In another part of the city, Ray sat atop the remains of a massive building he had personally destroyed.
The structure was no longer recognizable as a building. Its upper floors had collapsed inward, concrete crushed into jagged layers, and the steel beams twisted like broken bones.
Smoke still drifted upward from the wreckage.
Ray himself was far from unscathed right now.
His armor was cracked and torn. Deep cuts ran across his torso, some of the wounds were still bleeding. His breathing was uneven. His left arm hung at an unnatural angle because it had broken badly enough that the bone had nearly pierced through flesh.
But Ray was smiling.
In his right hand, he held his Demon sword. Its surface was slick with dark, half-dried blood, the blade pulsing as if alive.
The killing had already ended minutes ago.
Bodies of humans lay scattered across the ruined buildings below who had been unlucky enough to be nearby when Ray needed blood after the battle.
