As a high-level holy envoy with twelve wings of light, Picasso also has an IQ of more than ninety percent of birdmen. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 ｉｎfo

Although this IQ is not even comparable to that of the most ordinary low-level monks in the fairy world, there is one thing that Picasso's judgment is undoubtedly quite correct - those cunning Terran monks really have a follow-up conspiracy waiting for him.

When the huge crowd of birds had just dispersed a little bit and sent a detachment of more than 100,000 to rush towards those strange birds, those strange birds violently used up the last bullet, and then quickly waved their wings and flew away triumphantly, just like a scumbag who had just vented his lust, leaving the body of the woman who had just been ravaged by them in every way.

Then, and then Picasso saw that on the surface of the sea, on the endless islands and reefs, large and small, there were dense Terran monks. These monks, all of whom have the cultivation of the so-called "Heavenly Immortals" and above in the middle stage, are armed with assault rifles and light and heavy machine guns with extremely fast firing speeds, spitting out clusters of fire, and shooting like bullets like locusts in the sky.

The power of these weapons is far from those strange cylinders just now, and a single bullet can kill at most one holy envoy. However, but the saddest thing is that at this time, the Holy Envoy Legion has just become a little evacuated from the dense formation, and it just vacated its position to act as a live target for the opponent.

In the scream of "ahhh

Maybe this effect is much worse than a missile, but the point is that the rate of fire of this firearm is too fast, far from being comparable to those missiles that take half a day to launch a missile. So, within ten minutes of the firefight, the miserable birds lost tens of millions of lives, if they were lives.

Picasso's tears of distress were about to fall. I thought I was quick to react and judge, but I was in the hands of my opponent, and I finally evacuated the formation a little bit, but it was like sending it to the door with my own hands to let the opponent seize the opportunity to beat it!

But now it was clear that this was not the time to cry, because a pressing question was already in front of him - what to do?

Picasso's "intelligent" brain was running fast in the rain of bullets and the explosion of grenades thrown by locusts.

It's clear that the cunning human commander, whoever he is, has calculated his actions to death, and his arrangements are targeted. Looking at the 100,000 warriors who were all immortals and above cultivating, looking at their weapons spitting tongues of fire, and looking at the formation in which they were surrounded and pressed on three sides, Picasso knew that there was no way to break through the level in front of him quickly, even if he could finally break through successfully, he didn't know when it would happen, let alone how many brothers he would lose in the process. What's more, Picasso knew that the longer he stayed in this dangerous trap, the greater and more unpredictable danger there became.

Retreat is completely impossible, so continue the original plan and assault in the direction of Baguio Immortal Island?

Perhaps, this is the only way. There is a fierce confrontation in the direction of Baguio Immortal Island, maybe those cunning humans will not be able to take care of themselves for the time being, as long as they can speed up and rush over, and throw off these monks behind them, even if they flee to the land direction, they will finally win a glimmer of life, right?

What made Picasso's eyes shine even more was that after half a day of fighting, the team had unknowingly been constantly oppressed towards Baguio Immortal Island, and at this time, the legion was less than 5,000 miles away from the northern edge of the war-torn island. And in this direction, there were no large-scale Terran monks, nor did there appear any strange but powerful shadows of iron birds, and just now, whether it was the attack of the strange bird or the attack of the Terran monks, because of the lack of numbers, the mouth on this side was not completely closed, and a huge gap was left.

Although it seems that there is a huge sickle-shaped array of countless ships in front of the sea, as long as there is no such powerful and novel weapon, it will not pose a mortal threat to the team.

"Gather your formation and rush forward!" Picasso "made a decision" and immediately shouted loudly.

The legion of holy envoys, which had been loaded with bullets and grenades on the periphery, had already involuntarily compressed towards the center, and when they heard Picasso's order, they were even more quickly huddled together, almost wing to wing, reforming a dense formation, galloping in the direction of Baguio Immortal Island.

And then—and then—and then again, Picasso and all the birdmen saw that at least a thousand of the strange dragons that they least wanted to see suddenly flew up from the sea, from the great ships that were too big to speak, and in the blink of an eye, shot into the dense formation of the Holy Legion.

"Boom, boom, boom—" The violent explosion was almost inaudible, and tens of millions of birdmen howled miserably into patches of white light, their light feathers drifting away, and their souls let out short, mournful cries that floated in the air for a long time, terrifying, and unbearable.

"Ahh

At this moment, Picasso suddenly felt that his surroundings had suddenly become quiet, and the air was filled with a strange atmosphere.

No, it wasn't quiet, it was a sound I'd never heard before, like a tide, like a hurricane, like a torrential rain crashing on the sand, "whoosh-" sounded like a sound, but in fact, it was a myriad of short sounds.

Immediately, Picasso saw a blood-red in front of him, completely obscuring the white light, the great sun, and everything in heaven and earth, like a huge wave that could not see the edge, surging towards him.

In an instant, Picasso's body seemed to be shot thousands of times at the same time, and his huge body completely turned into a sieve, and endless white light gushed out, shooting in all directions, but his body didn't seem to feel any pain. However, in front of him, it suddenly became completely dark, and all the light was gone. Before he completely lost all vision, Picasso seemed to see the holy envoys around him fall to the sea in patches, like the tide violently hitting the soft sand, rolling up the white sand and gravel. It took a long time for the bodies of these holy envoys to explode, and the terrible screams resounded throughout the heavens and the earth.

"What the hell is that, how can it be so terrifying?" The soul that was completely annihilated in an instant left Picasso with the last and eternal question.

PS: Wowhahaha, I smirked, I caught up!