Frontline (3)

Boom!

The firing of a mana cannon rang into the air. A deafening noise.

Bastle had the urge to move his hands and plug his ears in. As a demi-human, his senses were heightened. He could hear every single part of the war.

But, he didn't. How could he call himself a soldier?

He reloaded his AHMC.

Ping!

A headshot.

He felt just the slightest bit of pride, managing to get three headshots in a row. Until he realized that every headshot, was another man dead.

His eyes continued to peer into the distance. There was a woman, unarmored.

"Is she... suicidal?"

A young woman with naturally grey hair and bright orange eyes. She was demi-human like Bastle, though on the more canine side of it all.

He aimed in. He loaded the bullet into his gun, twisting his shoulder and aiming in.

Ping!

The bullet bounced off her. As if a wall of mana separated her from the world.

"Huh."

He stared at the young woman in wonder. 

That type of strength. To block a bullet without wearing any armor. Is that the type of strength he could have obtained? If he knew how to utilize that lunar mana that Feyrith spoke of. 

The battle dragged on, as Bastle continued to pick people off.

They had been given some reinforcements.

He kept his eye on that woman, though. She continued to watch as if she was simply an observer. 

Like him, almost.

He fired, again.

Another enemy is dead.

The two forces were fighting in the remains of a pretty large village. However, it was reduced to mere rubble, dead bushes, shrubs, and things of that nature. Unsightly.

Bastle trudged into the village, where the main fighting was happening. His job as a ranged unit was to attack from afar. 

"What am I doing?" he thought aloud.

On the wall to his right, the head of a barely familiar face was impaled to the wall. The face was painted in blood, with it's only distinctive feature being it's enamoring, hazel eyes.

The lower body was separated from the top half, his guts strewn across the wall. As if a wild animal had been his murderer.

His vision became blurry. Tears started to form in his eyes. Not out of sadness.

He threw up.

"Blegh!"

That stew he had made the day before was left on the floor, in a puddle of mess.

Although he had seen horrors, being a part of the first attack, it had not been horrors like this. He heard the sounds of innocent villagers yelling. He tasted the blood in his mouth. He smelt the rotten corpses, decaying only a few meters near him.

He had always protected his eyes. Turning from opponent to opponent quickly after killing them.

He was forced to stare at the corpse of his colleague. His stomach churned, twisted, curled.

"Blegh!"

Again, he threw up. His eyes began to water up, again. This time, possibly out of sadness. He couldn't tell.

There was no time for weakness in the war. He quickly got up, wiping his lips.

Crsh!

The shattering of glass caught him off guard. He turned his head. One of his fellow soldiers was thrown into a window.

"Gyah!"

Instinctively, he shot at the person who appeared to push his mate.

"A-Are you alright!"

He pulled off the man's helmet.

To his shock, the man was already dead.

He shrieked, dropping the corpse to the ground.

He quickly retreated into a somewhat supported house, though most of it was turned into ruins. He decided to stay as his ranged unit. Even though he was already on the battlefield, and it would be a challenge to get back to his position, he would at least try and help.

With shaky hands, he reloaded his AHMC.

Smoke filled his lungs, forcing him to cough a few times.

"Gaah..."

He began to breathe heavily.

"Bastle."

Bastle quickly turned around.

"Feyrith!"

"The battle's in our favor. Don't look so discouraged, Bastle. You're hands are shaking."

Bastle looked down. Feyrith was telling the truth. He didn't even notice it, but his hands were shaking to the point of almost vibration.

"Ah... I see." he tried to calm himself down, controlling his breathing.

[Cast: Violent Whirlwind]

"What's that... sound?"

Feyrith and Bastle felt the oxygen in the air begin to decrease. That was not an ideal thing to happen, considering that the smoke in their lungs was slowly starting to take effect.

Then, they looked up.

Woosh!

A tornado... no, it couldn't even be called that. Its size was... devastating. It looked more like a gale titan than anything. An angel that touched the skies. A monster of wind.

It crashed, reducing the already rubble, torn battlefield into something even lesser.

. . .

"It's amazing, miss Unahar. The size of those whirlwinds seems to increase day by day."

Her advisor stood beside her, applauding her growth.

"Jeez, you flatter me." she smiled, a light-hearted laughter escaping her lips.

Her coat, a large white coat that bore Sar's coat of arms, hung over her shoulders. 

It ravaged, tearing objects apart indiscriminately. 

"All of our forces have retreated from the battle site, correct?" she asked. Her assistant nodded, quickly. Rosi let out a sigh of relief.

The destructive power of this [Cast] was beyond anything that Anore had ever seen.

"I didn't even need to call for the 'Anti-Support' that had been in development. Congrats to me."

Rosi slid down the hill, as the giant slowly dissipated. As she went through the now even further reduced site, she saw a row of mangled corpses.

There were several different types of death.

Some were ripped apart by the sheer force of the wind.

Others were impaled by other flying objects.

Some people even slammed into each other. Creating this fleshy, appalling, unwilling fusion of the sort.

"Yikes. This all makes me wonder if war is really necessary."

.

"Watch closely. Learn from me. Then, you'll be able to grasp this Lunar Mana that you own."

"Huh?-"

Clang!

Feyrith leaped out of the rubble, lunging toward Rosi. She barely managed to block, shielding the attack with her spear.

"Oho!"