The aftermath of the battle was a landscape of raw nerves and smouldering ruins. Just before I could offer any more "supportive" words to the Jumper, a mighty, world-shaking roar erupted from the direction of the illusionist gate.
The behemoth had finished its "warm-up" exercise; the castle had been silenced, and the feast of destruction there was complete.
"Go and clean out half of his remaining inventory," I said, tilting my head toward the headless corpse of the illusionist youth. "Then come back to the chariot at once. Don't delay, or else..."
I didn't need to finish the sentence. The looming shadow of the monster, now turning its attention toward the horizon, was a threat enough. Yet, despite the clear and present danger, the Jumper didn't move. His eyes remained a volatile, scarlet red, showing no signs of returning to their usual cold clarity.
"That motherf*cker! I want to kill him a thousand times over! No... a million times over! Hell, no... a—"
