The forest answered his call. He'd woken up and now, it would keep him awake.
They came crashing through the trees in waves, dark shapes tearing through foliage, snapping branches, uprooting roots as if the land itself were too fragile to stop them.
Damien stood at the center of the clearing, the corpse of the scaled beast still half-devoured behind him, Luton pulsing beside it like a living shadow.
These weren't mana beasts.
Not anymore.
Their forms were wrong.
Some resembled wolves, but their limbs were elongated and bent at unnatural angles, joints popping audibly as they moved. Others crawled low to the ground like oversized lizards, yet their hides bled black essence that smoked faintly when it touched the air. Horns, claws, jagged teeth—every demon looked as though it had been hastily stitched together by malice itself.
Their eyes locked onto Damien. Hunger, recognition, and something else.
Hatred.
