My comrades' ashes are buried beneath my feet, and the blood on my blade has dried black.
Our apocalypse is a song of parting.
We kill so the next generation can live better.
You cowardly humans: your excuses for running away and slaughtering your own kind are nothing more than fear of death. That's all.
Yue Li, which matters more: faith or staying alive?
Tell me, in this hell, why would I keep living without faith?
[The author's last apocalyptic story left a shadow that still haunts me. This story is postponed indefinitely. I'll come back to fill in this pit once I've overcome it. I just feel that some hopeful things deserve to appear, sooner or later.]
