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Alan With a forceful sweep of both hands, he flipped the bodies around him out. The sunlight instantly shone on his naked, filthy, blood-stained, and unknown-fluid-covered body. His chest heaved sharply, and then he let out a thunderous roar of anger, as if he wanted to pour all his fury and resentment onto this damn world.
Alan Standing in this hellish scene, surrounded by abandoned bodies, some already rotten beyond recognition, some still retaining their former appearance, as if crying out to the world for injustice. But what was even more terrifying was the various limbs and chunks of flesh scattered on the ground. Some limbs were neatly cut and placed in barrels, ready to be made into nauseating sausages; some heads were hung on hooks, like a series of morbid artworks. There were also several large pots on the ground, cooking some unknown liquid, emitting an indescribable stench.
The skinners were initially shocked as they looked at Alan, then quickly gathered around. They held various rough tools, from big knives to sickles, from iron hooks to bone saws, each seeming like a messenger of death.
"How is this possible! How could there still be living people here!" The first skinner exclaimed in astonishment, his voice almost drowned out by his own incredulity.
"No matter how he survived, get him solved for me quickly! He can't leave here alive!" Another skinner waved the sickle in his hand, seemingly wanting to solve Alan with one stroke.
At that moment, Alan felt a rage like never before. Every cell, every inch of skin, and every drop of blood in his body was boiling, as if a raging fire was burning inside him. This was not only anger towards these skinners, but also anger towards this sick world.
Alan's eyes turned crimson, and a tremendous force erupted from his body. This was the power bestowed upon him by the god of rage, reaching its peak in this moment. He leaped towards the skinners, his movements so swift that they could barely react.
In one hand, he held a worn-out broadsword picked up from the ground, while the other gripped an iron hook. His attacks were chaotic but devastating. Before the first skinner could react, Alan slashed his throat with the broadsword, causing blood to gush out like a fountain. The second skinner attempted to strike him with a sickle, but Alan hooked it with the iron and then decapitated him with the broadsword.
In this massacre, Alan was almost like the embodiment of anger. Every one of his attacks made the skinners pale with fear. They finally realized that standing before them was not an ordinary person, but a warrior chosen by the god of anger. But it was all too late; they couldn't stop Alan's anger, nor could they stop him from avenging the desecrated dead.
Suddenly, one of the skinners took action, frantically sounding the alarm. The clanging sound echoed incessantly in this hellish flesh factory, as more skinners gathered from all directions. Their roars almost drowned out the sound of the alarm, like beasts driven by the devil, their eyes filled with rage and murderous intent.
Alan stood among the corpses and flesh, tightly gripping the old, worn-out broadsword he had just picked up. He took a deep breath, the anger within him ready to erupt like a volcano. With a fierce swing of the broadsword, a shockwave of sword energy burst forth, cutting a skinner who was about to launch an attack directly in half at an astonishing speed.
Blood splattered everywhere, filling the air around Alan with a sudden scent of blood and death. He turned this scent into strength, using anger as a medium, and two longswords appeared in his hands, their surfaces emanating a strong scent of blood.
Alan roared loudly, "If you have the guts, come out and face me now!" His voice filled the entire space with intimidation, like a trapped beast, but he would never easily submit.
The skinners hesitated for a moment, their eyes scanning back and forth between Alan and the surrounding corpses. After a moment of silence, they seemed to reach some kind of consensus. The skinners let out a collective roar, pushing aside the bodies and flesh under their feet, like a pack of mad wolves, rushing towards Alan.
At this moment, Alan was ready to face their attack. He tightly gripped the long sword in his hand, his eyes gleaming with a cold light. He knew that this battle was not just for himself, but also for the innocent victims violated by these extremely wicked skinners.
The skinners roared, wielding their sickles and axes as they advanced toward Alan. Alan stood firm, exerted force, and swiftly shot out one of his long swords, piercing through the two front skinners. Their bodies were instantly torn apart by the sword energy, falling to the ground, turning into a pool of blood.
Alan felt the anger burning inside him like a raging volcano, almost consuming him entirely. Gripping the two long swords tightly, he took a deep breath and charged towards the two skinners in front of him.
"Die!" Alan shouted, swinging his swords with force, the sword energy cutting through the air. In the blink of an eye, the two skinners were dismembered, their bodies exploding and scattering like rag dolls, drenching the entire battlefield in blood, some of which splattered onto Alan and the remaining skinner.
Alan showed no hesitation, immediately spinning like a devastating storm. Two long swords spun with his body, emitting a piercing scream, like the scythe of death, shattering all skinners who dared to approach him.
Then, at that moment, Alan's eyes flashed with a mysterious light. He suddenly stopped spinning, waved his hands, and instantly activated the transformation ability of his blood-armed. The two swords in his hands instantly transformed, turning into two huge hammers.
These two giant hammers seem to be forged from anger and hatred, and every strike has the power to destroy everything. Alan tightly grips the giant hammers and walks towards the remaining skin peelers.
"Now, let's put an end to all of this!" Alan said coldly, his eyes filled with determination and unwavering resolve.
The skinners were intimidated by Alan's momentum, but they still held their ground, like trapped animals. They smirked, as if they wanted to challenge Alan to see how much anger he could muster to make them feel fear.
Alan raised his twin hammers high and swung them down violently, each blow accompanied by intense vibrations and splattering blood. He smashed every skinner who dared to challenge him, as if he were crushing the irreparable wound in his own heart.
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