Clyde and Mina did not slow down one bit since all of this started. Blood clung to them in thick layers. It soaked Clyde's sleeves, splattered across his chest, and ran down the pale bone of the Demonic Sword in dark rivulets.
The weapon hummed softly as if satisfied with all the slaughter.
Clyde's expression did not change. His eyes were empty, cold, focused only on angles, timing, and distance. This was familiar ground to him. Killing humans, monsters, or gods were familiar.
The shapes were different, but the process was the same.
Mina moved beside him, her armor darkened with blood. Sometimes her jaw tightened. Sometimes her breath hitched for half a second after a kill. But her hands never hesitated.
She had crossed this line already. Her attacks reinforced her feelings.
She no longer flinched at the sound of bone breaking or the warmth splashing against her skin. Her daggers moved with certainty now. No mercy or pauses. Because that could mean death.
