Epitaph lay sprawled on the ground, staring at the system interface, now faded to a dead ash-white. What had just happened? The only thing he could recall was a golden storm roaring into view, and then nothing—only the cold reality of being downed.
It didn't make sense. He had led a small squad of rogues to harass Featherlight, and they had the advantage. They had flanked him perfectly, and their target had been busy drawing in monsters. There was no reason Featherlight should have detected them while they were still cloaked in stealth.
Turning his gaze to the right, Epitaph saw two bodies lying close by—too familiar to mistake. The two rogues who had accompanied him were gone, their corpses cooling beside his own. In the blink of an eye, all three of them had been wiped out by Featherlight, along with the entire swarm of monsters in the area. To Featherlight, they had been no different from the mobs he had been clearing.
