The Third Magical-Industrial Revolution began with the birth of the first Antimagic Reactor, a revolutionary technology that broke the chain that made the world dependent on natural resources and Seafall’s Artifacts. And with an everlasting amount of energy suddenly available, the cost of power collapsed, leading to a mass discovery of new cutting-edge technologies. The proudest flower blossomed in the new era was a ship so massive, so unyielding, and so heavily armed that calling it a floating fortress would almost be an euphemism—the Juggernaut.
Humanity had built leviathans before. They were called carriers—massive vessels designed to transport Griffin Knights and turn naval warfare into a land battle—and on first glance, a Juggernaut perfectly resembled them…except for one little detail—a wheel. Mounted on the stern side for the Rolandish and bow side for the Korinthians, was an immense circular structure of half the ship’s total length—the Integrated Antimagic Reactor.
The idea beyond a Juggernaut concept was simple—a self-sustaining vessel whose engine could generate an everlasting amount of energy, never again forced to return to port for fuel. Moreover, the ocean itself made the job easier as the wheel’s endless rotation continuously drew in seawater to cool the reactor and then expelled it as vapor, forming a shimmering halo above the ship—the Crown of the Queen of the Sea.
The Juggernaut that had conquered the Miraval Lake and was now raining bombs upon Miraval City, was the first ever produced, the pride of the Korinthian Fleet—Mother Korinna. Yet, basing an entire campaign on a single and aging relic of the past was a gamble that brought its risks.
”We are over the target. Hundreds of Soulfuls are roaming on the deck, unaware of us and our operation, and there is no sign of either Animas or Legalists. As the intelligence report has suggested, they’re all busy assaulting the Miraval Dam.” Some hundreds of meters above the Juggernaut, a lone black wing was flicking up and down, steady enough to keep in the air its fallen angel, but slow enough not to erase the cloud that hid her. ”We will never have such a unique opportunity to end this siege. We ought to attack—NOW!” SS-class ’Winged Moon’ Kajerine Fibber urged the man she was writing to through her [Contacs.Window].
“Hastiness doesn’t suit you. Be the cold, rational, and assertive woman we’ve all come to respect.” She wasn’t alone. Just a few meters below, a man levitated into the open sky thanks to the multiple knives stuck into his woody arms. “Attacking now would only expose us to unnecessary risks,” Mr. Anhogi curbed her enthusiasm. He, more than anyone, had learned the price of recklessness.
“Although I despise that hunchbacked creep with every fiber of my being, we must strike now, or Vice-Principal Durere won’t be able to hold the Dam another day.” She remarked as more black feathers surged from the cloud, reattaching to her wing and offering new insights into the overall situation aboard Mother Korinna.
“Constantine dying?” Anhogi chuckled before lighting a cigarette. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Life’s a mystery, but one thing I know for sure—he’s enjoying himself right now.” He offered her a cigarette, and she leaned close, letting his lighter kiss both their tips.
“You’ve always been distant with everyone—me included,” she said, resting her shoulder against his. “So tell me, how did you and that little ghoul ever become friends? He’s too eccentric for someone like you, yet you two act like brothers.” Caressed by a faint wind and veiled by afternoon clouds, they enjoyed together the calm before the storm.
“We saved each other’s lives during the Fall of Bloodmarch, and later, his testimony saved mine.” He exhaled smoke, eyes lost in memories. “I remember that day like it was yesterday. The trial went as everyone expected—guilty on all charges—and as the judge was already raising his hammer to condemn me to death and to a Damnatio Memoriae—the courtroom doors burst open. A sinister laugh echoed, followed by the sharp tap of a cane striking the floor, and after a few everlasting moments of tension, Constantine appeared in the seat meant for my lawyer, wearing that unmistakably uncanny smile.” The same smirk formed across his face. “You should’ve seen the First Inquisitor De La Guadalupe’s expression when the verdict flipped to innocent—that pompous man-whore really thought my head would be his ticket into politics.” The ’Sinful Blade’ flicked the ash from his cigarette. “Afterward, Constantine got me this job. So yes, when he asks for something, I tend to listen.”
“Are…are you really a war criminal?” Kajerine exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into his face, her eyes betraying the coldness in her tone.
“Didn’t I tell you the real culprit is hiding on that ship?” He answered.
