As Gron's roar pierced the mist over the lake, the cannons aboard all thirteen warships spat blazing tongues of fire at once.
The Flame Capital might not excel at much else, but burning and explosions were its specialties.
Immediately after Gron reclaimed the Smelting Plant, these specially designed ranged weapons had been issued to the army. Now they were finally serving their purpose.
Special armor-piercing shells, incendiary shells, and Molten Iron Shells rained down on the purplish-black mass of flesh, dozens of meters tall.
For a moment, explosions thundered nonstop across the lake, and thick smoke and fire instantly swallowed the monster.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Shattered stone and chunks of flesh flew everywhere. Amid the explosive blasts, the air filled with the pungent stench of rot and burning flesh.
The Walkers clad in burning armor raised their hands in unison, drawing on the power of the Sunfire God within them. Together, they formed an enormous Fire Whirlwind and slammed it into the giant purple mass.
The intense heat instantly scorched the tissue on its surface, making it curl up and carbonize.
"It's working! Keep attacking!"
Overjoyed, Mortas leaped upward with all his strength.
His mantis-shaped body stretched out in midair. He hurled his daggers, coated in lethal poison, severing the dangling flesh whips.
The severed tissue fell to the ground, still writhing madly as it tried to reconnect, but soon stopped moving under the effects of the poison.
Their counterattack seemed effective. The enemy could bleed, and victory was not impossible.
Yet the very next second after that thought arose in the soldiers' minds, a sight appeared that plunged every bug into despair.
As the smoke cleared, the wall of flesh had not shrunk at all. Instead, it was swelling visibly.
The blasted chunks of flesh had not died.