Asmodeus closed his eyes while listening to the world.
The council broke apart in waves of muttering voices, boots and claws echoing across the stone hall as each group peeled away to their barracks. Orcs jostled shoulders, goblins hissed at each other in their rasping tongue, while the demon knights moved in grim silence.
Their tension and differences remained, but thanks to the meeting, each race gave the other a chance to unwind.
His hand brushed across the carved table as the torches dimmed. For all the anger, all the fear, almost nobody escaped or fled.
This brought a smile to his face.
Asmodeus stepped into the corridor, and the air shifted. The smell of smoke and sweat still clung to the citadel, but beneath it lay the sharp tang of oil, leather, and metal. His ears caught the distant rhythm of practice.
