It wasn't something to ignore, rather something that was worth taking an extra moment or two for. The corpses of the common soldiers did nothing to change the fact that the blood on the ground is the same color as yours.
'Lamb. Those not fighting have a slight advantage in controlling their element. For that, even such small specks could break down barriers and tether their souls. But from how many of them have been taking their sweet time... It's comparable to an ocean.' The voice in his psyche explained something. Whether or not he understood the words it spoke, who knew. 'I'll show you the colors of a red flower. Do you know the colors of a person? My Little Lamb, I'll teach you well. One by one... each and every one by one... Each will realize how they could never take a life from such as you...'
Each mortal life is a pebble, tossed into a lake to alter reality.
Outdated means... To act and work against the current in the search for an equal footing.
"Enough..." So said Zabulus to it, "Be silent!" A command it heeded.
Unconscious and at its peak, to be held at this level is no easy feat for this old Soul.
New light shined down upon it, and through its senses, only saw white. With which to see. Which to analyze, pick, and understand with finality.
A new concept, something beyond just the unvoiced and unconceptualized thought processes.
...
"Boyo! Don't you see my weapon! Be awed by my power, moron!" Onofre exclaimed at Zabulus, and there was no response for a little while. "..."
"If you stand there and don't know how to be awed, I'm going to wring your neck, really!" She held out her hand as her weapon flew back into her grasp, she was beginning to get tired of battle, so she had no more need of something such as this. So she simply kept throwing her weapon around as if it were a boomerang instead, tearing and shredding apart whatever it hit, whether enemy or friend.
She did not aim at either side, and the Amalgamates were not hesitant in attacking without any care for fellow kin.
In just a few seconds, her weapon alone had cleared a third of the Amalgamates numbers, a show-off move.
'She really is on a different level...' Zabulus' thoughts were the most confused ones among the soldiers who had stayed alive thus far.
Then the rest who had actually lived up to this point, who were a schism of emotions and thoughts such as, 'Why?' or, 'How?', or even something such as, 'What is this, and who is this guy?' Couldn't help but question Zabulus' intentions and the origins of his existence.
Yet, none of them held a true hatred as there was only one person who began the true schism of their wants and beliefs.
After a handful of more dead Amalgamates, one of the warriors took notice of the horizon.
"THE BARRIER HAD STOPPED COLLAPSING! THEY'VE STOPPED COMING!" Yes, what a joyous occasion! Amazingly so, however it brought with it no less trouble.
Except this time, it was a much easier battle as Phernes joined in the mass genocide of whatever was left of the Amalgamates, punching and slamming everything around, throwing and pinning down whoever got close enough.
If this was put in terms of a professional or simply a long-time fighter, it was easy to tell that Phernes was an intentionally flashy one. More in-depth and blunt about his moves being at least glorious-looking; striking out wide, parrying incoming blows and using his flesh and bones to attack even from his organs and open wounds.
The smell was pungent, it was sickeningly sweet to the point where only a veteran-level of the immune system could avoid getting nauseous after taking in their breath after they swung their weapons. Although anyone at the rookie level was pretty much just vomiting as soon as they went anywhere near the remaining Amalgamates and the half-living boulders.
...
The Junior was watching from a distance again, wondering if Zabulus would die here. He had to at least get an injury, a major one or a minor one... she knew nothing about what goes on over there as her scornful and two halves of an expression stared at him from afar from beyond her open helmet.
That she was weak would have been the only reasonable thought, and exactly what she thought. Her mind was in disarray, too. To a certain extent.
Her eyes, her hair, everything about her face showed in agony, stress, confusion, fear.
Every which way she looked at it, felt horrible—And completely nonsensical!
It just wouldn't ever make sense to her, she spent so much of her existence training and partaking in combat drills; just to be out-done by an entity that just came out of nowhere to take away her values?
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She tried to smile, yet it felt like a frown. Her lips tight, her gums, her teeth hurting as she tried to smile. It wasn't a real smile. Rather a twisted thing that had appeared as what could be called an 'emotionally tired facial expression.' Except the only real emotion here was disdain.
'Disdain'... That was the only truth that came out of her state of mind as it was.
Regardless, It began. No longer could the people here give her something to care about, something to look forward to, and even take solace and find reason in the loss of life.
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'Grant me the serenity... White Queen...' She prayed in her mind. 'Grant me the resolve, Babel... Oh God of Felsuna.'
Her cheeks were wet, yet the fact was her tears had dried up ages ago, even then the dampness was as wet as it seemed.
Too silent for words, a world that seemed both muted and covered in a myriad of noise.
Yet the stillness was the most glaring feature of everything.
'God help me.'
It was a common cry of normalcy, a simple wish; all one needed to have hope in this day-and-age, was the truth. They simply never asked for anything more or too complex in reasoning.
The more people ask or search and scramble about, the further it will elude them. Simply because it has no desire to be seen.
...
"HAHAHA! WHO KNEW YOU WERE THIS LOUD? SOMEONE SHOULD STUFF YOUR MOUTH WITH YOUR ASS AND SHUT YOU UP FOR GOOD!" Phernes shouted out to the remaining Amalgamates.
