It was foolish, but he didn't care.
In the frozen expanse of his perception, Uriel took a deep breath in.
His eyes darted across their sockets as he analysed the ruined section he'd teleported into.
He was in the depths of a crater, mud and rain standing still around him, amidst a crowd entirely composed of Flon-Men; tall and lanky blue men, each wielding long, sharp spears, their toothless maws gushing with poison.
In this crater alone, there must have been at least a couple hundred of them, and around him especially, at least a dozen, all of whom had already noticed him.
As soon as he'd appeared, he'd instantly slowed his perception, yet that split second had been enough for most of them to not only notice him, but also begin to attack.
Uriel finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding, and his perception returned to its normal flow.
In a blink, dozens of blades were upon him, aiming to pierce him from too many angles for him to even dare dream of dodging.
