The forest was quiet again, save for the drip of blood pattering from broken bodies into damp earth. Mist still pressed heavy against the trees, the unnatural fog of the devil beast king's domain smothering the air.
While Cerys crouched over the corpses, wiping her spear and adjusting the way the bodies lay, as if cataloguing the kills, Rhyka did not waste a second. His golden eyes burned as he expanded his Martial Vision, threads of light racing outward through the fog.
The mist fought him, scattering the lines, blurring the edges. But he pushed harder, stretching his awareness until every nerve in his skull ached. And still,
That hollow remained.
The patch of nothing stayed fixed in the same place, untouched by his probing, a void in the web that refused to give up its shape. The beasts had bled and died outside of it. Cerys had fought outside of it. The void had not shifted.
It was still there. Waiting.
