The body of the High-Rank Demon finally collapsed, its void-poison blood sizzling against the scorched earth. The last of its five crimson horns crumbled into dust. The air trembled once more—then stilled.
Silence rippled across the battlefield.
Holy Order Paladins lowered their shields.
Allen exhaled for the first time in minutes.
Diana wiped her blade, frowning as if waiting for something more.
But nothing happened.
Just the corpse of a fallen monster… and the faint hum of power left behind.
Yet Shellia stood frozen.
"There's something wrong." Her eyes narrowed.
Veyra's skeletal tail rattled sharply. "What do you sense, Lady Shellia?"
The moonlight and holy light around her dimmed, not fading completely, but settling like a low glow beneath her skin. Her resonance with the gods remained—stable, awake. But the battlefield itself felt… off.
Her gaze drifted to the ground where the High-Rank Demon had died.
A swirling mass of orange aura lingered there.
Dim. Pulsing.
