By Hiroshi Sakurazaka
L to R (Western Style). There’s something worse than death. It’s coming again to do it back and again… while the alien Gitai invade, Keiji Kiriya is only one of many uncooked recruits shoved right into a swimsuit of conflict armor and despatched out to kill. Keiji dies at the battlefield, merely to discover himself reborn every one morning to struggle and die many times. at the 158th generation even though, he sees anything various, whatever misplaced: the feminine soldier referred to as the whinge of warfare. Is the whinge the most important to Keiji’s get away, or to his ultimate loss of life?
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Additional resources for All You Need Is Kill
His visor lenses were stern and unreflective jet glass set in the black metal of his helmet mask. He bowed slightly. ‘My apologies, captain,’ he said, archly. ’ ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Loken replied. ’ Ekaddon snorted, and several of his men laughed. ’ ‘We are dismantling an ancient empire, Captain Ekaddon,’ Loken said firmly. ‘Might we not display some measure of gracious respect in the execution of that act? ’ spat one of Ekaddon’s men. ‘He did,’ Loken agreed. ‘So should we just murder him in response?
A solitary figure stood away to his left, hands clasped behind its back, staring out at the spectacle of war. The figure turned. It was an elderly man, dressed in a floor-length mauve robe. His hair was thin and white, his face thinner still. He stared at Loken with glittering, miserable eyes. ‘I defy you,’ he said, his accent thick and antique. ’ ‘Your defiance is noted,’ Loken replied, ‘but this fight is over. I can see you’ve been watching its progress from up here. ’ ‘The Imperium of Man will triumph over all its enemies,’ the man replied.
Limbs limp, his torn garments flapping, he fell away like a stone down the open drop of the palace tower. Ekaddon lowered his bolt pistol. ‘I’ve never killed an emperor before,’ he laughed. ‘That wasn’t the Emperor,’ Loken yelled. ‘You moron! ’ He was close to the empty throne now, reaching out a hand to grab at one of the golden armrests. A blemish of light, almost perfect, but not so perfect that shadows behaved correctly around it, recoiled in the seat. This is a trap. Those four words were the next that Loken was going to utter.