Counterfeit Hero

Chapter 1550: Chapter 41: Happiness_3

Amid a clanging storm of metal, Evil Dragon’s torrential firepower suddenly choked off, as if someone had grabbed it by the throat. The six barrels of its Energy Cannons were smashed into six twisted wrecks in the span of a single second.

When Fatty fights, once he grabs hold he beats you to death. His hands didn’t stop for a moment—Logic slid forward in a curved step, both arms tracing two circles in the air, twining around Evil Dragon’s left forelimb and giving a vicious twist.

Evil Dragon’s left forelimb shattered at a speed visible to the naked eye. Its outer shell, joint engines and crankshaft fragments, twisted drive rods, all exploded out like a puff of smoke as Logic was already twisting his waist, shaking his arm, and whipping a backfist onto Evil Dragon’s right forelimb.

This punch was both fast and heavy. Evil Dragon’s thick forelimb was pulverized in an instant, spewing out countless tiny bits and shards.

From the side, Fatty’s twist and punch might have come one after the other, but Evil Dragon’s left and right forelimbs seemed to explode at the exact same time.

The Fei Alliance Soldiers nearby watched, holding their breath, eyes dazzled and minds reeling. It felt like a current of electricity ran down their backs, shooting up their spines with the mad charge of the tattered Mecha.

The trailing echo of that shouted kill in their throats had yet to fade when five hundred Rampage units had already shot like lightning into the Western Alliance Mecha Group.

Right behind Fatty was Wagstaff.

This civilian Mechanical God swung his arm and smashed a punch, blowing apart the air—and the head of a Jiepeng Spirit Cat.

The Spirit Cat’s head looked like a burst watermelon as it wobbled at the front line. The surrounding artillery fire wove like neon lights.

In that dizzying dance of light, the black Devil flickered and vanished, and the next instant appeared behind the Spirit Cat.

Left leg, spinning hook punch, step-in knee strike, bent elbow smashing down, right leg... a chain of movements shifted with his shadow through five Western Alliance Mecha, while the onlookers heard only a string of firecracker-like booms before those five Western Alliance Mecha were destroyed simultaneously.

Wagstaff was already a master of close-quarters grappling. After training in Mecha Martial Arts and learning the Core Techniques, his killing range up close shrank even further; his movements became faster, more ferocious, more unbridled.

The way he used fists, knees, elbows, and shoulders made him seem glued to his opponent’s body during a fight. His speed and strength generated an unstoppable aura that often shattered an enemy’s will to fight before any real contact was made.

If Wagstaff was a steel staff swinging in midair, then Hagrove on Fatty’s right was a whip tearing the air apart.

Under Hagrove’s control, the black Rampage had become so fast it left only an afterimage.

Every punch, every kick of his dragged a streak of fiery red through the air—that was the color of air igniting under brutal friction.

A punch or a kick might leave only one or two streaks of flame, but in an instant Hagrove was throwing not just dozens of punches and kicks. For a moment, all you could see were hellish flames dancing on the limbs of this black Devil Mecha. The fire arcs crisscrossed into a blazing net, savage and dazzling.

The air exploded under fists and feet; exploding along with it were chunks of stone on the ground, and one Western Alliance Mecha after another.

The collapsed highway’s concrete blocks were beaten into clouds of fine sand. The thick armor and outer shells of Western Alliance Mecha were peeled off in slabs; limbs were shattered and torn away, chests suddenly caved in.

With every thunderous impact, plumes of smoke made of steel fragments blasted out from the bodies of Western Alliance Mecha. Any Western Alliance Mecha that stepped within ten meters of Hagrove’s front arc was doomed without exception. Even those already toppled to the ground shuddered as they were blown apart.

Behind the assault arrowhead formed by Fatty and the two War Gods came hundreds of Mechanical Gods driving in like daggers stabbing into the Western Alliance armor formation.

One Rampage smashed straight into an enemy’s chest, and as it sent the opponent flying, fists and feet lashed out together, blasting the spinning target to pieces in midair.

Another Rampage slipped through the enemy Mecha Group like a phantom, the ion light axe in its hand occasionally carving a stunning arc.

Every time the axe hacked down, one enemy Mecha was guaranteed to be severed in two. The angles were vicious, the speed blistering, the strikes merciless—enough to make even the Fei Alliance Joint Army warriors watching from behind break out in a cold sweat.

Behind and beside them, the black Devil Mecha were flying in with kicks, straight stomps, hooked hands, swinging punches; or ducking low and lunging forward, dropping their shoulders and flipping their wrists for a Stone Breaking Hand that slammed down with crushing force; or wrapping their heads with their arms and driving their knees, shooting forward like lightning to deliver a Sky Hammer as vicious as it was decisive.

The warriors had never seen Mecha Martial Arts like this before. They gaped, speechless, watching those stiff-limbed Su Jie Mecha shudder, splinter, and explode amid the whirling tide of Mecha.

The black flood rolled forward.

The Bandit Army mecha pilots who managed to grab an enemy were overjoyed, hammering and kicking, smashing the targets before them like sandbags until they burst. Those who didn’t get their hands on one were anxious as hell; often a few enemy Mecha had barely appeared in their sights before these pilots pounced like rabid dogs and beat them into scrap with a flurry of blows.

No one could halt the advance of these five hundred and one Devils. Any enemy who dared step up was nothing but a stone tossed into a flood—there’d be a flash of spray, and then they vanished without a trace.

”Hold them! Forward!” A Suss Major’s roar was both frenzied and desperate.

He threw every unit under his command into the line in front, trying to slow the enemy’s charge even a little. But the new batch of Mecha that he’d booted and punched up to the front trenches hadn’t even found their footing before the onrushing Devil Mecha slammed them back into the trenches.

Some Mecha toppled stiffly into the trenches, terrible wounds suddenly blooming across their bodies. Some fell helplessly to their knees, their entire frames coming apart like dismembered corpses, shattered and scattered. Most others fell back, and in their futile resistance, turned into one fireball after another.