This is hell, in an endless cycle, losing all emotion, leaving only numbness, like one confused living dead after another.
Nowadays, the only thing supporting Gawain to continue moving forward seems to be the orders from the Purification Mechanism. He is no longer human, merely a machine executing orders, a cog in a vast machine, stubbornly carrying out orders before rusting into collapse.
He does not feel sad about this; as long as he is alive, more people will be spared from such disaster, and for this, he is grateful.
"Percival, you are really lucky, aren't you?"
Gawain shows a bitter smile.
A horde of demons overwhelmed the temporary defenses of the Ghostly Floating Massacre, most were intercepted by the Peacekeepers at the rear, but a few still charged towards Gawain, the Armor of Original Sin raised the Great Sword, yet had not swung it down.
