Then Eugene felt it.
Ether, ethereal fluctuations bursting from all directions, completely enveloping him.
In the rolling gale, silver-white light sparkled.
They were Flying Knives, each wrapped in currents of air, as light as butterflies drifting into the yellow sand, transforming into fluttering leaves, silently arriving at Eugene's side.
The sharp sound turned instantly into a furious hum, as if thousands of birds were sharply shrieking, dragging Eugene into the storm of Iron Feather.
Flying Knives swept by, slicing arms, cutting thighs, piercing through tibia, striking the chest...as if thrown into a meat grinder, in the blink of an eye countless wounds appeared on Eugene's body, torn by blades lifted by the wind, leaving him ravaged and bloodied.
The agony and dying intent interfered with the release of Secret Energy, causing a momentary delay in each successive heavy blow, yet Bologue tilted his head, like an undying Evil Spirit, continued striding forward.
