"We can't keep this up." The Stick Monk parried Murakami's attack, his expression grim. "They have the numbers, and their combat strength is absurd. If this drags on, we're dead."
"I can see that." Frank drove back two Hand ninjas trying to ambush him. "The question is, what do we do?"
"You can't stop us." Murakami said calmly. "The True Pure Society should have been wiped out long ago. This is a fine place for you to be buried."
"My people are nearly wiped out. Get S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people down here to help."
"Stick Monk, so you have irrational moments too." Murakami chuckled and shook his head. "With the few people S.H.I.E.L.D. has left, I could send just two ninjas over to kill them. Before, we simply didn't have time to deal with them, which was why they got an opening. But now... if you tell them to run, they might still make it."
"No choice, then." Frank hesitated for a moment before pulling the alchemical pistol Xuguang from his pocket.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Special Alchemical Bullets flew from the barrel, punching through the bodies of several nearby ninjas.
Black vapor seeped from their wounds, followed by blood that had been dyed black. Yet the ninjas merely slowed slightly, as if their fatal injuries did not exist.
"Useless." Murakami smiled dismissively. "After using the secret technique, they become weapons that know only how to obey orders. As long as their flames of life have not gone out, they can keep fighting at full strength."
"Cut off their heads!" The Stick Monk immediately shouted. "That's their greatest weakness."
"Correct, but how many heads can you cut off? Ten? Twenty? Or thirty? You can't hold out that long. And all the leaders of The Hand are here. We won't give you the chance."