After dealing with the remnants of the blood honey, Vlad's gaze swept across the battlefield, cold and calculating. His attention settled on three Devils who had been gravely wounded in the fight against the mutated humanoid bees.
Vlad's expression was merciless. The citadel was vast beyond measure, a labyrinth that could consume weeks of their time if they tarried. While it was wise to let the Archangel march ahead and clear the path, they could not afford to let too much distance build between them.
If they arrived too late, they risked finding nothing but dust and ashes—or worse, arriving just in time to face Metatron when he was still fresh. They could not wait for the wounded to recover.
Without a word, Vlad raised his hand. Space itself warped, and an invisible force seized the three broken Devils. Their bodies floated helplessly through the air, dragged toward him as if by the pull of a merciless tide.
