Rolling around in the wind was the massive, lifeless, dead-eyed head of Grand Chieftain Bruga.
"H-He's... he's dead," he stammered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, pathetic squeak. The poison-dripping bone daggers in his hands slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone.
"Retreat!" a Zerith squad leader shrieked, panic finally piercing the collective paralysis of the Coalition lines. "Run! The demon killed the Grand Chieftain! Run for your lives!"
Like a dam bursting under the pressure of a flood, the Coalition's morale evaporated into thin air. Soldiers dropped their weapons, turned their backs, and began scrambling wildly toward the broken valley pass, desperate to escape the valley before the black reaper turned his gaze upon them.
