This feeling is truly terrible, utterly terrible, but fortunately Owes can pilot the Armor of Original Sin. Upon that evil anomaly, he can once again feel that sense of freedom. From that ti on, he was no longer a useless person reliant on others but Lancelot, the nightmare of the demons.
He was Lancelot, powerful Lancelot, the youngest Knight Commander of the Purification chanism...
No longer.
It was a delicate dream, but such dreams too shattered. He can no longer pilot the Armor of Original Sin. He will spend the rest of his life like other mbers of the royal family, in a lavish oversized pram, ticulously cared for, living in humiliation.
Countless thoughts surged through his mind, ever since that despairing situation began, Owes has been pondering these matters.
Owes' gaze beca terrifying. For him, this seed like a "selfish" thought; he no longer wants to dedicate the last of his warmth to the royal family. He wants to die here, to die as a person, rather than live and beco a pathetic lab rat, continuing to be ticulously cared for.
So, while in the safe house, he was rather pleased. He was about to die, but not on a wheelchair. He would die with honor as a mber of the Purification chanism. It was so beautiful, but that dream too is about to end. His last na is Victoria. He carries the King's Curse. He is the lab rat. He must survive.
He clenched his fist, nails cutting into the flesh, blood flowing endlessly.
"This shouldn't be my ending, it shouldn't be..."
The soft murmurs were drowned out by the roaring gunfire. Red Falcon didn't notice Owes' anomaly. Given the tense atmosphere, he didn't have the spare energy to focus on Owes.
Flinging out the folding blade, Red Falcon chopped forcefully, completely killing a fallen demon, blood already soaking his clothes as if doused by a heavy rain. He's drenched, yet hot steam rises from the sticky clothes.
It's quite strange; soone wants to die, yet soone tries their hardest to live.
Whether it's erosion or a blind rage, under extre fear, Red Falcon is filled with drive. The door to the lift area lies ahead; open that door, and the escape plan is halfway successful.
Yes, actually there's still hope to survive. All the recent conjectures were based on the worst-case scenario. Maybe the demons on the surface have already been killed off by Gawain and the others. Perhaps behind the door, the lift area is empty, without a single demon.
In fury, Red Falcon thinks as optimistically as possible, and then the door opens. The cold wind rolls in, carrying countless raindrops.
Everyone stands there dumbfounded. At so point, the do above the lift area opened, pouring rain through the breach, accumulating a shallow layer on the ground. Fierce flas burned on the large lift platform, and deafening gunfire crackled.
Before much thought, amid demon's roars, a suit of Armor of Original Sin falls from the edge of the do onto the large lift platform. Several demons climb onto its body, repeatedly slicing the external armor with claws, which is covered in sharp scratches until a demon cuts into the fuel tank carried by the armor.
A violent explosion erupts, slamming the entire armor onto the ground. Those demons, also engulfed by the fiery explosion, are blown to pieces. After a brief pause, that armor slowly stands up again, its outer shell badly damaged, lines and pipes completely exposed.
"Night Owl..."
Arthur recognizes the paint on that armor. It's the Third Generation Armor piloted by Night Owl. But why is he here?
The sound that echoes again draws everyone's attention. On the large lift platform, a fallen suit of armor struggles to stand up. Its condition isn't much better than the other Third Generation Armor, but the flesh on it is rapidly healing, forcing the broken steel back together.
The engine roars as it runs, steam constantly emitted. This suit of First Generation Armor props itself up with a great sword and stands up again. It's unknown how many demons it killed or the injuries it suffered. The rain mixed with blood falls along the steel's edge.
"Arthur, you're still alive, ah... it's hard to say whether it's lucky or unlucky."
A voice rings out. She was originally a very lively person, but now she seems utterly exhausted. At such a close distance, the voice freed from erosion and reached here.
"Percival."
Arthur's pupils contract. The situation is worse than anticipated. In reality, Percival had already retreated to defend, but on the surface, she and others engaged a certain enemy in battle, an enemy that breached Gawain's defensive line, an enemy that infiltrated the research area.
From the current situation, it's very apparent Percival and the others lost. They retreated step by step before that mysterious enemy.
"What should we do! Arthur!"
Blue Jade shouted at Arthur, snapping him out of his shocked trance.
Dood, everyone is dood, everyone is shackled by the despair in front of them, everyone is at a loss before this fear.
Say sothing! Arthur! Say sothing, even if it's deceiving everyone, continue deceiving everyone, painting the only hope within despair. As long as new orders are issued, everyone won't be consud by despair, everyone can continue fighting for that illusory hope.
Deceiving oneself, until dying.
"No, we haven't lost. So must survive; soone must evacuate safely. Continue the battle plan, kill all these demons!"
Arthur shouted, a commanding voice resonating as a dark figure approached the edge of the do. Like a cage, he stood high above, overlooking the slaves within the cage.
"Looks like Lorenzo de' dici isn't here..."
The Plague Doctor's gaze swept through the crowd, finally speaking with so disappointnt.
On the surface, demons tore at the already shattered armor, countless bodies lay scattered in the puddles, both demonic and human. Blood gushed from warm flesh, converging into a red stream, finally pouring into the do.
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