The battlefield stank of sulfur and blood.
Smoke from burning demon corpses drifted in thick, oily trails across the plains. Warriors lay collapsed on their shields, panting, trembling, barely able to lift their weapons.
Some knelt in exhaustion. Others dropped outright, armor clattering as if their bodies had finally realized the fight was over.
But Damien wasn't finished. Not even close. The horde was breaking.
They were retreating, fleeing in scattered packs across the plains.
However, Damien couldn't allow that.
Not with demonic essence still crackling around their limbs in unstable pulses. Not with the scent of whatever hole they'd crawled out of still lingering thick in the air.
A single variant demon fled past a fallen warrior.
Damien's blade pierced its spine before it took a second step.
"Don't let them regroup," he muttered.
Fenrir growled in agreement, lowering its body as its eyes locked on the retreating demons.