There are only about four of them left, a simple and easy process really.
Zabulus looked at one of them with an intense stare, as if studying the strange being of flesh and shadows; his concentration was in other places.
Even then, the general watched on, yet without any sort of doubt, this person he had met wasn't some run-of-the-mill lunatic. Whatever it was, the odd fellow was no mortal, and that made him feel a great sense of unease.
To the degree of thinking, maybe it was best that he does not interfere with him too much.
To let him have free rein with his battle impulse, wherever he obtained such a quality, and whoever gave it to him.
Zabulus felt a pulse, or maybe even an urge to be more explicit with his violence and cruelty.
He frothed at the mouth at the idea of an excruciating end.
Death had long since taken so many, why not claim a few dozen?
There was a concept called 'Opportunity'. It was a simple and well known thing, but often ends up undermined due to simplicity.
If the chance is there, do it. Never second guess yourself, never be hesitant.
Simple as.
'They died.' was the phrase that appeared in his mind, along with the chant that came after that.
"They will no longer live..." And thus in the next moment, he ran and displayed his full-on hunger for violence. It became self-defeating and hypocritical of his earlier thoughts.
'Be fast, be quick; don't think.' was what he attempted now.
An Amalgamates head was torn off of its body as he ran past it and bit on it.
One down.
And each time he devoured his meal of flesh, he swallowed all of their blood, guts, and gore.
One after another.
Two more were crushed. Leaving the last one all alone, it cried and whimpered in an attempt to get forgiveness.
Was it truly capable of these things, such feelings; except what was it crying about? Perhaps something more abstract like its suffering? Or maybe even fearing death?
No, these things were incapable of such things. Beings who only understood carnage and instinct alone. Nothing more, nothing less.
Never once thinking of evolving and becoming smarter.
Because these things never thought, they knew nothing.
Zabulus was a creature of primal instincts; he consumed and absorbed and understood; the primal instincts became a tangible substance known as 'intuition', a sense of understanding within the mind and soul.
By consuming such beings, which resonated with his own desires, he had his memories, the memories that linked with his old tendencies and even now.
Within every single memory lies the concept of power and control, it was an unavoidable temptation to each and every one who sought after that primordial drive in desires of the flesh and mental, to be one who dictates what is right, what is wrong, what is good, and what is evil.
And there was no need to suppress these thoughts.
Instead, to utilize these memories for himself.
For example, how would it know what true fear is, and how would he know what it was going through if it never had a semblance of a rational idea to connect its actions as well with its senses and understanding?
He was not an idiot.
In actuality, the situation was something that could have easily happened if one was too focused on the battlefield and never let a small speck of emotion toil for them. Or at least distract them.
Whether this was somehow a natural occurrence or simply a fluke.
To a certain extent. For a moment it looked and sounded like the Amalgamate had a voice of its own and began putting thoughts into words—Yet that was utterly impossible. An uncanny valley that had some form of logic.
They were not alive, no matter how much they wanted, their existence would only be for a short few dozen moments.
Whatever the case was, its life was about to end.
Crawling, squirming, pulling out a small and narrow bone that was poking out of the ground, he threw it in its direction, lodging the bone into its body.
Then he rushed towards it and grasped the sides of its body and used his fingers to push the bone further in, tearing its flesh apart and drilling the bone deep into its heart.
And when he retracted his fingers, he punched both hands into its chest, grasping and pulling open the wound and widening the hole as its insides began showing.
His arms fell on and went through the edges of the torn flesh. Until he could come into contact with that beating red organ, it was a powerful thing, you would think that no matter how hard your heart pumps, it won't ever tear through the flesh and not even turn forcibly or accidentally... Yet there the holes were.
Until he found an opening between all of the bloody ropes and sinews of both tattered flesh and undamaged and barely hanging onto their footholds between the muscles and skeletal structures.
And then, his hands reached the bottom of the heart and grasped at both sides and it pumped one last time, until it ripped. The arteries and the veins were still connected; even if their hearts were torn out, the blood would still flow into their body regardless and the beating heart could be considered an after effect or the aftershock.
With his hands covered in hot and slimy and gooey blood, even he could feel that viscous bodily fluid flowing into him and touching every aspect of his flesh and soul.
Reveling in the death of their beings.
The heartbeat it gave off, he could feel it within him. Even when it should have stopped, it didn't.
The blood still flowed... but how was that? His mind would recall similar notions. There was no doubt.
Necrosis was kicking in, the flesh would degrade, and the organs would sag into each other until every single trace of any evidence of any being would turn lifeless. As much as a corpse would just naturally be.
Life was a rather complex and impossible thing to really explain so there was no point to try and make sense out of nothing.
All he had to do was breathe, to catch his breath after the grueling slaughter. His breathing pattern was even, almost as if... nothing had bothered him so. It was calming.
Eating the remains, devouring the memories, absorbing and using the knowledge.
Taking life, by taking everything.