The field suddenly got darker.
Not because daytime came to an end, but rather because a gigantic shadow emerged to eclipse all light pouring down.
A shadow from a titanic metal ship that floated in the air, which had appeared out of thin air.
The ship brought a wave of abyssal cold with it, instantly withering all wheat down below and drying the mud into dead blocks of dirt.
The ship shook, then suddenly—
WHOOOSH!
—a figure appeared in the skies, below the ship, standing on a floating platform of metal and wires.
The man who stood on it was rather short and thin, wearing a perfectly fitting black suit, his skin wrinkled from scars and his bald head half-covered in metal plates.
His left eye was entirely bionic, while his right one shone with a sharp bronze hue. He had his hands clasped behind his back, his face frozen into a violent mug and his aura the incarnation of roughness.
He looked down at the dozen children below, each frozen in fear, without a single ounce of pity.
