Armand Region.
Border Wall.
The sky looked like a storm of destruction.
Dark mana swirled above, thick and inky, as thousands of fiery black spheres rained down in an endless bombardment. Each orb screamed through the air like a curse made real, threatening to tear the land apart.
But the wall held.
Javier's puppet knights stood in perfect ranks, rifles raised, their movements cool and mechanical. The mana cores in their chests pulsed in time as they fired in controlled bursts, each shot a line of light that intercepted the falling doom.
The Anti-air mana guns roared, their barrels glowing white-hot as they spit death into the sky. The cadence never stopped, a relentless symphony of destruction meeting more destruction.
And the cycle continued.
Fresh puppets stepped forward to take their places on the firing line, while the spent ones sank into recharge chairs with a soft hiss of mana conduits. A seamless, endless rotation.
