"I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die."
Yan Song, holding a blood-dripped broken spear and waving the Blood Flag high, looked majestic for a moment. Yet his knees were trembling; he knew he couldn't stop the frenzied onslaught of the incensed Jackal-Men ahead by himself.
He was just a weak psychic scout, and his expensive gun purchased for protection was destroyed in the recent meteor strike. Any of those elite Jackal-Men could easily kill him with one hand.
What am I doing?
Damn!
Why am I being so brave?
This is not the stance you should be adopting, Yan Song! What are you doing? Shouldn't you be turning around and fleeing right now? Maintaining this heroic pose for what? Played too much role-playing that you really believe you're a hero?
His mind was a chaotic mess; only anger drove him as he gritted his teeth, stopping himself from shaking, holding his flag pose with closed eyes, waiting for death.
