The woods were quiet now. Unnaturally quiet.
There had stood a battlefield drenched in blood, darkened soil from the flames, and the remnants of magic too powerful that it was comprehensible to mortals. Charred trees were like specters to a combat that had shaken the earth to its very foundation.
And at the center of it all was Kaidën.
His breathing was steady, his daggers spinning idly in his hands. One glowed with a divine golden light, and the other pulsed with shadowy darkness--two things that shouldn't be near each other and yet moved to him in perfect harmony.
Before him lay the unconscious body of the Demon Lord.
The demon wore a black robe that glistened with an unnatural sheen. the demon's pale face was still contorted in disbelief. White hair, tangled with blood and filth, lay scattered around him upon broken earth. No tail, no horns—no monstrosity. He looked human. Too human. And yet his power had been terrifying.