She snorted. “Right. The powerless Soulful that, somehow, killed the Marquis of Bloodmarch, escaped a duel with you, and most importantly, resisted your [Skills]?” Verdan nodded, and she could only facepalm.
“Oh, come on. Since when have you trusted the media more than your own instincts?” He actually managed to pry a laugh out of Miss Fibber—an achievement few men in history have achieved.
“Anyway, back to the point. Yeah…I’m arguably Constantine’s only friend, so I have to look after him. But…I admit his constant harassment of you is unforgivable. I’m trying to change his behavior—just be patient with him.”
The black feathers of the ’Winged Moon’ sharpened like blades, but even they felt paper-like compared to the stare she threw at him. “I never asked for help. I can handle my problems,” she cut the conversation, quickly turning her back on him.
“You misunderstand. That is, also, my problem.” He pressed his back gently to hers, exhaling a smoke ring as he endured the sting of dozens of tiny cuts. “If my time in the army taught me anything, it’s that war doesn’t offer second chances. You have to seize the fleeting moment—or die.” He paused till he felt that her wing had stopped twitching—it was the only opening he would ever get. “So…Miss Fibber…after Mother Korinna beneath us is reduced to rubble…we could…ahem…maybe go somewhere together…couldn’t we?”
Silence. A long, unbearable quiet that cut deeper than her feathers ever could. Then he heard a faint breath, one that slowly swelled into a genuine laugh. “That would be very unprofessional of you,” Miss Fibber stated.
“Unprofessional, indeed, but I like how it sounds. It suits me, at least.” Mr. Anhogi rebutted.
“Oh? Are you implying I’m not that type of woman?” She teased.
Verdan shook his head. “I’ve seen generals give rousing speeches about duty, only to blame everyone but themselves the moment they lose. I’ve seen charming soldiers preach unity, only to abandon their comrades as soon as they become a burden. I’ve seen nobles claim to defend their family honor, only to stain it the moment they take a city.” He turned toward her—now only a few centimeters separated their lips. “Words are meaningless—only our actions define us.”
For the first time in their twelve years of knowing each other, the ’Sinful Blade’ saw it—an excited smile on the Winged Moon’s face. “Just one chance. See that you don’t waste it.”
”I know a perfect place—the Blue Bird’s Experience. It’s no Le Miraval, but they’ve hired a new cook, a food magician. Prepare yourself for—”
*Ding!* The notification stiffened both their spines. They both glanced down toward the lake, or rather, toward the red-haired woman now standing on its surface.
S-Class ‘Everlasting Spring’ Aoife Sinclair slowly raised her hands, and the more she moved them, the more the lake’s surface began to tremble, until a massive shadow projected beneath the water, stretching between the woman and the Juggernaut.
*KRRAAAASHHHHHHHHHHH!* A colossal tree emerged from the depths of the lake, its trunk twisting and coiling like an ancient serpent as it slammed its full weight onto the side of the Juggernaut, trapping the vessel with a deluge of roots. In less than an instant, those roots interlocked, forming a natural bridge between the eastern rim of the Horseshoe and Mother Korinna’s hull.
“It’s time. So, we’ll talk later, after the fight—stay strong!” Mr. Anhogi let himself fall from the sky, landing onto the Juggernaut’s deck like a meteor in the midst of hundreds of stunned and scared Korinthians soldiers. His thirty-six knives rotated around him like planets around the sun as a meteor shower of horses emerged from the wooden bridge, each carrying a member of the teaching corps of the Miraval Academy.
As the chaos started, the ’Sinful Blade’ reached into his [Inventory] and drew his thirty-seventh weapon—a needle-thin sword carved from bone, glowing purple like a Hakka Scorpion—the Brainstem.
The scattered Korinthian soldiers tried desperately to form Phalanxes, as they had learned since childhood—your only safe place from Reactionaries is your Phalanx—but only a handful managed to regroup before the Essentias crashed into them like a living storm.
Each professor targeted a Mini-Phalanx, trying to crush them all before reinforcements from the lower decks even understood what was happening above their heads. High in the sky, Miss Fibber orchestrated the operation, using her black feathers to buff the Knights and debuff the enemy, while below, Mr. Anhogi commanded the battlefield like a conductor, using his flying knives to reinforce whichever professor was being overwhelmed. This perfect combination succeeded in wiping out every last Korinthian pocket of resistance across the Juggernaut’s deck in just a few minutes, and when reinforcements finally arrived from the lower levels, their morale collapsed at the sight of a sea of corpses. And while they all froze in an internal debate, whether to flee back below deck or keep fighting despite the hopelessness, the ’Sinful Blade’ pointed the Brainstem at the newcomers.
