were infested with flies. By all rights, they should have been dead. Yet the horrific figures didn't even seem to be in pain. Their very existences had clearly diverged from the evolutionary tree of life. Though, all things considered, that made perfect sense. After all, they were Diablo's underlings. Croak, cRoak, crOak, croAk, croaK. Only their voices were melancholy. The underlings themselves, each of their large bodies about the size of a small pig, were swirling calmly. Then they gently swooped down toward the chilly beach. An underling grazed the surface of a leather tent, one of the many that had been systematically set up just beyond the waves' reach. Together, the tents formed an impressive encampment. It was filled with flags from all three races, flapping in the sea breeze. A coat of arms adorned with a white lily. A coat of arms featuring plants and beasts. A coat of arms sporting a dark-red lizard. The three flags lined up together served as proof that the three races' armies were working as one. The cream of the crop had been chosen from within those armies, and they were the ones stationed on the coastline serving as the first line of defense. The battle-hardened veterans present had been given the coordinates, but not even they could comprehend the route the underlings had taken from the World's End. However, the vast majority of the fiends had been aiming for this nameless northern beach. Technically, the deserted land wasn't just any old beach. It was the northernmost tip of the human territories, wedged between the beastfolk and demi-human lands. Back when formal boundary lines were first being drawn up, the area was discovered to be a piece of private property that existed in the buffer zone between the two races' domains. That was where the beach's inane, tangled history began. An investigation found that a human doctor had gotten lost and mistakenly stumbled upon a beastfolk town that no longer existed today. After they cured an epidemic, the town's mayor at the time bestowed the beach on them as thanks. Following that, though, disputes around tradition and obligations grew fierce and messy. There remained some lingering resentment in the wake of the peace treaty, so it was finally decided the land would be left as is. As far as rights to the ocean surrounding it went, that was a whole other headache. So out of consideration for the other two races, the humans more or less left the ocean abandoned. From the naked beach, the underlings could easily spread out to invade the demi-human and beastfolk lands, and they could surge south toward the human territories as well. The defensive front's goal was to stop the underlings before it got to that point. They had already successfully driven back the second and third waves. The underlings left over from those two waves were soaring in at regular intervals, and the soldiers were currently working to shoot them down. However, they'd just finished taking down a large flock, so they were in a temporary cease-fire. The soldiers manning the coastline were keeping a watchful eye on the survivors soaring overhead. Because the battle had died down, people were hurriedly trying to move the wounded. The wounded were being carried to medical tents based on the severity of their injuries. And within the tents, there were strange people mixed in with the others. A girl so young that she hardly looked suited for the battlefield had been tossed down respectfully yet forcefully onto one of the beds. At first glance, she seemed uninjured. However, she was repeatedly coughing up frothy blood. She was swaddled in scarlet cloth, and her legs were bound with countless metal bands. The unrefined restraints were designed to stop her from squirming and opening up the laceration that ran all the way from her thighs to her ankles. White, humanlike teeth were neatly lined up on the inside of the slit. It was grotesque in a way that defied common sense. Anyone who looked like that could only be a demon's contractor or someone with a strong link to God. The girl was the latterâ€”one of the Church's saints. She had connected to God too much, and the burden had caused her to hit her limit. And she wasn't the only one. Several other saints had already been put to sleep in the first-aid station. They'd been flailing about like fish and been administered a powerful, dangerous anesthetic as a result. Bit by bit, the fighters the army had who were effective against the underlings had been whittled away. But the crow cries still hadn't completely died down yet. This desperate situation was well befitting of the end-time. "...They're still coming?" One of the soldiers murmured in a voice thick with tension and fatigue. Part of the sky had been forcefully stained black, as though a storm had arisen. The horrible creatures kept appearing, like flies drawn to carrion. The underlings were blotting out the horizon. Compared with the second and third waves, their numbers were negligible. But for an army exhausted by nonstop battles, it was more than enough to induce despair. The soldiers looked up at the flock with heavy eyes. Suddenly, a powerful noise echoed through the air to encourage them. The moist sand sank. The saints lined up along the water's edge had each released the shackles from their bodies. Standing in their center was La Christoph. He had solemnly spread his arms wide, as though to part his own long, black hair. He was a tall man, and his shoulders were broad. However, one part of the physique he had been blessed with was horribly transfigured. His chest area and the white robe over it were both incised. His flesh had been pared away, and his rib cage lay bare. Yet no blood spilled forth. The heart and lungs his ribs were supposed to be protecting were completely gone. In their place, a huge number of white, feathered creatures were packed within him. La Christoph, the Modest Birdkeeper, spoke in a strangely smooth voice. "We gather and wait." "We gather and wait." His dignified voice was met with a