The more of us there were, the stronger we became.
Orange-red flames flared across "Conspirator" Polti's pauldrons and breastplate, scattering the cold chill.
Two miniature suns lit up in "Priest of Light" Wilshire's obsidian eyes, and his gaze pierced through the flames, staring at the pale giant bird slowly taking shape.
It was three times the size of a shrike, its wings shifting from pure white to pallid, wreathed in green ghostfire.
Above its long beak, ghostfire blazed fiercely within the bone of its skull.
As green light flickered, its eyes were filled with cold, vicious savagery.
Shrike Ghost!
Flap!
Amid a venomous, shrill cry, its pale wings billowed, and the Psychic Flame went out with a whoosh.
Wilshire's armor snapped loudly in the gust. The "Priest of Light" leaned back and was just about to spread his arms when his movement suddenly stopped.
He opened the Sonic Array channel, quickly adjusted it, and contacted Adams, the lord of the Fourth Legion.
"Death Lord, Polti of the 7th Legion and I joined forces and killed over a hundred shrikes."
"Their deaths have created a ghost."
An icy voice sounded over the communication channel. "Oliver is collecting bodies at Raven Nest Forty-Seven. He'll head over immediately."
"Thank you for your gift." Adams's voice eased slightly, but it was still somewhat cold and hard.
"Praise our lord!" A devout smile rose on Wilshire's face. He paid no mind to Adams's words, which were as cold as his body.
"Praise our lord!"
Wilshire heard the devotion in that faint, eerie voice and nodded slightly in satisfaction.
He gave up on killing the Shrike Ghost, offering it to the Fourth Legion as a sacrifice to the Black Emperor.
When the Royal Court Friars grew stronger, they could better serve the Black Emperor.
Wilshire raised