”[Sinnerman]” A surge of violet light engulfed them, and those it touched collapsed instantly—screaming and retracting into the fetal position as terror seized their minds. Their officers shouted for them to stand and fight, but nothing could pry them from the invisible agony consuming their souls, and then the Knights charged to end the battle.
Those who could still walk fled back into the lower decks, shrieking as they stumbled over their own dead, while the rest were shown no mercy.
The Mother Korinna’s main deck had been conquered.
The professors cheered their victory, shooting in the air with their Tigresses, while Mr. Anhogi lifted his gaze and offered a military salute to Miss Fibber, who gladly returned it.
*Phew…fuuuh…hoh…* Their celebration died as all the deck speakers crackled to life, playing the same unfamiliar melody.
It sounded like a flute, yet no one recognized the sound, its tune felt too foreign, as if belonging to a culture none of them had ever heard of.
“What the hell is happening? Is this a malfunction? A coded signal? An alarm?” AAA-Class ‘Raging Hornet’ Esteban Diaz bellowed, bothered by a bad feeling that was slowly growing inside him—hornet’s instinct.
“Esteban, up there, on top of the wheel—there is someone!” A-Class ‘Fading Myth’ Joshua of Kent, professor of Dueling, pointed at the top of the Antimagic Reactor.
From the back, the massive wheel was flat, layered with aluminum scaffolding so the engineers could walk across it. And at the summit of that colossus—someone was watching them.
*Phew…fuuuh…hoh…* A bronze-skinned man played a long wooden flute with exquisite ability. He wore an oversized tunic, embroidered with Living Weaves that shifted and danced according to the music, animating an ancient myth that glorified vengeance. Yet, his face was the true masterpiece, sporting features that could easily outshine a fairy-tale prince, and the most precious gem on that crown was his rare opal eyes, which created the illusion of a rainbow whirlpool—beauty that seemed to hypnotize anyone who looked at them.
*Phew…fuuuh…* The music stopped, and with acrobatic grace, the exotic prince leapt from the top of the wheel, landing in front Mr. Anhogi as smoothly as a plume.
*hoh…* He ended the song with a courtly bow, expecting his well-deserved standing ovation. Instead, the ungrateful Rolandish audience responded with a volley of [ManaSpheres].
”Ahhhhhh…so barbaric.” The man merely sighed at their lack of taste, and with a single and elegant movement of hands, he caught each sphere mid-air, juggling these balls of Crude Mana like a clown. Yet again, his talent was met with a miserable reception—a mix of disbelieving and horrified stares as the Essentia watched their powerful [Skills] being stopped so effortlessly. Thus, exhausted by such a demanding audience, the fable prince ended his performance by returning the balls to their original owners.
*BRAKA-BHOOOM*! *KRAKA-KROOOM!* *VRAKA-VROOOMPF!* A series of explosions erupted across the deck, unhorsing half the Rolandish forces in an instant.
*BAAAAANG* In retaliation for the prince’s trick, a bolt shot forth from the top of the Miraval Educational Center—dozens of kilometers away from the battlefield—S-Class ‘Fortunate Son’ Xoán Al Cordoba, using his personal Sniper Gaussbow—Requinte—fired a round aimed straight at the prince’s left eye. The Antimagic Reactor wheel completely blocked the line of sight, yet the bolt curved mid-flight, weaving around the massive structure. How was it possible? He was a lucky guy.
“Kajerine, Verdan, I want everyone AWAY from him—NOW!” Mr. Al Cordoba’s warning [Email] came too late, as both Mr Anhogi and Miss Fibber had already understood the danger from one glance at the fable prince, who was staring in awe at Xoán’s still-smoking bolt between his thumb and index finger. “The mission is aborted. I repeat—THE MISSION IS ABORTED!”
“You don’t look like a Korinthian, but that fancy sheet you’re wearing is far too expensive for one of their mercenaries. So who the hell are you?!” The ’Sinful Blade’ ignored the order, roaring at the new foe instead.
