The Demonlings fell fast under the combined pressure, not because they were weak, but because they were late. They had woken into a battle already decided.
Redd tore through torsos, Tull severed limbs with efficient arcs, and the ground became a litter of bodies too quickly to count. Ludwig, meanwhile, did not pause. He lifted the mace again and brought it down with renewed emphasis, each strike aimed at widening the cracks.
The sense that something was wrong could only grow stronger with each hit. But he felt that it wasn't coming from the Crystal but something else that he must have either forgotten or didn't account for.
