Dimensional Descent

Raynred's shrill cries bore into the soul of all those who heard them.

He wanted to claw at his throat, anything to get that foul blood out of his body, but without his arms, he had no ability to do so.

He wiggled against the earth, trying to use the dirt, gravel and concrete in place of his hands.

Blue veins surged through his body, crawling up his neck like grotesque worms wiggling beneath his skin.

BANG! BANG!

He bashed his head against the ground, his own face deforming even more even beneath the strain.

Aina picked her ax up from the ground, using the buildings as leverage to leap back up to Leonel who was still in the sky.

They both gazed down toward Raynred, but neither spoke a single word.

Leonel's teeth clenched hard. Even after Raynred accidentally pierced through his own throat with a sharp bit of rusted steel, he still didn't feel like it was enough.

He watched with a cold expression as Raynred bled himself dry, his convulsions and gurgling cries etching themselves into the memories of all those who heard them.

Just as his life was about to fade, Leonel reached out a hand, a strong surge of Soul Force tearing into Raynred's mind.

At that moment, shrieks only Leonel could hear resounded. Even in the last minutes before his death, Raynred experienced pain the likes of which he never thought possible.

All of his pride and haughtiness had long since vanished. If he could have, he would have begged and pleaded.

moments of those he once thought of

'Pisces.'

trembled. He wanted to

**

in the waters, three corpses

body was simply layered with too many injuries. Under the suppression, the pain he had experienced at the hands of these three

by then, the old man had already suffered too many injuries. He had no choice but to go all out near the end to eventually

effort left him without anything left. He could hardly keep hold of his machete or even

to look around, but he was sure that the

take

was honest with himself, he really

"Grandfather."

"Mm."

to float in the water, facing the slowly rising sun. But, he didn't have the strength

tracksuit. There didn't seem to be even the

buried in his pockets, looking up at the rising sun as though he was doing it alongside his grandfather. Whether he

Hutch's weak snoring

Even in such a state, it took him

arm and wrist were incomparably steady, his index finger's

of holding onto a machete with just three fingers and his thumb, his index finger pointed parallel to the

of him, claiming it destabilized his strikes. But, even after so long,

grew up, he found breaking out

blade to the latter's throat, the

though, he looked no different from a youth kneeling by his only remaining family. His face was expressionless, his gaze steady. However, the trembling of his index