Drive, leading the charge, struck down a humanoid monster the size of a child; the misshapen creature's head flew off.
A dull thud echoed as the body hit the ground and was trampled by the cavalry.
Grr Grr Grr.
This monster was not alone; they swarmed like ants, rushing toward Drive and his men while letting out strange cries.
To humans, these beings were mere vermin, so no one assumed it could be a language; rather, they could not accept that such filth could be organized enough to possess such a capacity.
To humans, they were nothing but screaming monsters, and those screams were as blasphemous as their very existence. Their faces were nothing more than a parody of man: a lack of a nose, pointed and torn ears, and above all, glassy eyes bloodshot with rage.
"This is ridiculous," one of the cavalrymen asserted, his gaze full of disdain.