metallic chorus. The saints had begun cladding themselves in light. The soldiers unconsciously straightened their postures. Even now that God had become their enemy, seeing the saints lined up evoked a sense of nobility and sacredness. However, their figures were repulsive, even unsettling. After all, most of the saints' bodies had been transfigured in some capacity. Their forms were myriadâ€”there were people with their eyes transformed into rainbow spheres, people with tattoos winding across their skin, and people with fish swimming around in their transparent abdomens. And even among those without any external abnormalities, some of them were laughing without end, others were reciting scripture with their mouths closed, and yet others were in similar states as La Mules had been. But while it was unclear how they were maintaining a joint sense of purpose, all of them were obeying La Christoph's orders. Following his lead, they shut their mouths tight. It was a strange sight to behold, one that resembled some kind of ceremony. The beach was overtaken by a solemn silence. However, that silence was irreverently broken by the underlings' shrill cries. The moment it happened, La Christoph opened his eyes as wide as possible and shouted in a voice like thunder. "The hammer falls on thee!" "Ah, aah, ah, AH, ahh, Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹aâ€‹aâ€‹aâ€‹aâ€‹aâ€‹aâ€‹Aâ€‹aâ€‹Aâ€‹aâ€‹Aâ€‹aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹Aâ€‹A!" A flock of skylarks. A school of fish. Rainbow light. Drops of blood. They all swelled up in tune with the eerie chorus, then shot toward the enemy. Countless holes opened in the underlings' stomachs, their brain tissue was consumed, and their heads went flying clean off. They immediately began falling out of the sky. Several evaporated into a heat haze, then were blown away and scattered by the sea breeze. Numerous underlings spiraled down and were swallowed up by the waves. At first glance, it looked like victory had been secured. Not letting his guard down, though, a wolf beastman looked through a telescope, then narrowed his eyes. The beastman in question was Lute, the commanding officer of the first squad of Vyade Ula Forstlast's private army. Setting aside the telescope, he swung his arm downward. "Location two, gray. Location six, black. All others, within expectations. Over!" "Repeat, location two gray, location six black! At the ready!" This concise command indicated how the foes who had evaded the saints' shots were clustering together. After configuring their positions to account for the quantity of incoming enemies, the beastfolk raised their shields overhead. They were standing in front of the saints and serving as a living wall. Human soldiers slipped beneath them and began nocking their consecrated arrows. One of them shouted, angrily laying their frustration bare. "The damn monsters... They just keep on coming!" Consecrated or not, conventional weaponry had little effect on the underlings. The soldiers had to endure their fear and wait until their foes were close enough before launching their arrows. Right before the enemy made contact, though, disaster struck in the saints' line. One frightfully thin woman keeled over. With a pitifully weak noise, she collapsed into the sand. Glowing, albino rat snakes were slithering through her dark hair. La Christoph gestured with his chin, not showing a shred of alarm. A group of scarlet-clad attendants rushed over to the woman's side. After covering her head with a helmet, they forcibly fixed the helmet in place with screws and swaddled her whole body in scarlet cloth. Then the attendants roughly yet reverently carried her away from the front lines. A moment later, another saint collapsed. The soldiers gasped. Their military strength was slowly but surely chipping away. The experienced members among their ranks could see the army as a whole was reaching its limit. Despite that, though, they couldn't abandon the front. It was far too early to give up. And in a very real sense, it was far too late. To quell their fears, the beastfolk and humans joined together in a valiant war cry. *** Croak, cRoak, crOak, croAk, croaaaaaaaK. With an ominous caw, the underlings descended. Then their cries were drowned out by a comical thumping noise. "...Huh?" Something splattered against the beastfolk's shields. They frantically looked to see what it was. Their shields were stained crimson. The soldiers' eyes went wide, and they cast their gazes back overhead. Blood was raining down from the sky. The underlings had all gone stiff. It should have been impossible, but it looked like they'd stopped completely. Each and every one of them had been impaled with ten black blades apiece. "...Huh?" "Hurrah!" Shock and joy were just two of the many emotions in the soldiers' cries. The next moment, the oddly frozen scene crumbled all at once. The blades all faded away into azure petals, then traced magnificent, ephemeral paths through the air. The underlings fell, too, leaving trails of blood in their wake. These displays of crimson and azure joined together, then were swallowed up by the gray sea in kind. It made for a beautifully merciless spectacle. The soldiers gazed upon it in awe. Then they were met from behind with a voice whose casualness was completely unfit for the circumstances. "Hey, sorry I'm late." The voice's owner was no enemy. The soldiers knew that. Their ally who'd temporarily left the front lines after the third wave had been crushed had returnedâ€”that was all. Yet even knowing that, they couldn't conceal their trepidation as they turned around to face him. The stares of everyone present gathered on the voice's owner. There stood a thin boy languidly waving his arm. "Is everyone okay? Ooh, you definitely don't look okay." "...Sir Kaito Sena." Someone murmured his name, their voice thick with fear. The boy nodded. His demeanor was so casual, it made the reaction seem ridiculous. He was wearing a black military uniform, so his outfit