The massive Cleaving Horse Blade, the sinuous Scythe Evil Viper, the bear-paw-like Crouching Candle, and the blood-gushing Lance Dragon Sparrow; these flame-like weapons fluttered in the hands of the frenzied horror, stirring up a tempest.
As the frenzied horror charged like a raging wind, Dunkirk dimmed her eyes. Dunkirk, who had already called for missile support, knew that any effort was in vain now – once the hydrogen bomb dropped, struggling would be futile. But at least she had managed to take Beezelbub, the biggest troublemaker, away with her.
"Indeed... In the end, it's my fault again."
Dunkirk tried to pull out a cigarette from her pocket but realized that it had gone missing after the horror's painful blow moments ago.
"I should never have pursued happiness."
"Some people simply cannot bear even a glimmer of hope..."
*Thud!*
The sharp lance plunged straight into Dunkirk's chest, lifting her high and smashing several small buildings behind her as her liver and intestines spilled onto the ground. Dunkirk's black blood splattered like an abstract painting, mixing with red bricks and white stones, emitting an unsettling aura.
Yet the horror did not give Dunkirk a moment's respite. Wielding the massive Cleaving Horse Blade like a war god, the horror swung it down with unstoppable force, deeply cutting into Dunkirk's shattered body, burying her in a pit of destruction.
The heavy blade struck down with a thunderous series of roars, causing a quake-like rumble as Dunkirk struggled to parry the horror's blows, her body forcefully sinking more than ten meters, already deformed beyond recognition.
Dizzy, overcome with pain, Dunkirk felt her head spinning, her raven-like wings slowly spreading behind her. All twenty-four ribs in her body shattered, draining every ounce of flesh and blood from her chest cavity.
No... No...
Death is so simple...
Simply dying cannot cleanse the blood-stained history that burdens me.
Facing the many evil souls eagerly awaiting her death, I cannot allow them to have their way!
I cannot die...
I do not want to die!
The immense blood tassels sprouted like thorny plants all over Dunkirk's skeletal body, coiling.
Terrifying blood tassels emerged from deep within her bones, rapidly spreading from the fractured ribs onto the flesh wings, forming rows of blood feathers resembling bountiful fruits.
"Judgment!"
Dunkirk fiercely waved her wings, feathers piercing the horror's body like bullets, triggering a deafening series of explosions. The heat wave concentrated and erupted in the narrow space of the pit, forcefully propelling the horror out of the deep hole.
In that moment, Dunkirk resolutely abandoned all battle tactics. Ignoring her heavily scarred body, she flew out of the hole alongside the horror, viciously raising her hand towards it.
Facing the horror, Dunkirk extended her fingers.
"Judgment...!"
The dozens of hearts displayed on Dunkirk's flesh wings twisted and deformed rapidly, resembling blood-bathed infants. Pumping out pitch-black blood thorns, they transformed into meteor hammer-shaped blood spheres, disconnecting from Dunkirk and hurtling towards the horror.
A series of burning red grape-like exploding fireballs burst consecutively upon contact between the blood spheres and the horror.
In the blink of an eye, looking down from the city of waves, an entire street was immersed in the blood-red explosion of flames. Red fireballs, like alluring red lights, stripped the skeleton of the entire street and flayed it alive!
The once arrogant frenzy, when faced with such a level of assault, had no choice but to wield all available weapons for defense.
"Come again... punishment!"
The frenzy seemed to be provoked by the explosive pain. It roared furiously, its black muscles bulging in anger, wanting to tear Dunkerque apart.
However, the response it received was an even fiercer rain of bombs, the intense firepower almost immobilizing it, let alone getting close to Dunkerque for close combat.
Roaring in anger, the frenzy exerted force and hurled a devastating long spear, the momentum even stirring up the rolling gravel on the ground. But Dunkerque, blessed by the backdrop, simply dodged the attack by tilting slightly to the side.
Continuously sacrificing her own flesh and blood to supply ammunition for the punishment, Dunkerque was now so emaciated that she was almost all skin and bones – appearing not to have even a few ounces of flesh left, even on the scales.
Gritting her teeth, Dunkerque knew deep down that this battle could not be prolonged any further.
With her keen insight, she could tell that the frenzy was also at its last straw, and boldly rushed forward in the fierce wind, ready to deliver the final blow.
However, a sudden change occurred.
A piercing, spine-chilling scent of wormwood, akin to a lament in the dead of night, quickly filled the air around Dunkerque, accompanied by a mysterious mist that blocked her path.
"What is this... smell?"
Dunkerque then tried to see through the mist with her magic, only to find that it was impenetrable.
"Is this the backdrop?!"
The mist silently approached, traveling miles in an instant, engulfing Dunkerque in this pristine ocean.
Lost and disoriented, Dunkerque grasped at nothing. She fell to the ground, panting heavily. Overexerting her angelic powers had caused her chest to cave in, making it almost impossible for her to catch her breath.
A giant hand suddenly reached out from the corner of the mist, grabbing the weakened Dunkerque and lifting her into the air.
The terrifying strength nearly crushed Dunkerque on the spot.
"I can smell the fear hidden deep in your marrow, little imp," the frenzy stretched its twisted neck, sporting a grotesquely broken smile as it addressed Dunkerque.
