You're all idiots. Can't you see- WƎ☹C!ERROR!OMƎ ▒ O ▒ HƎ FIN⟡ MEMORY_LOST!!ERROR!!ERROR! {w̵̶͇̖̗̗͇̰̬̻̝̠̕ ͖̰̠̫̖͎̣̩͖̮͠͞ḥ̶̡̟̼̣͔͘ͅ ̀͘҉̰̫͙͈̙̘͎͈̪̲̘̠̲͡a҉͠҉̢̝̠̹͙̞͈̲̻͖̱̟͍t҉̸͟҉̯͓̞͍̞̰̜͓ ̷̧̨̭̝͍̫͇͇̥͇̞̳͉̲͇̬́͝ͅą̼͍̗̠̭͢ ̴̸̷̢͕̼͓̳͓̘̦̙̜̞̬̟̙̹̖͕͘r҉̺͈̳͇̺̲̻̗̲̗͢͡ͅe̠̺̙͖̘̮͍͍̝̘̻͈͘͞ ̶̨͏̹̟̘̫̝̺͇̗̖̖̭̹͖̕y̸̩͖̯̲̰̞͍͍̼͎͉͉̫̰̱̮̞͠͞ờ̸̼̦̩̗̹̫͟ù̴̵̧̺̫̯͠ ̷̵̢̦͇͚̱͕͉͉̟̘̝͝͞f͢͏͏̴͚̝̞̘̣̺̻͖͎̦̤̟̼̮̼̟͉o̷̴̯͓͓͈̼͍̪̠r͏͏̝̺͎̠̣͓͓ͅǵ̼͙̲̝͖̞̥͍̪͈͖͘͟͡ ̶̩̲͓̣͕̳̪͉̳̪̼̙̥͉̹́͟͢͠ͅͅȩ̢̢̦̻̗̫̣̠̤̘̗͓͉͔̱ ̢̹͈̻̙̖͙̯͇̞͖̳͓̖̥͟͞t̞̖̜̠̼͈̳͎̞̤͇̞̩̀͞ͅ ̛̤̻̪̖͔̺̺̦̗̩̳̼̘͉̞̖̯̯͝t̛̹̝͉̩̝̥͉͇̯̬͘ͅͅ ̵̶̶̵̬̦̭͉͕i̛͔̤͔̗̝͚͇͖̻͡͠n҉͇̫͇͈̮̻̺͘̕ ͢҉̫̫̼̯̞̬̖̗̟̝̗̻̘̤̞̗̥͝͞ģ̸͏͉̣̳̺̺̯̺ͅ}
[His body aches, like he's been battered by a hundred stones, a thousand. Dragonslayer lies sweaty in his grip and peaking out of the corner of his eye shows the dizzying drop on either side. Before him stands what was once a man, now twisted into a great angel of stone. The crowd below roars. A fight on the bulwarks, how poetic.
The angel-man, Guts forgets his name, doesn't care for it, extends an arm towards the desperate crowd, penned and terrified by the oily mass of blood and rot that has consumed their city. They remind Guts of penned sheep, ready for the slaughter.
"Can you not hear them." The man booms, flaring great stone wings. The ugly demonic thing covering the city writhes in the holy light of the angel-man and his followers, held back by a tenuous thread of faith. "The voices of supplication. Every person congregated in this place...now desires as one heart, salvation. They are eagerly awaiting the time of gods victory."
The angel bows his head. "Do you mean you care not that tens of thousands of believers...shall lose their lives in exchange for one evil witch."
The ground roars, fists raised, eyes shinning with possessed hope.
Kill her!
Burn her!
Save us, dear lord. Save us! ]
Don't make me laugh. All these people do is pray.
Every last one of them, when things get to hard all they do is bow down and look to someone else to fix it.
Tens and thousands of people shouldn't cling to just a few kids!
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[His body aches, like he's been battered by a hundred stones, a thousand. Dragonslayer lies sweaty in his grip and peaking out of the corner of his eye shows the dizzying drop on either side. Before him stands what was once a man, now twisted into a great angel of stone. The crowd below roars. A fight on the bulwarks, how poetic.
The angel-man, Guts forgets his name, doesn't care for it, extends an arm towards the desperate crowd, penned and terrified by the oily mass of blood and rot that has consumed their city. They remind Guts of penned sheep, ready for the slaughter.
"Can you not hear them." The man booms, flaring great stone wings. The ugly demonic thing covering the city writhes in the holy light of the angel-man and his followers, held back by a tenuous thread of faith. "The voices of supplication. Every person congregated in this place...now desires as one heart, salvation. They are eagerly awaiting the time of gods victory."
The angel bows his head. "Do you mean you care not that tens of thousands of believers...shall lose their lives in exchange for one evil witch."
The ground roars, fists raised, eyes shinning with possessed hope.
Kill her!
Burn her!
Save us, dear lord. Save us! ]
Don't make me laugh. All these people do is pray.
Every last one of them, when things get to hard all they do is bow down and look to someone else to fix it.
Tens and thousands of people shouldn't cling to just a few kids!