The forest had gone quiet again but it was not in any way peaceful. Not in the slightest.
This was the silence that came after prolonged slaughter, when even the predators chose to stay still and listen. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and burnt mana.
Broken trunks lay strewn across the clearing like fallen spears, and the ground had been churned into a mess of craters and blackened soil.
Damien stood at its center, chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm.
Two hours.
That was how long he'd been fighting.
Not constantly though. There had been brief lulls but long enough that his muscles burned and his bones hummed with residual force.
Sweat ran down his back, mingling with streaks of demon blood. His knuckles were raw. His forearms bruised. His breathing steady.
