Damien did not rush into the assault.
He prepared.
For two days after the eastern purge, he hunted mana beasts relentlessly — not for himself, but for balance.
Fenrir tore through a pack of armored direstags, their antlers reinforced with condensed mana. Cerbe incinerated a pair of volcanic-backed lizards whose cores burned hot even after death. Damien made sure each kill fed them directly.
If Luton dominated demonic essence, then Fenrir and Cerbe would dominate raw magical purity.
By the end of the second day, Fenrir's fur shimmered faintly with condensed frost-mana. Cerbe's flames burned darker — denser.
Balanced.
Only then did Damien allow himself rest.
He found a river bend carved between ancient stones and had Luton produce spices, utensils, and preserved herbs from its Universal Space. He carved thick slabs of meat from a high-grade mana beast he'd slain earlier and skewered them over controlled flame.
The scent filled the air.
For once, he sat.
Not as prey.
