The news spread through the demon media channels faster than smoke through cracks. Seraphine Velzira—dead. Killed by a Sentinel. In the Pit itself.
For a demon of her grade, it was unthinkable. The feeds swarmed with disbelief, whispers, and the kind of fearful curiosity that made even the bolder ones stay quiet.
Renayo Ezraphor stood by his apartment window, towers gleaming faintly under the pale glow of the lower skies. From this height, he could see the veins of traffic weaving through the streets, the distant shimmer of the markets still alive even at this hour.
His phone buzzed once in his hand. He didn't move immediately; his gaze lingered on the view before he finally answered.
"Renny boy!" came the gravelled voice of Old Man Baro. "You killed a demon, eh? Word's already dripping through the channels. Grade Five, they say. By Sentinel judgment, no less."
