Blood sprayed into the sky, painting a thin arc before falling like red rain.
The bodies dropped right after.
Then, silence.
A deep, empty silence.
Only the faint hum of fading mana was left in the air… and the soft creaking sound of Gray's threads pulling back, twitching like spiders returning to their nest.
He stood still, arms open just slightly, like he was soaking it all in.
His breathing was calm again, his eyes were half-lidded, like this wasn't even worth feeling anything over.
"…Waste of mana," he muttered under his breath.
His threads slowly slithered back into his gloves, dissolving into faint glimmers before vanishing completely.
Lyra, floating a few meters behind, didn't move.
Her hands trembled faintly, her spears hovering around her like guards who didn't know what to protect her from anymore.
Her lips were parted slightly, and she hadn't blinked for a while.
Not once.
