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.

closed his eyes, watching the final moments of those he once thought of as friends,

'Pisces.'

He wanted to

**

face first in the waters, three corpses pooling

had experienced at the hands of these three was unimaginable. But,

that bastard out, the battle should have been easy. But, by then, the old man had already suffered too

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

blood. He didn't have the courage to look around, but he was sure that the death

take a

honest with himself, he really wasn't sure

"Grandfather."

"Mm."

in the water, facing the slowly rising sun. But, he

was still wearing his pristine white tracksuit. There didn't seem to be even the slightest speck of dust

he was doing

a while, Elorin crouched down, Hutch's weak snoring traveling to

such a state, it took him no small amount

to his sleeping grandfather. Though his arm and wrist were incomparably steady,

always had a habit of holding onto a machete with just three fingers and his thumb, his

tried to beat this habit out of him, claiming it destabilized his strikes. But, even after so long, Elorin had never managed to

up, he found breaking out of this habit

grandfather's blade to the latter's throat, the

from a youth kneeling by his only remaining family. His face was expressionless, his gaze steady. However, the trembling of his index finger only