passing by inviting passersby to join an endless carnival party. Maybe it will be a well-equipped off-road vehicle team inviting office workers who are about to collapse to go on an adventure with no turning back... and then one by one they will enter Fors’s keyboard and become poems.

But Fors could never have imagined that the reality was a strange psychopath who looked like the reincarnation of the crazy adventurer Mr. Sparrow. He held a gun in one hand and raised two fingers on the other hand to pretend that he had a gun. He shouted "bang bang bang" at the equally inexplicable bandits, while moving swiftly amidst incomprehensible magic and gunfire. In the rain of missiles falling from the sky, he ran endlessly towards the unknown front, escaping from this damn, terrible city with himself, embarking on a road of no return. It was unclear whether the sparks exploding all around were celebrating or saying goodbye.

And I am a large radio carried on the adventurer's shoulder.

It is still the old-fashioned antenna model with indirect ventilation.