The sword descended in a hissing arc of steel, its edge catching the cold moonlight as it sliced through the space where Sezel had been sitting just moments ago, but he moved on time. He clenched the katana and slowly raised his gaze.
A figure stood before him, his form glowing in the voilet illumination of the Spirit Essence, clad in a full olive-brown uniform that spoke of military discipline and a foreign allegiance. A mask covered the lower and upper half of his face, leaving only a pair of sharp brown eyes that reflected the triplicate moons. A human.
Raelion's cynical words echoed in Sezel's memory: the greatest threat to a Slayer in the Spirit Realm was often another human. And here it was, the absurd, deadly nature of humanity playing out in a forgotten world. An enemy defined not by monstrous nature, but by the color of his uniform.
