Boom! Boom! Boom!
Missiles fired madly from the launchers as if they were free. Every warhead split apart midair, turning into countless miniature missiles.
The missiles bombarded without blind spots, flames sweeping across the ground. Even more outrageously, the flames were laced with a dense sacred aura, inflicting further damage on the Hell creatures.
After a single wave of bombardment, the number of Hell creatures had plummeted by over ninety-nine percent.
But once the weak had been weeded out, the remaining few dozen demons were tough nuts to crack. It would be difficult to eliminate them with ordinary firepower; they would probably need several more rounds of bombardment.
Still, the situation was infinitely better than before. At the very least, it was no longer so urgent.
"Extravagant. Fucking extravagant." Scott was utterly stunned. "That kind of firepower could probably flatten a town."
"Be confident. Drop the word 'probably.'" Peter Parker said blankly. "I knew that bike could transform, but I never expected it to be a mobile artillery platform too. This is fucking ridiculous."
"The question is, where did he get so many shells?" T'Challa asked in confusion.
"I think Mr. Stark can provide the answer. Those missiles look like Jericho Missiles that Stark Industries discontinued, just smaller versions."
"I mean, how could that motorcycle possibly hold so many missiles? The ones he has already fired would be enough to pile into a small mountain!"
"He's an alchemist!" Bucky offered a strained explanation. "Making a few spatial artifacts shouldn't be a problem. For example... the ring on his hand."
T'Challa: ...
After they got back, he needed to find a way to get one or two samples. Maybe Shuri could replicate them.
With the Hell creatures greatly reduced in number, Aaron's pressure eased considerably, so he simply stopped the