Silas had just pulled the mask back down to his chin when a sudden chill crept up his spine and settled at the back of his head. His body stiffened instinctively, his cervical vertebrae twisting rigidly backward as if snapped by an invisible hand. He saw it—the towering figure that should have been torn to pieces by him, now slowly straightening its spine from the dust.
“How is this possible…”
He croaked, his pupils contracting to their limits. The rifle he had used against the mutated creatures had fired seven or eight specially designed bullets in rapid succession. Even the military’s heavy-duty armor wouldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Yet the figure before him wasn’t dead—not even a hint of pain showed on its face.
The next moment, the air was torn apart by a powerful punc
