Lorne stopped and surveyed his surroundings.
Warm blood gathered into streams, flowing slowly beneath his feet and staining the entire beach a glaring dark red.
In the air, the thick smell of blood mingled with the stench of burning, forming a uniquely nauseating odor.
The wind swept past, stirring up wisps of sand, yet it could not carry away even a fraction of the blood-red color in this Asura Field.
The "grit" within him had long since filled to capacity. That golden energy surged like boiling magma through his second health bar, named "Battlefield Valor."
The relentless slaughter had driven that power to an unprecedented peak, as though it could find an outlet at any moment and unleash a world-shattering blow.
Yet not a single enemy around him remained standing.
"So... that's it?" Lorne murmured. Rather than the joy of victory, his Beast Eyes held a trace of disappointment, as though he had not had enough.
Just then, faint sobbing came from the shadows of the row of ramshackle huts nearby.
An old man in ragged clothes shakily poked his head out from behind a wooden plank.
When he saw the scene on the beach clearly, his cloudy eyes flew wide, and his body began trembling violently beyond his control.
"Dead... they're all dead?"
His voice was dry and hoarse.
Then more figures emerged from their hiding places. There were mothers holding children, youths who had lost their loved ones, and innocent civilians abducted and brought here to be sold. Every face bore the dazed disbelief of someone who had survived a disaster.
They saw that Flesh-and-Blood Hell piled from thousands of corpses.
They also saw the Marine standing alone at the center of that hell, drenched in blood, like a demonic god who had walked out of mountains of