Amid the calm sea, sporadic gunfire erupted, with dark red trails crisscrossing, indicating that the battle was still ongoing and the long night seemed endless, as if unchanged.
Bola sat wearily on the ground, with several empty vials of Florun Potion beside him and some simple jerky to simply fill his stomach and restore energy.
In front of him was the tall Weapon Master, secured to the deck by ropes. Technicians were hastily working on it with their toolboxes, making adjustments. The Third Generation Armor and Black Angel were not here; they had sustained significant damage and, without anyone available to pilot them, were sent back to the hold for maintenance by technicians from the Perpetual Motion Pump.
For a mortal like Bola, piloting the Armor of Original Sin was no easy task, let alone engaging in such intense combat while doing so.
After being tense for so long, Bola nearly fainted upon leaving the armor.
