The White House battlefield was steeped in despair and the pall of death. The light in the dying soldiers' eyes was so faint it could go out at any moment.
Even they themselves did not believe they could survive.
The injuries inflicted by Supes were unlike ordinary wounds. A considerable number were difficult to heal, or even irreversible.
Some, for instance, had suffered only a small cut, yet kept bleeding until they went into shock from blood loss and hovered on the brink of death.
Others looked perfectly fine on the surface, but their internal organs had already been charred by intense heat.
There were countless injuries like these, far beyond their understanding and beyond the capabilities of current medicine.
Some special forces soldiers had already begun preparing wills and final messages, putting their affairs in order.
Sobs and farewells mingled with the agonized screams heard everywhere, making for an utterly desolate scene.
"Damn it, damn it! Why are all these injuries so serious?!" Private Angel stretched both arms out as far as she could, trying to maximize her healing ability.
Ignoring her loose golden hair, she moved through the crowd in a pure white dress stained all over from battle, doing everything she could to save the wounded.
"Get your asses over here, or you can all wait to drop dead!" she shouted, biting her fiery red lips.
Wherever the golden light from Private Angel's arms reached, the wounded were miraculously saved one after another, prompting waves of astonished cries and exclamations.
Naturally, this extraordinary sight drew plenty of attention, and word soon spread from person to person.
When they saw that the person saving lives was a member of The Seven, many refused to believe it. Both the orders they had received and the facts they had witnessed