A couple of seconds later…
The four beast-men lay sprawled across the cracked black stone, limbs twitching faintly as residual poison sizzled through their systems. Their muscles refused to obey them, every breath coming out ragged and uneven. Yellow fur was matted with sweat, claws dug uselessly into the ground.
Damon stood over them, hands clasped behind his back, calmly examining each of them as if they were interesting specimens rather than defeated enemies. "Huh," he muttered. "Decent physical resistance. Strong instincts. Not bad at all."
One of the beast-men turned his head with visible effort and spat to the side. "Ptui."
Damon raised an eyebrow. "Still got the spirit, huh? That's good. I'd be disappointed otherwise."
No one answered him. The group chose silence, their eyes filled with hostility and pride, even as their bodies betrayed them.
