The silence that followed the Behemoth's dissolution was profound, broken only by Andrew's ragged gasps for breath and the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
His side throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against his ribs, but the pain was a grounding force, a raw, undeniable confirmation of his continued existence. He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly as he scanned the now eerily quiet factory floor.
The D-rank Turned, stripped of their monstrous commander's animating will, shuffled aimlessly for a few moments before slowly, one by one, beginning to phase out of existence, dissolving into the pervasive black dust that coated everything.
The oppressive hum that had vibrated through the very bones of the building faded, leaving behind an unsettling stillness, pregnant with the promise of something yet to come.
