With Ivan launching the first attack, an area roughly two kilometers across on the Blood Moor became a battlefield of blood and fire.
Each of the fifty Eight-Legged Robots carried 200 82-millimeter mortar shells. They emptied their entire payloads in two minutes.
Ivan, that domineering Russian, had turned the whole area into a smoke-filled battlefield all by himself.
Amid the clouds of red dirt and white smoke, the Eight-Legged Robots began to retreat in an orderly fashion. The logistics crew behind them would reload them with suitable ammunition before sending them back into battle.
Alvin stood on the head of a high-level demon, swinging his Battle Axe to kill several Hellhounds cowering beside him. Then he looked toward the battlefield, where a red fog seemed to have risen...
Across Alvin's field of vision, large numbers of Hellhounds and Hexhorn Demon Bulls had been blown to bloody ruin.
The White Phosphorus inside those vicious Thermobaric Bombs made the flames cling to the Hellhounds' and Hexhorn Demon Bulls' skin like fire ants.
Whether the attack was effective or not was beside the point. The spectacle of ten thousand bombs going off in two minutes had stunned the demons—and their own side, too.
The Russian military's Quartermaster, assigned to work with Ivan, looked helplessly at the fifty Eight-Legged Robots waiting to be fed. He was a man who could drink himself to death and would dare jump into a river in the dead of winter, but even Ivan's mad actions had left him stunned.
After hesitating for a long while, and with the general behind him urging him on excitedly, the Quartermaster finally began operating several shipping-container-sized supply crates to load ammunition into the Eight-Legged Robots.
Ivan glanced toward Alvin and said in a low, hoarse voice, "Alvin, get out of the way.