It was the epitome of wanton destruction, one born out of the deep-rooted feud between Zion and the denizens of the Eastern Highlands.
Lit up by the crimson rays of the Nighteye were snow-covered streets lined with the corpses of the deceased with the buildings reduced to rubble with nary a survivor in sight.
Of course, if that were all, it would be acceptable.
But watching as the corpses arose from their slumber, Charles was forced to curse aloud. "Damn it, just what the hell is the meaning of this?"
As he spoke, he swung his large sword in frustration, resulting in a chaotic wind of slashes that obliterated the dead, turning them into dust.
Meanwhile, his companion busied himself studying the wind flow, seemingly searching for something.
"She's close," Robert muttered softly as he returned from scanning the area from the top of a relatively intact building.
