The only remaining eye was filled with blood-red, still as aloof and mad as when it first appeared, reflecting the world's malice, it could still roar, its voice shaking the earth, like a civilization of countless years of barbarism forging its ugliest side into shape.
That is the emblem of evil, the embodiment of barbarism, the manifestation of invasion.
It never belonged to the side of civilization's progress since its inception.
And now, close to defeat, the besieged shattered Giant Spirit was unwilling to acknowledge its imminent demise, summoning its incapable servants to aid it, yet neither the eerie Hunting War Spirits nor the fanatical Jackal Barbarians could respond.
In the scorched soil struck by the black light arrows descending from the sky, there were no blades or arrows left to hunt, the savage and violent servants perished between heaven and earth before their master.
It was alone once again.
Much like when it was molded by that Jackal leader a century ago.
