Inside the Yellow River Branch, the atmosphere was shaking in excitement from the sudden change. The air itself seemed to shiver, a faint tremor passing through grit and vapor, as if the branch had been holding its breath for centuries and had finally remembered how to exhale. The sludge-laden current pulsed once in a slow, queasy heartbeat, and the banks answered with a dry rasp like teeth.
Redd and Tull had already finished off the incoming demons, and the Prince was looking with complete shock and awe at what just happened. Demon bodies did not so much fall as unravel, coming apart in damp ribbons that the river eagerly lapped up. Redd panted through half-bared fangs, shoulders banded with corded muscle and a sheen of sweat that the yellow wind could not lick away.
