The port was silent now.
The gunfire had stopped.
The screaming had stopped.
The only sounds were the howl of the wind and the soft crunch of snow settling on the bodies of the dead. Erza stood in the center of the carnage, her dress red, her hands red, her face wet with tears that would not stop.
She did not know what to do now. She did not know where to go. The grief had consumed her, and there was nothing left inside her except the storm.
Her power rose.
It had been rising since the bullet tore through Yuuta's chest, rising with every beat of her shattered heart, rising with every tear that fell from her glowing eyes.
The ice spread wider.
The snow fell faster.
The wind howled louder.
She was becoming something else, something that had no name, something that had no purpose except to destroy.
A sword descended from the sky.
