He turned his black eyes, those infinite, light-devouring voids, sweeping across the silent, butchered battlefield. The absolute stillness of the massacre was profound, broken only by the microscopic hiss of highly concentrated Eitra blood boiling as it met the freezing, toxic air of the wastelands.
He looked right and left, standing completely motionless, his posture exuding the relaxed elegance of a maestro admiring a silent orchestra. He was not looking with human sight; he was listening to the very fabric of reality, searching for the slightest anomaly in the symphony of death he had just orchestrated.
A very faint pulse.
There it was. The terrified, erratic heartbeat of someone desperately clinging to the illusion of survival. It was racing like a dying bird trapped within a cage of ribs, trying to suppress its desperate rhythm beneath the suffocating weight of the piled corpses.
His smile widened slightly, a microscopic shift of his pale lips.
