The killing intent that radiated from Erza was unlike anything the men had ever felt. It was not the cold, measured threat of an assassin or the hot fury of a soldier.
It was something else entirely, something primal, something ancient, something that should have been left in the age when beast ruled the skies and humans hid in caves.
It was like standing at the edge of a volcano, watching the molten earth rise, knowing that there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no prayer that would save you.
The eight bosses felt it.
Their men felt it.
Even the demons that lurked in the shadows of the port, drawn by the promise of sin and suffering, felt it. And they were afraid.
Viktor Krov was the first to find his voice. His hand shot up, pointing at the weeping woman in the blood-soaked dress.
"Open fire!" he screamed. "Kill her! Kill her now!"
The men who had been frozen, who had been waiting for an order, who had been holding their weapons with shaking hands, they fired.