“Where I come from, it is rude not to introduce yourself first.” The man’s Adamic was flawless, his tone a melodic cadence worthy of a concert hall. But Mr. Anhogi’s ruthless stare offered no courtesy in return, and the prince sighed. “Barbarians…ahhhh, I expected too much. Still, even if these are your last living moments, I was raised to be honorable, and I simply wish to know the name of my prey.” His gestures were theatrical. Hands, feet, and shoulders all moved to season the conversation as if it were a stage performance.
“Kill yourself.” Verdan raised the Brainstem, firing a blast of violet light straight into those hypnotic opal eyes. “Now, a simple question—how many lives have you ruined? Because you’re going to feel all their pai—” However, when the glow faded, the same viperish smile remained.
“An amusing trick,” the prince admitted, clapping his respect. “But you stand before the Sultan of Deception.” He snapped his fingers, starting the show.
*SHLKKK–KRSSSSSH!* *SHLKKK–KRSSSSSH!* *SHLKKK–KRSSSSSH!* Dozens of human-sized snakes, perfectly camouflaged against the wheel, fell from the sky, crashing onto the deck below and spreading out to isolate each professor. Now, no one could help Mr. Anhogi, but…he didn’t care.
“Your little Betas won’t last a minute,” The ’Sinful Blade’ calmly stated, prompting the prince to chuckle.
“I must admit, I’m delighted you’re here. You seem…entertaining.” He tilted his head, the vortex in his opal eyes swirling more and more.
“Now then, who are you? And why side with the Demmies?”
“Who am I?” As he concluded the sentence, White scales began crawling across his bronze skin. “In five centuries I’ve had the privilege to walk on this earth, I have been called by many names.” His gums split open as hundreds of needle-teeth blossomed—two fangs descending like ivory daggers. “The Sultan of Deception, the God of the Jungle, and for a brief yet glorious decade, the Kalīph of Gupta.” His legs fused into a long, thick, serpentine tail, while the rest of his body inflated to inhuman proportions—the charming prince vanished, replaced by a towering humanoid white serpent. However, the golden embroideries of his garment remained, now dancing across his pale scales. “But if you’re asking about the meaning of the words above my head—Level29α ’Decēptiō Squamata’ Mishaab Gauda. And I am here to avenge my big brother.”
The revelation froze the battlefield like the first breath of the Útnyrðingsvindr—the Hyperborean Wind—across the few cultivable plains of the Highlands. “A real Naturian Warlord…here?” Even from kilometers away, Xoán shivered, his mind melting as he tried to calculate the consequences of this more than improbable turn of events. Kajerine, on the other hand, didn’t waste time thinking because she knew the identity of that prince of the fables.
For her PhD thesis, the ’Winged Moon’ had descended into the Bottomless Pit of Naturian politics, uncovering histories and dynamics unknown to most of Chaotians. It was a smart choice because most scholars agreed that the world’s largest, most populous, and most resource-rich continent would inevitably become the next fulcrum of global politics. Yet, it was also a maddeningly complex field for a young political science student because in Naturia, the concept of a nation simply didn’t exist—except, of course, for the Vice-Admiralty, the Thetacracy, and the Hivemind. The Naturians were not united in countries but tribes, each ruled by the strongest Anima, often mislabeled as Warlords because during the first contact between SSR-Class 'Antihero' Emperor Mandrake I Rolandsson and Gupta, those tribes appeared to be in a constant state of civil war.
However, the ’Antihero’ held a very different view of the Warlords compared to the rest of his court. During his brief expedition to the southern continent, he killed Mishaab’s father, watching his Kaliphate implode into countless fragmented political entities. From this experience, he developed a theory—a Warlord was not merely a king, but the physical embodiment of the state itself, a single being representing the collective will of all its citizens. For this reason, he coined his personal term for the Naturian Warlords, one that, however, never gained traction outside a few niche intellectual circles—the Leviathans.
Working from this premise, Miss Fibber’s dissertation analyzed the Gaudâtash Dynasty after the collapse, mainly how the youngest of the three Gauda brothers—through deception, assassination, and ruthless brilliance—claimed his birthright and rebuilt his father’s empire from ashes in the three centuries of conquest that followed. In the end, Mishaab expanded the new Gaudâtash Kaliphate to its possible maximum territorial extent, and although it didn’t stretch as far as under his father’s rule, his state was baptized as the Third Empire—the other two being ’HRE’ and Joseong.
