The battlefield exhaled silence except for the rhythmic drip of ichor from Petra's katana and the ragged gasps of two survivors who'd just accomplished the impossible. Six massive Crimson Mauler corpses sprawled across the modified terrain, their crimson fur now darkened with their own blood. The pack leader's body collapsed nearest to them, its yellow eyes dulled in death but still radiating traces of the calculating intelligence that had made it so dangerous.
Petra scrubbed her blade clean with methodical precision, her movements automatic despite the adrenaline still surging through her system. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken observations about their coordinated battle performance. The acrid stench of beast blood mingled with the metallic tang of their own sweat.
