Dawn broke over Dra'kul like a wound opening.
Liam stood on the wall, watching smoke rise from the destroyed forward base. The column was visible for miles - a black scar against the gray volcanic sky.
A message written in blood and corpses.
They weren't prey anymore.
Below, in the courtyard, demons were celebrating quietly. These were soldiers who'd learned that happiness was dangerous, that joy was temporary. But there was movement again. Energy. The hollow-eyed shuffle of the condemned had been replaced by something sharper.
Purpose.
"Lord Azra."
Liam turned to find Skel'var approaching. The young commander looked different in daylight - less dead, though the exhaustion carved into his features would take more than one victory to erase.
"Commander."
