The followers of the Light God do not fear death. Even as pieces of their comrades' corpses kept tumbling down, they still hurled themselves upward without a second thought.
Charles dangled upside down from the cavern ceiling with a barrel of gunpowder clenched in his teeth, waiting. He was waiting for a certain opportunity.
When the explosions peaked in intensity, his wings unfurled and he flew toward the distant fissure.
By now, most of the tentacles on the massive flesh Shield Machine had been blown off. Its body was pitted and cratered with wounds through which blinding sunlight shone. Of its six huge, insect-like legs, three had been blasted off. The wounds kept healing, but it was clear the rate of regeneration had slowed dramatically.
But to achieve this, nearly all the Light believers had died. Only two Airships remained, barely afloat, wavering in the sky.
