The silent surroundings reeked of blood. The abruptly vanishing gunfire had suddenly made the place quiet, as if the God of Death had passed through the night, bringing hellish slaughter and claiming countless lives.
No one knew how many had died, nor how much remained of their force of two thousand. Faint cries of pain sounded everywhere in the darkness, weak and feeble, as though they were the last breaths of life, hanging on by a thread before meeting King Yama.
The wounded made up the majority. Terrified, they crowded together with their companions in groups of three or five. So many had fallen and never risen again that they were like startled birds, too afraid to even move.
The few who had escaped injury were extraordinarily lucky. Remaining unscathed amid such dense gunfire was truly a stroke of incredible fortune, but the sudden situation had still given them a tremendous psychological shock.
No one knew what had happened in this dark night, or who had been shooting at them.
"Those who are alive, gather together! Follow my voice!" Someone suddenly spoke up, giving everyone a clue at this critical moment.
The rustling sounds of movement immediately arose. Whether wounded or not, everyone still alive desperately ran toward the source of the voice.
In their state of extreme shock, they desperately needed one another for support, some sense of safety that could ease their terror in this night where they could see nothing.
Amid the chaos, the first person to speak began asking nervously, "How many people? Huh? How many are still alive?"
"I have ten here."
"Five."
"Three."
"Two of the seven here are seriously injured."
All kinds of answers echoed around them. There were quite a few people crammed together, and the noise was a complete mess.
The