What followed became a show of Carl's desperate struggle.
Wearing a full suit of bone armor and wielding a sword and shield, he was like a clumsy iron can, futilely turning, slashing, and blocking inside the cramped cage.
Meanwhile, the Baby Living Corpse became a deadly gray phantom, constantly slipping past the edges of his shield, through gaps in his sword strikes, and even between his legs.
Every pounce precisely targeted the weak joints in his bone armor.
"Ah! Damn it!"
"I can't hit it! Why can't I hit it?!"
Carl's furious roars gradually turned into panicked screams.
His bone armor was covered in fine scratches and bite marks. His arms and calves had been cut in several places, blood seeping out.
He tried to drink the Berserk Potion he had prepared, but the Baby Living Corpse gave him no chance to catch his breath.
A vicious pounce knocked the potion bottle from his hand, spilling its contents across the ground.
Finally, during a stumbling turn, Carl completely lost his balance and crashed heavily to the floor.
The Baby Living Corpse seized the opening, abruptly wheeled around, and shot toward his throat!
"No—!"
Carl only had time to let out a despairing howl.
"Crack."
The bone-splitting sound made everyone's teeth ache.
In Carl's wide eyes, the last thing reflected was the Baby Living Corpse's ashen face covered in tiny sharp teeth, along with the warm liquid spurting from his own throat.
His heavy body crashed to the ground along with that ridiculous suit of bone armor.
The last trace of light in his eyes held nothing but overwhelming disbelief and despair.
Chosen one?
He was nothing more than a sarcastic joke casually sketched out by the Reaper!
By comparison, everyone else's battles seemed far more "efficient."
Alphonse was the