Quincy floated high above the coliseum, steadily undoing the fortress-like structure she had created during the invasion. Stone shifted and reshaped itself beneath her control, defensive walls lowering piece by piece, reinforced barriers breaking apart and folding back into the familiar shape of the arena that had once stood there before panic and necessity had transformed it into something meant for survival.
She let out a quiet sigh as people slowly began filtering out from the arena and back into the coliseum proper. At first, most hesitated. Some stepped carefully, uncertain if it was truly safe. Others lingered near the exits as if expecting another disaster to strike the moment they left. Eventually, though, the crowds began moving more steadily, families, wounded survivors, exhausted guards, and frightened civilians gradually spilling back outside.
From her position high in the sky, Quincy could see all of it.
Her vampiric eyes made distance nearly meaningless.
And she could see the exact moment reality settled in for them.
The moment people finally looked upon the City of Greatness, Arcadicia, and realized what remained of their home.
Smoke still rose from countless places throughout the city, dark trails stretching into the sky from ruined streets and collapsed buildings. Entire sections of Arcadicia had been devastated. Roads had been split apart, debris littered intersections, and bodies still remained scattered throughout many areas, demons and civilians alike left where they had fallen during the invasion.
Even victory felt quiet.
Heavy.
The small holy sun hanging overhead had already begun to fade, its presence weakening with every passing moment. The blood rain was gone now. The dark clouds that had covered the city had long since disappeared. Yet the devastation remained, silent and impossible to ignore.
People stood frozen.
Some cried.
Others simply stared.
No cheering came.
No celebration followed.
Because even though they had survived, even though they had technically won, the cost of victory stood in front of them everywhere they looked.
"It's going to take a long time for all of us to recover from this," Quincy quietly remarked to herself.
Then her expression shifted.
Her eyes narrowed onto movement below.
Without hesitation, she folded her owl wings and dove.
The descent was fast and silent, feathers slicing through the air without sound. She had not fought during the invasion itself, had remained behind to protect everyone inside the coliseum, but if any demons remained, she had already decided she would deal with them personally. She was not willing to leave it to others anymore.
As she descended, the figure below became clearer.
Then Quincy stopped suddenly midair.
"Whoa, calm down," the man below said immediately. "Is it hunting season or something? Good goddess."
She blinked.
Standing there was a man wearing a wolf mask.
Another man rested slung over his shoulder.
Recognition hit her quickly.
"Wait…" she said, lowering herself slightly. "You're the man with the sword. The one who helped guide the people back and helped the others fight the Demon King, aren't you?"
The masked man nodded.
"You got your man, yeah," he replied. "That's me."
His tone stayed casual, though there was a quiet sense of relief beneath it, the kind that came from narrowly avoiding yet another fight after everything that had already happened today.
Then Quincy caught something.
Scents.
Her vampiric senses sharpened immediately.
Blood.
One fresh.
Another rotten.
Her gaze shifted from the wolf-masked man to the unconscious figure hanging over his shoulder.
"He's undead," she said immediately.
Her expression hardened.
"If you're carrying him," she continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "then he must be the one who shot Amara with the necrotic bullet."
"Yeah, he is," the wolf-masked man replied, briefly glancing toward the unconscious figure hanging over his shoulder. "He's still conscious, by the way. I just messed his brain up badly enough that he can't move."
His gaze lingered on Crow for a moment before shifting back to Quincy.
"Well," he continued, already starting to walk toward the coliseum, "let's not stand around here. I need to get inside so I can rest, see if a certain asshole has woken up yet, and heal this guy enough so people can interrogate him."
Quincy immediately shook her head.
"No," she said firmly. "You can't go in through the main entrance."
Wolf slowed, then stopped entirely.
"The people there are already dealing with enough," Quincy explained. "They don't need to see someone half dead walking in carrying another man who is…" She glanced toward Crow, her expression tightening slightly. "Brutalized."
Wolf turned to look at her.
"First of all," he said, "I'm not half dead." He motioned vaguely toward himself. "More like ten percent dead."
Then he tilted his head slightly.
"Second of all," he continued, "what exactly is the alternative? Are you going to fly me in?"
Quincy nodded immediately.
"Yes."
Wolf blinked.
Before he could protest, Quincy moved.
She grabbed hold of him without warning before her owl wings spread wide, powerful enough to send air rushing outward as she launched them both skyward.
The sudden lift caught Wolf entirely off guard.
They rose quickly, climbing high enough that anyone below would struggle to notice them unless they were actively searching the skies.
"That," Wolf remarked after a moment, "was a joke."
He looked down briefly at the ruined city beneath them before sighing.
"But I guess this is happening."
Quincy said nothing as she carried him over the coliseum, avoiding the crowds entirely.
At this point, it seemed the day was still far from over.