Jeanne d'Arc Alter transformed her Saint Graph into an impenetrable wall of fire, enclosing the area around National Route 20. No matter what method Black Forest Robert used, he could not break through.
The Wolf King raged, using invisibility to conceal the horrifying sight of his pierced chest and shattered skull as he frantically slaughtered the punks trapped with him inside the wall of fire.
The sensation of biting humans to death was not something Robert enjoyed.
Because, just like biting any living creature to death, it was nothing more than closing his fangs and severing the throat. Then it was over.
But because the ones he bit to death were humans, it brought a certain thrill.
When had that begun?
His kin had died.
Those humans had smashed their heads apart with clubs.
Those humans had strangled their necks with snares.
Those humans had killed them with short sticks that made loud noises and flashed with fire.
Dead, dead, dead.
Everyone had died.
Blanka had died too.
The children had all died too.
—How efficient.
Using intelligence to kill.
How efficient, and how cruel.
That was a kind of killing I, as a beast, could never understand—killing not through instinct, but through intelligence.
And even if I reincarnated, all I could do was bite through throats.
The one sitting on my back made me somewhat uncomfortable, but he said nothing, did nothing, and seemed not to possess a will of his own.
Still, as long as I ran, he would help me kill—so there was nothing to complain about.
Kill humans.
We will kill humans together.
No matter what kind of humans they are, kill them all.
Return to humans what they did to us.
That is what we are doing.
That is [revenge].
Kill humans, while dreaming that