Chapter 5: The Titans Demolition Book

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The second battle could only be described as disastrous.

There were six giants that attacked us, and six of us, including myself, had to fight back.

The blizzard was even more ferocious than last time, visibility was almost zero, and each of us walked around haphazardly, jostling with the enemies we encountered, fighting without a shred of tactics.

At Dostoev’s behest, I fought a small fat giant and rolled across the snowfield.

The fat giant swung his axe in a jerky motion, and the blade bit into the base of my right arm, severing it at once.

An explosion of intense pain shot through me.

I literally let out an unspeakable scream.

However, Dostoyev only frowned slightly and continued to manipulate me as if nothing had happened.

Dostoyev’s will bound me, and some of his emotions flowed through me, as if the flow from here had been dammed in the middle.

My body used my remaining left arm to remove the knife from my waist.

I jump at my opponent and stab the tip of the blade into his chest.

The tip of the blade sank slightly into the armor, and the enemy stopped moving.

It seemed that he had crushed the pilot inside the cockpit.

Dostoyev shouted, “All right!” and sent me plunging into the blizzard again.

I ran into two more people, who scraped me on the side of my head and gouged me again on my right side, where I had been wounded before.

I kept screaming in my mind.

By the time the blizzard subsided, four of the six enemy fighters had been wrecked, and two had bailed out. Two of the friendly fighters were destroyed and four were wounded.

After the battle, people once again poured out of the city gates, cutting up the enemy machine as they lay there. They took off their armor, chopped up their flesh, and carried them on sledges to the fields.

Worst of all, Dostoyev wanted me to help him dismantle it.

I had to cut up the torso with the knife I had in one arm. I couldn’t stop throwing up. The sound of grinding bones seeped into my brain. It might be like whaling for the Dostoyevs’, but for me, it’s like whaling on a human being.

I had never even dissected a frog before!

It was so horrifying that it almost made me feel faint.

It was as if I had stepped into the world of splatter horror movies.

However, there was a harvest.

I understood the structure of Titans.

The base of a Titan is literally a giant creature that looks like a Titan. On top of that skin, a second layer of rubbery skin is attached, followed by a thin layer of armor made of flexible plastic and chainmail. Finally, it is fitted with armor like a warrior or knight.

Perhaps to prevent freezing, the metal parts are less hard and made of ceramics.

The Titan was probably an artificial life form, and numbers were written in their language on the surface of the heart inside the incised rib cage.

Its internal organs resembled those of a human, but the entrance to the digestive tract was at the navel, not the esophagus. There was also no exit for the digestive tract. Would it be able to utilize 100% of what it ingested?

Blue cords, or rather cords that seemed to be nerves, crawled all over its body. They seemed to be either artificially or biologically created.

With one arm, he cut out the internal organs of unknown function and laid them out on the floor.

The people waiting for them dismantled them with more saws and ridiculously large knives, and carried them into the city on sleds.

There are people waiting for me. More crushing with saws and big knives, and loaded onto the sled. The blood was collected in a container like a drum.

Apparently, the inhabitants of this city don’t waste food and use every drop of blood. It is said that the Titan resemble the whales of the original world.

The pain in my right arm had faded before I knew it.

I was finally getting used to the horror in front of me and no longer felt afraid.

The dismantling process went smoothly, and after removing what appeared to be a lung, I grabbed a cockpit-like protrusion a little below my throat with my hand.

Immediately, the fear returned.

Please, please. Please don’t do this. Don’t let me see this.

I’ve killed some people!” I killed some of them!

But Dostoyev persisted in trying to get the hatch open.