Northern watched as Dante stumbled back, his boots scraping against the crimson ground. The Lieutenant's face betrayed a flash of frustration—perhaps even fear.
Northern's eyes purposefully measured and followed every single one of their strikes.
By now, it was evident enough that the shell areas of the Dark Turtle served not just as a damage absorber but also a damage reflector.
The Dark Turtle's single eye seemed to pulse with cruel intelligence as it tracked their movements.
Its massive form shifted, the black plates of its armor grinding against each other like tectonic plates in motion.
That sound—that horrible grinding—seemed to reach into Northern's chest and squeeze.
Something about it felt wrong, fundamentally wrong, as if the noise itself was an affront to nature.
Northern gritted his teeth, gnashing angrily as he propped himself up.