And Seraphine…
Seraphine lay on the cracked stone, her corrupted wings shredded, her body trembling with exhaustion, tears streaming down her face. She'd thrown everything at him—three centuries of accumulated power, every technique she'd mastered, every trick she'd learned.
And it had been meaningless.
The Reaper stood over them, not even breathing hard. His coat was slightly dusty. His hair was mildly disheveled. That was the extent of the damage five demon lord-class commanders had managed to inflict.
He looked down at them with something that might have been pity.
"You guys tried," he said. "I mean that. You really, genuinely tried. That was probably the best coordinated assault I've seen in fifty years. Your teamwork was excellent. Your techniques were sophisticated. Your determination was admirable."
He paused. "But it wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. I'm sorry."
Then The Reaper yawned.
