Although White Hair's mouth was frothing more and more, the pile of corpses twenty meters in front of them was also growing.
Mu Fan even saw several rows of Beetles that had just rushed up the slope and hadn't yet managed to jump before they were precisely detonated; their bodies rolled down the slope.
When he looked at White Hair again, there were only two movements: his right index finger was pressed on the trigger without letting go, and after the magazine was emptied, his left hand instantly slipped in a new one.
All of these actions flowed like clouds and water, which reflected in his retinas as White Hair merely firing casually into the distance and creating swathes of death.
Was this... White Hair's true level?
"How could White Hair possibly reach a robot's shooting precision!?" Even Black expressed amazement.
This situation, in its cognition, was impossible among humans.
Mu Fan also wanted to say so, but the fact was already starkly laid out before him.
