Game in Marvel-Chapter 123
Chapter 123 - 123
Even as Liam unleashed hell upon the Redanian forces, some of the more desperate and reckless soldiers realized that if they couldn't kill that monster in the armored suit, they could at least strike at his companions.
A group of nearly fifty men broke off, charging at Steve, Natasha, and Geralt, believing them to be weaker targets. They were wrong.
Geralt was the first person they faced. The first soldier to reach him swung a heavy axe—too slow. Geralt sidestepped, letting the weapon slam into the dirt, then stabbed forward, his blade sliding between the man's ribs. The soldier gasped, blood foaming at his lips before he crumpled.
Another swung a longsword. Geralt raised his Quen shield, deflecting the blow before twisting and decapitating the man in one seamless motion. A third soldier rushed in, stabbing wildly with a spear. Geralt ducked, rolled beneath the thrust, and came up behind him—slitting his throat open with a single flick of his wrist. Blood sprayed onto the frozen ground.
Geralt wasn't the only one facing these men. Steve was there too. Steve Rogers saw a group of men charging straight at him, swords and maces raised.
"You picked the wrong guy."
He threw his shield—hard.
WHAM!
It slammed into the leading soldier's chest, sending him flying back into his comrades. The impact caved in his breastplate, the force knocking over the men behind. Before they could recover, Steve rushed forward, catching his returning shield and bashing it into a soldier's face. There was a sickening CRACK as the man's nose was flattened against his skull.
One soldier managed to swing at him from the side. Steve raised his shield, angled it just right, and let the sword glance off harmlessly. Then he spun, planting a powerful kick into the man's gut, sending him sprawling.
Another lunged with a spear. Steve caught the shaft, yanked it forward, and headbutted the soldier so hard that he collapsed unconscious.
"Try harder," Steve said coldly. He had been angry since he got to know of the witch hunters. In his words:
"Wherever I go, I find Nazis. My time with World War II, then came Hydra, and now with witch hunters. When can humanity take a break from not committing genocide?"
As Steve wasn't the only one on the line, Natasha was there too. A soldier swung a broadsword at her. She ducked, letting it pass inches above her head, then stepped inside his guard and delivered a precise, brutal strike to his throat. He choked, staggering back—just as Natasha smoothly drew her pistols and shot him in the head.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three more soldiers dropped, each with a bullet hole between their eyes.
One of the braver ones lunged from behind, thinking she was distracted.
Big mistake.
Natasha whipped around, sidestepped his charge, and in one fluid motion, wrapped her legs around his neck—twisting hard.
SNAP.
The soldier's body went limp before he even hit the ground.
More soldiers surrounded her, but she didn't even blink. With a smirk, she activated her batons, and the nearest fool received a 50,000-volt shock to the chest, convulsing violently before falling dead in the snow.
"Nice try."
Geralt, Steve, and Natasha stood among the corpses, blood dripping from their weapons. The remaining soldiers hesitated, their fear overpowering their orders. Then they did something they were not supposed to do. They looked behind them.
And they saw Liam.
Standing alone in a field of butchered Redanians, his Interceptor armor gleaming under the warm sunlight. The blood of the fallen was dripping from his armor and blades. He looked like a demon that had crawled out of hell.
The Redanians snapped.
"RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
Soldiers dropped their weapons and fled in every direction, some tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, others scrambling over one another in sheer desperation. Radovid watched all of this in silent horror as his own men had slowly dwindled down to around one hundred. Liam didn't actually run after them—he just looked at Radovid.
The king was still flanked by his die-hard legion of knights. This legion stood there, but one could easily see that the spears, swords, and maces were shaking out of pure fear.
"Why didn't you run?" Liam asked as he opened his visor and looked at Radovid, his face devoid of emotion.
"You... You... You are a d-d-demon... Y-you shouldn't have been born in this world," Radovid's voice was shaking. He was trying his best to run away, but the horse refused to move.
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Thanks to Triss.
She held more anger for him than Keira and in no way was she allowing this sick excuse for a man to escape.
"Who gets to decide if someone is allowed to be born or not? You?" Liam asked. "You're just a man of flesh who thinks his childhood trauma will go away once you get rid of a whole demographic."
Liam had spoken so many big and bombastic words that his speech went over the head of this dumb king.
"Wha-a-t do you want? I can give you everything. From riches to women. Join me, and we can rule the world together."
The king seemed to have finally gathered some courage, seeing Liam not walking through the blood and corpses but instead stopping to talk. There was hope for him.
Or at least the king thought so.
"Rule the world? You mean this continent filled with nothing but monsters and a bunch of individuals who only think of inflicting misery on people instead of improving their quality of life—while also harboring delusions of genocide? Yeah... No.
You know, Radovid, a part of me sympathizes with you after what Philippa did to you. You could have just gone after her, but no—you decided to bring down all sorcerers just because one of them had wronged you.
You are nothing but a man who is still a child, living in a nightmare and making sure the world suffers the same nightmare you once did.
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