The first time anyone saw a demon, they would form a clear understanding of them. But that understanding did not exist within the reason humanity ought to possess.
It existed in no dictionary, in no language. No single word could fully encompass that feeling, that heaviness, oppression, and loathing welling up from instinct.
Titus knew the enemies they faced were beings standing on a boundary. On the left side of that boundary—the side where they stood—was a world where reason still existed. And on the other side of that boundary...
Were things that made words such as evil, brutality, and blasphemy seem pale and powerless.
He pulled the trigger.
Brilliant flame erupted from the muzzle, howling out under the effects of runes and magic arrays, spinning constantly as it flew. By the time it plunged into that shadowy, distorted daemonic tide, it had become a storm of Destruction.
Fire ignited. The cannon fodder made up of Flesh Hounds and lesser Bloodletters screamed as they turned to ash. A burning rain of fire streaked across the dim sky, lighting up the heavens and turning them a bloody dark red. That was the work of the Repentant Fire Legion's Thundercloud War Mechs.
Titus had seen their forms before. He knew each Thundercloud could fire twelve portable Composite Magic Cannons at once. After seeing their power with his own eyes, Titus no longer questioned that seemingly small ammunition count. In fact, he even faintly felt it was too many, and worried the shockwaves from the bombardment might reach friendly forces.
His concern was unnecessary—after the pilots' minds formed a mental link with the Thunderclouds, they could manually control the shells' points of impact to a certain extent. The process did not even require calculation; it came entirely from instinct.
And now, apart from