Dyon burst through the front line. Like a corpse that had lost his mind, his movements were erratic and unrestrained. It felt as though he had no rhyme or reason to his actions, yet every step he took led to the death of another.
His scythe moved so quickly that it looked no different from a black whip curving through the air, blood curdling screams and fountains of crimson graced his every step.
It was an army of trillions, yet the entirety of their intention was trained on a single man. Not a single one seemed capable of stepping past the line this man had drawn.
Dyon leapt up, his feet dripping with blood, collapsing the chest of a golden armor Sapientia. Even as this warrior was sent flying backward, the curved blade of Dyon's scythe appeared in its path, causing the warrior's head to be severed from the back of his neck.