The battlefield behind me was nothing but a graveyard now, a sprawling wasteland of severed limbs, shattered bones, and oceans of demon blood. But it wasn't enough. Six thousand dead, and yet there were more. I couldn't let them live, their presence was a dark pulse on the edge of my senses, spreading far beyond the horizon.
"Come, Tophet!"
The city of Enoquia awaited. Their capital, their stronghold. If the horde I had just cut through was half of their strength, then Enoquia would be crawling with the rest of them—their leaders, their soldiers, their civilians. All of them.
I couldn't stop yet.
I wiped the thick blood from my brow, then leaped onto Tophet's back and began to move. Each strike of his burning hooves was deliberate, and steady, as he strode across the broken landscape, my sword still heavy with blood. The ground squelched under my boots, slick with the filth and gore left behind, but I barely noticed. My mind was already fixed on what was to come.
.
.
.
