The hijacked mecha wasn't just a weapon. In Damien Bloodbane's hands, it was an extension of his will.
A cold, efficient, and terrifying Death Reaper's scythe.
From the moment he seized control of the unit, the sky stopped being a battlefield. It became a slaughterhouse.
Mecha One crumpled under a direct blast to the core.
Mecha Two was shot and cocooned and thrown into its teammate.
Three through Seven fell in rapid succession—torso shots, joint cripples, cockpit breaches. All clean. All surgical.
By the time most of the first years realized what was happening, Damien had destroyed fourteen.
"God bless Damien Bloodbane!" someone shrieked wildly. "Kill those mecha bastards! Kill them all! Kill them all for mee!!!"
"Hahahahahahaha! Take that! You think you can ambush us that easily?!"
Damien's efficient "killing" of the mechas had turned the ambush completely around.
The first years who were scattered and defensive, instantly retaliated at full strength.