However, despite those formidable accomplishments, Miss Fibber’s greatest fear came from the number floating above his head—29. Anima levels ranged from 1 to 37, yet only one person in history had ever reached Level 30, and the few who had surpassed Level 25 belonged more to myth than to history. Gauda, at Level 29, was closer to divinity than any living being, and that meant one thing—to break the siege, the Rolandish forces would have to kill the strongest being currently alive.
“Everyone, read the [Email] I just sent you!” The ’Winged Moon’ warned the group about the true identity of the ’Decēptiō Squamata,’ unintentionally shattering their morale—all except one.
“You’re not the first self-proclaimed god whose head I’ve had the pleasure of cutting off. But that name…Gauda…” Mr. Anhogi frowned as the memory of Ælfgifu’s kidnapping resurfaced. “Wait, I remember now. But the Demmie traitor killed your brother, not us.”
“As a good dog, you trust your master’s lies.” Mishaab began. ”Before my big brother was sent into exile, I placed a little friend on him to ensure his protection, and there is no way anyone outside the warriors of the most noble lineage could have killed him. So I investigated, and I discovered that one member of my brother’s crew survived the battle. Perry, he’s called—a Child of Chaos like you—who told me the truth. That the flaming traitor wasn’t alone that fateful day, and the Shura was killed only thanks to the dirty tricks of this secret guest. Perry never saw his face, but he heard something. An echo. A name. And that’s why I’ve allied with the Blue Chaos, to punish my brother’s killer, the Wali al-‘Ahd of your Kaliphate—SSS-Class ‘Hero’ Chad Rolandsson!”
“So, it was him.” Mr. Anhogi smirked, briefly wondering how the ’Hero’ had escaped quarantine. Nevertheless, pride flared in his chest because, now, he was certain that an earthquake was about to shatter the very chessboard the ’Sinful Blade’ despised with all his heart. “Sorry, but the Scionis off-limits. What about the other nobles? Would killing one of the two hundred of my students satisfy your bloodlust?”
Gauda flicked the tip of his tail. “Time to pray to those chaotic demons you call deities—Mr. Yourself!” From Mishaab’s forked tongue, a single droplet fell to the ground and evaporated into a swirl of purple smoke that swallowed them both.
Mr. Anhogi tried to scream, but no sound reached his ears. He tried to walk, yet his steps made no noise. He strained to locate the enemy, but his eyes saw only shifting, formless shapes. The ’Sinful Blade’ felt as if he were trapped underwater, and that impacted his equilibrium—just remaining on his feet was a miracle.
“Welcome to my Iqta. Your final stop before Jahannam.” The distorted voice of the 'Decēptiō Squamata' echoed from every direction at once as Verdan’s body was pierced by its fangs again and again, turning Mr. Anhogi into a holed figure resembling Arpine cheese. Lethal venom seeped from the hundreds of wounds, spreading through his body, which slowly ripened him into an Auxerine cheese. “Is this the best the Children of Chaos can offer? Pathe—” A black feather slammed onto the ground, absorbing all the smoke and freeing Mr. Anhogi’s senses. In the next instant, hundreds more engulfed the ’Sinful Blade,’ restoring his [HP], closing every hole and wound, and stitching themselves into a majestic cape, boosting his [Static.Stats] and purging every [Malus].
“I’ve never asked for help. I can handle my own problems,” Mr. Anhogi replied with a smirk, glaring at the fallen angel above her.
“Then prove it—kill him!” A storm of black feathers lashed out at Gauda, slipping through the gaps in his scales and triggering thousands of subcutaneous explosions, each inflicting a different [Malus].
Mr. Anhogi hit immediately, exploiting the serpent’s confusion to target the few vulnerable areas not protected by scales—belly, groin, and neck. Then Mr. Al Córdoba joined in, firing a high-caliber Gausswitzer mounted atop the MEC. The explosive shell hit its target, combining with the feathers and the Brainstem in a three-pronged assault that left Mishaab no time even to breathe\dots but against a de facto god, all of it was useless.
”All of you withdra—!”
*Kaaaaaaa—BOOOOOOOOOM!* Xoán’s order was eclipsed by a massive explosion. Gauda’s [Instinct] had finished de-rusting, meaning the five minutes the Chaotians had to kill the Anima were now over, and the Warlord’s first move was to kick the Gausswitzer shell, sending it back toward the MEC, obliterating Gus’s office and sending the professor and his entire rooftop team crashing to the ground.
