Perran shakily leveraged himself to his feet from the newly formed chasm, every fiber of his being protesting the movement. A deep, jagged wound marred his chest, black, viscous blood flowed ceaselessly from the tear.
"Cough!!" He spat a mouthful of gore. His eyes, now cold and sharp with pain, scanned the other side of the apocalyptic battlefield, settling on Sunny.
God Wolf was also on his knees, staggering back to a semblance of coherence. His Jörmungandr form was gone, his body reverted to his normal state, but his right arm was a pulverized mess, limp and shattered. Injuries riddled his frame, and pure exhaustion weighted his soul. He wanted nothing more than the oblivion of sleep, but the sight of the bleeding, unbowed Perran kept his mind agonizingly lucid.
BOOM!
