The Strength of the Reincarnators

Afghanistan, Kandahar mountain region.

Inside the camp, the Ten Rings members were on high alert.

Not long ago, Tony Stark had escaped from their grasp, and Raza, having suffered a heavy loss, had armed the camp to the teeth.

RPGs and ammunition boxes were piled in the corners, heavy machine guns mounted on the rock walls, and autocannons installed on the high watchtowers.

Inside a tent, Raza stood with his hands behind his back before a barely assembled suit of steel armor, a smug smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Though the armor was crudely made, with messy welds, this was the Mark 1 suit Tony Stark had welded together from scrap iron while trapped in a cave—a subversion of conventional thinking. Even Raza could see this steel armor could change the face of war.

"Stark built this from garbage. No wonder he's the smartest man in the world." Raza grinned savagely, greed gleaming in his eyes. "With this, that old fox Obadiah will keep working with me."

Suddenly, a subordinate ran in: "Chief! Three groups of people are outside. They want us to hand over the armor, or they'll flatten the camp!"

Raza's heart tightened: "How many of them?"

"Ten... thirteen people."

"Ha?" Raza thought he'd misheard. "Thirteen people?"

"Yes."

Raza kicked the subordinate, sending him flying to land face-first in the dirt.

"Useless! Thirteen people, what's there to fear? We have more than thirteen RPGs!"

"Pass my order—cut those thirteen clueless bastards into pieces and feed them to the dogs!"

Raza roared, grabbing an AK-47 from the corner, his eyes filled with murderous intent.

Letting Tony escape was an accident. Couldn't he handle thirteen stragglers?

Even if they were the most elite Delta Force operators, facing his hundreds of armed men and dozens of RPGs, they'd have to kneel and beg for mercy!

Outside the camp, thirteen figures lounged against the rocks, their postures lazy.

They weren't special forces—they were three Reincarnator squads under Obadiah's banner.

"Brother Wolf, why bother talking to those Ten Rings fools? Let's just charge in, kill them all, and find the Mark 1 armor. Wouldn't that be simpler?"

A man with a crew cut and bulging muscles grinned, his nickname Bull, twirling a modified energy dagger in his hand, his eyes eager for action.

The man called Brother Wolf went by Blood Claw. He leaned against the rock, a cigarette between his fingers, a cold smirk on his lips.

"What's the rush? Let that idiot Raza watch the armor for us, saves us from searching the mountains blind."

"Having someone lead the way is easier. Besides, they're all gathered together—perfect for wiping out in one go."

As they spoke, another Reincarnator, Iron Arm, suddenly looked up: "They're coming out."

The camp gate opened, and over a hundred armed men poured out with guns raised, Raza at the rear, his face full of disdain.

Blood Claw grinned, his bones cracking audibly.

The next second, his entire body swelled, muscles bulging, hands transforming into sharp wolf claws, fangs protruding—he instantly became a two-meter-tall werewolf.

Before the Ten Rings members could fire, Blood Claw flickered and appeared before the frontmost armed man, his sharp claws swinging viciously.

With a wet shluck, the man's body was sliced clean in half, blood spraying everywhere.

Then Blood Claw bent down, his massive jaws clamping onto another man's head. Crunch—the sound of a skull shattering was unmistakable, brain matter and blood dripping from his lips, brutal to the extreme.

The other Reincarnators joined in without mercy.

Poison Girl flicked her finger, a drop of venom landing on an armed man. A violent sizzling corrosion sound erupted from within him, his skin rapidly rotting away, his screams agonizing. Within seconds, he dissolved into a puddle of pus.

Mechanical Arm, covered in cybernetic prosthetics, turned both arms into small energy cannons, firing wildly. Bullets rained down like a storm, Ten Rings members falling in droves. Even sentries hiding behind rocks were pierced through cover by energy rounds, killed on the spot.

The Ten Rings men were mowed down like wheat.

Some fired their guns, bullets hitting Blood Claw with no effect. He turned and bit off half the shooter's body.

Someone threw a grenade, but Iron Arm kicked it back, where it exploded among their own ranks.

The once-arrogant Ten Rings members stared at the scene, their bravado instantly replaced by terror, their will to fight shattered.

They realized they weren't facing men—they were facing demons from hell!

Some dropped their weapons and ran. Others' legs gave out, collapsing to the ground, trembling and muttering pleas for mercy, all their earlier swagger gone.

Those who didn't surrender were already cold corpses. They didn't want to join them.

In just three minutes, the battle was over.

No resistance—only a one-sided slaughter.

The camp entrance was littered with bodies, blood pooling like a river.

The remaining dozen or so Ten Rings members knelt on the ground, shaking like leaves.

Raza was dragged before Blood Claw, his face pale as death.

He finally understood how wrong he'd been. These thirteen people weren't stragglers—they were monsters who could flatten his camp with ease!

His voice trembling, he asked, "Who... who are you people?"

Blood Claw's form slowly shrank back to human shape, though his body was still drenched in blood. He stared down at Raza with icy eyes. "When is Obadiah coming?"

Raza's mind buzzed—they weren't after him, they were after Obadiah!

"That old bastard, he's screwed me over!"

Raza roared inwardly, but dared not show a trace of it on his face. The will to survive overpowered everything, and without hesitation, he sold out his ally: "Ob... Obadiah arrives tonight. I can help you! I know this place—I'll lead you to ambush him!"

Mechanical Arm adjusted his glasses, his tone flat. "Keep him alive for now. Once Obadiah comes, we can kill him then."

Raza had just let out a sigh of relief when he heard the second half of the sentence, and half his heart went cold.

Just then, Iron Arm whipped his head around, the red light of his mechanical eye flashing wildly.

"Someone's approaching!"

"Is it Obadiah? That can't be right—I remember he comes at nightfall, and it's not even fully dark yet."

"No! The signal source is different, and the target's moving fast, heading straight toward us!"

"What's there to fear?" Bull let out a disdainful snort, thumping his chest. "Even if they come, so what? The thirteen of us taking on a few hundred is child's play."

Blood Claw also sneered, flexing his claws. "At worst, it's American fighter jets. However many come, we'll kill them all."

"No!" Iron Arm's voice suddenly shot up, his mechanical eye blaring an alarm. "The target count is wrong! Dozens of signals just appeared out of nowhere! No—hundreds!"

"Their numbers are still increasing!"

Blood Claw's eyes narrowed, and he gave the order decisively: "Strike first. Take them out before they can react."

"Hmph, just a few more people. So what? This time, don't hold back. Everyone, finish it fast!"

"Good."