57. Belated Judgment (23)

Long before Seraphax was born, killing had already become a very simple thing.

Pull the trigger—bang—and a life vanished. There was nothing difficult about it; even a child could do it with ease. Ever since their invention, firearms had surpassed every other kind of weapon, and even after tens of thousands of years, they had never fallen behind.

They were a double-edged sword forged by humanity's own hands. They gave the weak the power to resist, but also dragged more people into the chain reaction wrought by violence.

But compared to the complete systems of slaughter later created by the Imperium of Man, guns were merely the most basic of things.

So yes, we are a species that teaches children how to hate, how to kill. The question is, who forced us to become so cruel?

Standing in the hot, blood-reeking wind, Seraphax thought exactly that.

A fireball streaked through the dim twilight and crashed down not far behind him with a deafening roar. The squealing daemon beasts charged toward it like a moving black cloud. Gunfire erupted for a while, then was swallowed whole.

Seraphax did not need to turn around to know what that fireball was—a crashed gunship carrying the remaining four living people. Now, they were all dead, while the culprits feasted with delight.

Yet the greed and savagery rooted deep within their souls would never be satisfied. Within seconds, that noisy black cloud gathered again and moved in another direction.

Seraphax glanced back and saw a position still holding out. A mortal banner stood raggedly atop the trench. War and blood had ruined its surface, making it impossible for Seraphax to identify the force that was still resisting.

Though perhaps force was not the right word. There were only a dozen or so scattered remnants, and