"Brother, how are you?" Hector Reginald's brow furrowed tightly as he stared at the ghastly knife wound on his older brother's arm, black blood oozing from it. "Damn it."
These damn Black Robes were like Puppets, devoid of feeling or thought. They continued to attack even when injured, fighting relentlessly to the death. Most of his men were wounded. If Jaden and his team didn't arrive in time, they wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer.
"It's nothing." Timothy Reginald spun and shot a lunging Black Robe square in the heart. He spoke between labored breaths, "All we can do now is hold on. Otherwise, we're all going to die here today." Although he claimed to be fine, he was acutely aware that his Inner Strength was fading and his stamina was draining away.
