Finn let out a low grunt behind his mask. This was something he would have to deal with very carefully. But for now he turned his gaze downward, spreading his senses across the main battlefield below.
He sought out the remaining, heavily wounded Transcendents and high-ranking Ossuarists who had survived the slaughter.
Casmir, the Space Transcendent, was still breathing, his tattered robes soaked in grime as he knelt in the dirt. He was cradling his partner, Lyris, the Transcendent of Combustion, who lay severely injured and barely conscious in his arms.
Further across the blackened earth, Himothy, the Glory Transcendent, could be seen slumped against a shattered ridge. He looked entirely worn, beaten, and broken. The golden aura that usually radiated from his skin had weakened to a pathetic flicker after he had completely expended the entire bank of glory he had painstakingly accumulated over a millennium during his clash against Finn.