“One down,” the 'Decēptiō Squamata' proudly announced as another rain of feathers descended upon him. However, this time, the feathers found no gaps in his scales to slip through. “Two down.” Gauda spun his massive tail, unleashing a whirlwind that tossed the black feathers back at the fallen angel.
“You’re delusional if you think you can use my own weapons agai—!” Although Gauda lacked any license for that, his [Corruption] allowed him to seize control of any organic object. Hence, thousands of now purple feathers turned against their own master, Miss Fibber, piercing her flesh. But, unlike the Naturian Emperor, she possessed no [ImmuneSystem] against the barrage of [Malus] each feather was embedded with—her vision got entirely obscured by thousands of icons over her ’Red Bar.’
“ESTEBAN—TAKE HER!” Mr. Anhogi caught mid-air his collapsing colleague before hastily throwing her toward the ’Raging Hornet.’
“Three do—!” Gauda attempted to exploit the ’Sinful Blade’s’ naive heroism, but Xoán—now balanced on a single fragment of pillar still standing—shot with Requinte a bolt straight into the Warlord’s beautiful left opal eye. The opening let the ’Raging Hornet’ seize the woman and begin the retreat, and as the professors reached the wooden bridge, Mr. Anhogi recalled all thirty-six of his knives, pulling them into formation around the Alpha, encircling him from every direction.
“You really believe you can survive all alone?” Gauda chuckled as he yanked the bolt out of his own brain with the tip of his tail, the wound regenerating a millisecond later. “Did you know the Children of Nature have a name for each animal lineage we resemble? Those who look like snakes are called—Basilisks.”
“Why should I care?” Mr. Anhogi slit his throat with the Brainstem, carving a hole wide enough to drive the blade straight into his skull.
“Do you want to see my [Evolution.SecondStage] into a Basilisk?” Gauda excitedly asked.
“No.” Verdan’s eyeballs turned purple as he vomited out his own brain, kicking it into the sea.
“Why not? I look so cool in that form. But I rarely have an excuse to use it—it’s a sin in my religion to [Evolve] without facing a real threat.”
“Don’t worry. You’re about to have one—[SinnersFeast]!” Each of the thirty-six knives released a surge of purple mist that slowly coagulated into human-shaped silhouettes, every one of them wearing a grotesque, mocking grin. “My [Skill] allows me to capture the souls of my enemies and imprison them. What you see in front of you are some of the most deranged monsters who have ever had the misfortune of breathing our air.” Mr. Anhogi revealed. ”Now they pay for their sins through forced labor, and soon you’ll join them.” Gauda snickered as the thirty-six war criminals charged at him.
Meanwhile, on the coast of the Horseshoe, the retreat was proceeding smoothly. On the wooden bridge, the ’Fading Myth’ fended off the Betas with a small group of professors, while the ’Raging Hornet’ helped ferry the wounded across the bridge.
“How is she?” Mr. Diaz asked DDD-Class ’New Sorcery’ Jaanika Saaremaa, professor of Battlefield Support, who was desperately trying to find a way to save Miss Fibber’s life.
“The Panacea fixed some of the [Malus], but not all,” she said. “And worse…her Mana has changed. It’s like a tumor, with infected molecules corrupting the others, slowly rotting her Essentia.”
“Fuck, fuck—[FuckYou]!” Mr. Diaz roared before punching Kajerine in the stomach. Then again, and again. He kept striking until he had literally punched the cancer out of her body, finishing with a brutal headbutt. “FUCK YOU!”
“V…Verdan…” The Winged Moon whispered as her eyes opened. “VERDAN!”
“Stay down. He’ll be here soon.” Miss Saaremaa’s words did nothing to calm her, and with the little strength left in her body, Kajerine lifted her arm and pointed behind them.
Esteban, Jaanika, and every professor nearby turned toward Mother Korinna. There, standing at the edge of the Juggernaut, was Mr. Anhogi, warmly smiling at them.
“Oh, no…” Mr. Diaz mumbled as he witnessed his superior’s apologies. But they weren’t real words, just silent movements of the lips because Gauda’s tail was wrapped around Mr. Anhogi’s neck, preventing him from making a sound.
All thirty-six knives were stuck in his skull, forming a bloody aureole around Verdan’s head. As Kajerine screamed, the ’Decēptiō Squamata’ clenched his tail, decapitating his prey—the words ’Sinful Blade’ slowly faded away as his head fell into the lake.
