Elias's eyes swept across the battlefield, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Blood soaked the dirt beneath him, leaking from the corpses of the two possessed guards at his feet. As he scanned the area, his gaze landed on the last surviving possessed guard—the same one who had torn the undead dire wolf's head clean off.
The man was limping, dragging himself slowly through the forest. His sword was gone, and his armor was dented all over, barely holding together. Blood poured from the stump where his left arm used to be, leaving a thick, red trail behind him. His face was pale, drained of life, but his eyes were still wide and bloodshot, filled with a cold and wild look.
Elias clenched his jaw. There was no sympathy in his eyes. Without hesitation, he began walking toward the injured man.
The guard turned slightly, sensing death coming for him.
