A brand new era has arrived, rciless wheels grinding over everything from the old tis.
It seems like thousands of birds are screaming, gathering into massive swarms and swirling over the Lower City District.
That’s the rising and falling sound of iron whistles, soldiers blowing them forcefully, as iron boots thunder against the damp ground, following the sound’s command to occupy every street and square.
The purification of the Underground Palace has entered its final stage, tons of fire oil poured in from various entrances, a raging sea of fire burning fiercely, and amidst it, fire guns keep sounding like deafening thunder.
Endless shadows rush from the other end of the inferno, bringing whispers and wails that can’t be shaken off; no matter how much fire and bullets are poured in, they always seem to return from the dark nightmare.
"Increase firepower!"
Bola shouted loudly, the black steam-powered armored vehicles raising their tal shells, rows of welded-together fire guns unleashing trendous power as they fired.
Bluebird whispered blessings, the low voices echoing in everyone’s communicators, and amidst the escalating sound, soldiers occasionally triggered shrill alarms, at which point Bola would expertly lift his gun and shoot tranquilizers at them.
This is also a product from the chanical Institute, burying electrodes under flesh; the direct current can stimulate the brain’s central nerves, usually used for psychiatric purposes, but modified as a safeguard against Demons in the Purification chanism.
When soldiers suffer nerve pollution to a certain extent, the electrodes discharge to forcibly interrupt this descent into madness, part to awaken soldiers from crises, and part for Bola to easily deal with any who fall into madness due to electrode interference.
This is a long-standing conflict from the old era, burdened with blood and pain, though all Purification chanisms operate optimally tonight, reductions still occur amid continuous intercepts.
Blood flowed down the searing gun barrels, most soldiers’ palms already cracked by the recoil from bullets, even with gloves’ protection, everyone’s condition kept deteriorating.
Finally, at so mont, the Geiger Counter values stabilized, indicating Demons inside the Underground Palace ceased transforming, or rather Galahad had slain them.
Thus, amidst the roaring inferno, dull footsteps echoed.
"It’s Galahad!"
Bluebird spoke with a hint of joy, for venturing into Hell always brings imnse blessings upon returning.
As Bluebird said this and tried to proceed to welco, Bola stopped him abruptly, with complex emotions in his eyes beneath the mask, questioning through the communicator.
"Galahad, I need to confirm your mind is clear, say sothing! Quick!"
Silver gun barrel aid at the figure in the fire sea, fingers clenched on the trigger; this ti, it wasn’t shooting tranquilizers, but live bullets made of iron and gunpowder.
"What are you doing! Bola!"
Seeing Bola like this, Bluebird was sowhat angry, Bola fiercely responded.
"This is procedure! Galahad! Answer !"
He yelled again into the communicator, but besides occasional static noise, there’s nothing; it was calm like the Dead Sea.
Quick, respond!
Bola never felt such urgency; Galahad still had ti to answer.
If he replied now, even if the words are faint, it’s enough; but finally, nothing, the reserved ti had ended, and Bola’s eyes were filled with sorrow.
It was a feeling of sinking into the Ice Sea, despite the blazing inferno already drenching Bola’s clothes in sweat; he still felt an unprecedented cold. After brief silence, Bola seemingly made a decision, the complexity in his eyes faded, leaving only steel-like coldness.
"Broadcast to all, Galahad has been nerve-corrupted and gone mad, now listed as a threat target, command authority temporarily handed to Bola."
Bola shouted into the communicator, then fired at the figure in the fire sea, silver gun muzzle erupted with thunderous sound, bullets spinning as they hit the figure but rely stirred modest ripples like dropping stones into water.
"Third team, fourth team, suppress fire on Galahad!"
The words were faint, and the figure in the inferno was engulfed by dense rain of bullets; unknowingly, everyone retreated from this area, facing the out-of-control Galahad, their existence was nothing but aningless death.
"I told you before, that thing is the embodint of ill-on; using it cos with a price!"
Bola shouted as he ran toward the Iron Serpent behind, Bluebird was completely stunned, unable to comprehend how Galahad, a comrade monts ago, suddenly beca an enemy.
A hoarse roar erupted as if releasing imnse pain, and then burning eyes turned towards him.
"Don’t stand there blankly! We have to kill him! Once Galahad escapes the control circle, he’ll beco an even more dangerous Demon!"
Bola yelled at Bluebird, but it was too late; Bluebird only felt a scorching wind blowing head-on, years of instincts making him swiftly drawn the sword he held; but before the blade was fully unsheathed, the sound of tal shattering rang in his ears.
The shattered sword instantly smashed Bluebird’s mask, blood stained his vision, then the sharp blade pierced through his chest.
It was a hot breath, as if a terrifying monster was breathing right before him.
Black iron armor covered the man before him; though it’s armor, it seed alive, scarlet muscles like fabric connecting the strange tal’s gaps, sharp scales floated like breathing plants, seemingly bursting from Galahad’s body and growing as anomalies.
Covered in fire oil, flas blazed, like demons out of myth.
"Galahad!"
Bluebird tried calling out to the lost humanity, but there’s only bottomless darkness in the eyes, not a glimr, like an Abyss.
This reminded Bluebird of a widespread phrase he’d read in a book.
When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
Bluebird showed a grim smile, recalling the sentence he’d read during his university days; everyone used it trying to appear knowledgeable, yet many didn’t know there’s another preceding portion.
Those who fight monsters should beware of becoming one themselves.
The sharp sword suddenly rose, Bluebird’s body flew like a kite losing its line, then fell powerlessly.
...
"I said that thing was utterly unreliable!"
Angry words filled with self-bla, if he had stopped this more, none of this would have happened. Steel’s snapping sound rang, no need to check, Bola knew Bluebird’s outco.
Humans learned too much forbidden knowledge in fighting Demons, akin to Pandora’s box, an embodint of ill-on from its ergence, opening it brings endless disasters and a sliver of hope.
Humans fought Demons relying on that sliver of hope till now, and Galahad is undoubtedly that disaster’s product.
"Let the Forbidden Guard take over the defense line! Everyone hold off Galahad!"
Bola yelled as he sprinted, leaping over obstacles landing on the Iron Serpent, a fortified vehicle by the chanical Institute, tougher than imagined for transporting these weapons.
The roaring wind sounded in his ears as Bola slid fiercely to the vehicle’s underside, then the sharp Black Sword pierced the sturdy body, deeply embedding into the ground.
"Galahad!"
Bola stood on the carriage shouting at the old friend enveloped in darkness, the figure in flas pulled out the sword blade, not holding it, but scarlet muscles attached to his arm.
It wasn’t a sword blade, just an extended strange part of Iron Armor; the sword-like scales spread like wings from his elbow, accompanied by the clattering sound of steel friction, unfolded the dark wings amid the blaze.
So abominably holy, like a Black Angel stepping out of the Gospel.
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