Liberi Reader

As the cannons echo in the air, Feist focuses on the battlefield before him.

He sees not the fierce Sarkaz, but the machinery by the conveyor belts he's the most familiar with. The thunderous sound of the enormous machine's movement is no different from the rhythms he knows so well.

He will take back the city that belongs to them, his own way.

The giant machine ambles down the street.

Compared to its colossal form, the men on the battlefield, be they Victorian or Sarkaz, are almost insignificant.

Its footsteps cannot be halted. Its gaze can easily melt the blocks.

It is practically the ruler of this steel jungle.

Yet it suddenly lets out a wail.

From a blind spot in its vision, a dozen grappling hooks latch onto the weakest point of its neck.

Immediately thereafter, several dozen figures climb onto its back via the zipline.

The smile disappears from the Vampire's face. Next to him, the boiling blood settles into stasis for a brief moment.

A faint tremor can be felt beneath the ground, before the floor above it starts to shake as well.

Blood. Blood marches forward.

He suddenly realizes he has stayed here for too long. Lettou is far from the only weak point in the command tower.

While both he and the Vampire had their attention drawn to the 'King of Sarkaz' and their old acquaintances, Rhodes Island and the Self-Salvation Corps have very likely been drawing ever closer to the information they need.

This was Rhodes Island's plan all along. They stood no chance of quickly defeating him and the Vampire. They simply wanted to buy themselves time.

Yes, he is. He can sacrifice an arm to escape from Ascalon, but the thing that's truly stopping him is the sea of blood before his eyes.

The Sanguinarch has already been angered. They are all trapped on this battlefield.

An earth-shattering surge of blood envelops the entire command tower. The Rhodes Island Operators and the Defense Force soldiers are all moments away from being submerged.

That is, until a shapeless force divides this red sea of blood.

The gigantic machine lets out another growl.

The previously silent cannon begins to rev up again.

The guard's mask splits, allowing his final expression before he succumbs to be reflected in the sheath of the Confessarius's sword.

Shining gazes at her opponent. Her eyes are both calm and sorrowful.

Once again, the final flicker of a living flame has been burned onto her blade forever.

The mist of blood is rapidly evaporating under the power of the witchcraft.

Countless beams of black energy are shot through the fissures torn open by the witchery.

The tides of blood that shroud the command tower have receded a little.

The blood's roar forces Manfred to take a few steps back.

Ascalon's armblade follows him closely. He knows she won't let him get away easily.

A red bolt of lightning flashes across the clouds above the command tower.

The battle before was far from enough to satisfy the Vampire.

He turns his attention to the Victorian soldiers hiding nearby.

The soldiers can no longer speak.

They fumble their way to the Vampire, as blood sprays out of their spines, one stream after another, heeding his orders in their arms and legs, marching forward rapidly.

They have received the Sanguinarch's blessing.

His soldiers no longer follow his commands.

He watches them advance and advance... until they reach the edge of the rooftop.

The Sarkaz's fight will soon destroy this place. Their eyes do not even see these normal soldiers who are in flux between life and death.

Most of the soldiers are Victorian. They are of entirely different upbringings than him. They remain oblivious to his objective and the deal he made with the Sarkaz to this very moment.

They simply followed him here... to the edge.

He knows he shouldn't have moved. The Vampire and Manfred would have been in no hurry to kill him as long as he hid in the far back.

But he still wanted to catch those soldiers about to fall to the depths below.

An intense pain suddenly seizes her.

This isn't the doing of the Liberi before her, nor is it the Originium Arts of the Vampire or Manfred.

After all, this isn't an attack.

Amiya, oh Amiya.

A voice calls out to her. A voice as soft as a snow-white feather quilt that has been set out to dry in the sun.

Amiya lifts her head.

The sky above her comes smashing down. The thick dark clouds surge towards her, engulfing her from top to bottom.

...Like a tight, suffocating embrace.

Their advance must have been silent. Otherwise, someone was sure to have noticed that they had broken through the walls and crossed half the city.

These footsteps are nothing but a signal that penetrates the hearts of all those on the battlefield through the trembling ground.

Every street their eyes can reach is filled with Sarkaz warriors.

The shadows cast by the dark clouds above cannot engulf them. After all, they are the dark shadows themselves. They are the ones who engulf the land.