Thick smoke in the sky blotted out the sun. On the dark streets, the Dark Elves moved without a sound.
Though they were called warriors, they were more like assassins. They wore no heavy, dependable armor, only thin black bodysuits. Their weapons were exceedingly sharp, and their tactics were cruel and ruthless.
Even if it meant trading their own lives for an enemy's, they would not hesitate—for the future of their people and their leader's orders.
The leading Cursed Warrior leaped onto an abandoned car and surveyed the surroundings, confirming whether they had reached the Spider-Men's rear flank. Then, expressionless, he jumped back down and fastened the white mask hanging from his belt over his face.
He looked back at his squad. Including himself, there were fifteen of them, all elite suicide troops. They would soon transform into Cursed Warriors together and cut into the battlefield.
The team members looked back at him, but nobody said a word. Even their breathing was imperceptible. There was no pre-battle rallying, much less any grand speech about righteousness. They simply carried out orders, then went out to fight and kill.
After a silent exchange of glances, the group left the main road and entered a pitch-black alley, preparing to reach the Spider Legion from behind.
"Flap flap."
Only a few steps into the alley, they heard the faint flutter of wings, making the entire group stop.
When they looked toward the source of the sound, they saw only a small brown-gray furry animal, its head hidden beneath its thin membranous wings as it licked its armpit.
It hung upside down beneath the first-floor eaves of a building, concealed in darkness, with only its eyes gleaming.
The wary squad leader did not proceed. He looked at his men and sought their opinion on whether