This method of slaughter gave him a bad feeling. It was a sensation he felt he had encountered somewhere before...
Henry's eyes were filled with a feral beauty. An almost frenzied expression had crept onto his face in the heat of battle, though he himself was completely unaware of it.
His great-axe and warhammer scythed through the air. Each time they fell and became drenched in blood, they flashed with a scarlet light. He assumed it was merely a reflection from his enemies' blood, unaware that the glow came from the weapons themselves.
Blood flew across the battlefield. With every fallen Inferior Horned Beast soldier, fresh blood splattered onto Henry's armor and vambraces.
The mysterious, artistic, and previously inert patterns seemed to awaken at this moment, as if gaining life from the nourishment of the blood.
