The battlefield was littered in corpses, if the writhing, dismembered limbs of Abyssal creatures could even be called that.
Guts, blood, bones, as far as the eye could see, it was gruesome, trauma inducing even. Damon stood in the center of it all, his breath ragged, his shoulders heaving.
Blood coated his armor, dripping off the edges of BloodReaper's jagged, glowing blade. The earth beneath him was cracked and broken, scorched by elemental fury, corrupted essence, and the raw heat of combat.
His wings twitched, one half-torn, scorched at the edges by Abyssal fire. Claw marks ran down his right side, trailing smoke and seared flesh.
His tail hung limp, bruised from being slammed into one of the monstrous centipede-leviathans earlier. A particularly persistent Abyssal beast had managed to pierce through his torso with a spear-like limb before he crushed its head into pulp.
His mana reserves were dangerously low. Even in form, he felt the drag. The weight.
