The battlefield slowly quieted.
The thunder of their clash had ended, but the scars it left behind were everywhere.
Half the clearing had collapsed inward from repeated impacts. Broken trees lay scattered like fallen spears. The ancient stone disk that once anchored the stronghold had split into jagged fragments buried beneath layers of dirt and shattered bone.
And the captain… no longer existed.
Luton finished the last traces of its meal and retracted into a calmer form beside Damien.
The slime pulsed once, its surface shimmering faintly as it digested the immense demonic essence it had just consumed, shrinking slowly.
Damien remained kneeling in the center of the devastation.
Breathing.
Slow.
Painful.
His ribs protested with every inhale. His right shoulder felt like molten iron had been poured into the joint. Blood had dried across his arms and chest, forming dark streaks over torn skin.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Still alive.
Barely.
