The Doomblade's shell grazed past the Degraded Warhound's chaotic, disorderly orb of light and punched straight through its body. Split in two, the Degraded Warhound crashed violently to the ground, with only its two reverse-jointed legs still standing.
At last, one Doomblade's energy-dissipation system overloaded. The green-painted Doomblade now looked like a piece of red-hot iron, and terrifying heat rushed toward the crew inside.
The accelerated metabolism and other effects caused by the extreme heat lasted only an instant. After struggling to catch their breath a few times, the crew suddenly realized they were in agony, like squid slowly being roasted on an iron griddle.
They tried to escape, but their melted, scorching boot soles tugged them off balance. The unlucky ones who fell onto the metal surface immediately stuck to it. Pain drove them to howl, but the burning air had already scorched their throats, leaving only faint coughing sounds.
Their efforts to save themselves failed within seconds. Benedict silently blocked that crew's communications channel. He did not want to hear the cruel sounds of corpses being roasted dry and burned.
"At least we avenged them," Lieutenant Terry said with a sigh. The moment his words fell, a squadron of Leman Russ tanks was sent flying into the air.
When facing a new enemy, old experience could always drag some people toward failure. Seeing the Degraded Warhound collapse with a thunderous crash, Benedict and the others naturally relaxed, assuming the Warhound had lost its combat capability.
Only after the Degraded Warhound's weapons brutally punched through the ground and scrapped an entire squadron of Leman Russ tanks did they suddenly wake up.
"Damn it! The battle isn't over yet! Keep attacking! Keep attacking!"
"Loaded!"
"Fire!"
In an instant, the Doomblades became lively again. Roars intertwined with the rumbling of tank