Day sixteen began with the burial of twelve hundred thirty-seven demons.
The demon tradition wasn't elaborate.
Bodies were returned to volcanic earth, essence released back to the world, names recorded in books that would be sent to families once the campaign concluded. No grand ceremonies. No lengthy speeches. Just acknowledgment that these demons had served and died and would be remembered.
Liam stood with Legion One as they interred their dead, watching soldiers who'd survived the bridge assault pay respects to those who hadn't.
The atmosphere was somber but functional—veterans who understood that death was part of warfare, who grieved briefly before continuing the mission.
"They accept it faster than I expected," Koth observed quietly. He'd been ranging with advance scouts but had returned for the burials. "Twelve hundred dead in single engagement, and by evening they'll be marching again like it didn't happen."
