Sneakily—step by step, breath held and blades ready—we reached the far edge of the battlefield.
The monsters, thank the gods, were concentrated toward the center. Hundreds, maybe thousands, swarmed the frontline in a tide of claws and screeches.
Our absence went unnoticed. Not a single grotesque head turned. They didn't care about the edges. Their attention was singular: frontal slaughter.
And we used that tunnel vision.
Slipping past the crumbling treelines and darting from cover to cover, we found ourselves at the monsters' rear flank.
Finally, we got behind them.
And what we saw…
Was the same damn thing.
A stretch of broken terrain, a horde of grotesque monsters with blackened skin, exposed ribs, glowing purple veins, all marching in mindless, mechanical formation—like possessed corpses.
Kaelira's pout was audible before her voice even formed.
