Behind the row of men, a person garbed in the Empire’s military uniform diffused his instruction and the weapons were cast. They rushed toward the man straight ahead, and coercively shut his yet prattling mouth――,
Greed: […I was in the middle of talking just now, wasn’t I? To interfere with that amounts to an infringement of my rights. That’s, not something I can forgive!]
The man standing upright stretched his arm, preventing only the thrown weapons from landing upon the woman behind him, himself defenselessly bathing in the lethal weaponry yet roaring without injury.
The man’s indignation also birthed damage onto the men lined up before him.
The avenue dissipated, however many people were turned to mincemeat, the ones who yet survived seemed to lack the option to run, wielding their fortunately saved lives as weapons, only able to bound towards the man all wearing grim expressions. —Finale of the Eight Arms