Ashema and the other Generals were seething. They gave the masked man terrifying glares as they whipped about in the sky.
Two of their brethren had been defeated by Rias and turned into Undead minions; one had already been sacrificed to spare the masked man from Pherdanta's attack – a Cavern shield.
What an insult.
Ashema was grinding his teeth so hard they spilled sparks. To keep up with the others, he was riding on the back of one of his fellow Generals, and in order to exploit his powers in the battle, he was lent him blood so he could use it to attack and defend as necessary. So far, this and the full efforts of the other Generals had yet to yield any kind of result against the Bearer of Undeath.
How shameful.
'He's so like him,' Ashema thought, and the image of Skullius, no, Festos floated through his mind.
…
