On usual days, it was Red Falcon Nikola hunting their Corrosion Branch.
Now, the roles had reversed.
He was both pleased and simmering with irritation.
"Did you think hiding behind this heap of scrap metal would let you escape my pursuit?"
Saint of Decay Montiluo walked forward slowly, his leather boots crunching against the debris with a hollow creak.
Wherever his corrosive aura reached, steel crumbled into dust, and containers collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Though unleashing such a wide-range indiscriminate attack drained significant Magic Power, and the damage wasn't particularly lethal,
Nikola wearing him down wouldn't last forever—eventually, like a rat, he'd crawl out from his hiding hole.
The silvery liquid alchemical beast charged and smashed recklessly, seeking out Red Falcon Nikola.
"Nikola, the game ends here. This square will be your final destination."
