Thauren caught up a second later, his heavy blade already drawn as he skidded into the grass.
Sol stood up slowly, his fingers still locked into the back of the Zerith scout's neck like iron hooks.
The body was limp and heavy in his grip, but Sol didn't care. He needed answers. He needed to know exactly how far the main Coalition army was, how many they were bringing, and which route they planned to take. With a sharp yank, he pulled the scout's face upward, ready to begin a brutal interrogation.
Then he froze.
His silver-crimson eyes narrowed.
Half of the Zerith scout's face was completely gone.
What remained was a horrifying, pulped mess. The brutal friction of being slammed and dragged across the hard clay ground at that terrifying speed had acted like a giant grinder.
The entire left side of the scout's face… cheek, jaw, eye socket, and part of the skull… had been scraped away layer by layer until only raw, shredded meat and exposed bone remained.
