They buried the body.
It didn't matter what it used to be—monster or man, weapon or victim. It was made of people. They could tell that much. Too many limbs, mismatched bones, organs fused like patchwork. An amalgamation of voices silenced long ago.
They didn't know how many had been merged into one.
But even monsters deserved rest. So they gave it a grave.
Leirza lay on the grass, breathing slowly. His void-body cracked like fragile glass, black veins of energy pulsing unevenly under his skin. Azriel was beside him, palm hovering over his chest. A thin thread of void connected them—small micro-restorations every few seconds.
"So that thing can casually rip me apart, huh," Leirza muttered with a half-laugh, half-grimace.
"It was built for that," Azriel replied. "Reminds me of those gluttony soldiers we fought before. Probably has black iron properties in its structure."
"Figures," Leirza said. "Still… it's kinda nice knowing there's something out there that can hurt me."
