Traces Left by a Bloody Battle

The sunlight finally spread fully over the valley entrance. The mist from last night and early morning had been driven away, but the air remained stifling. The dust had not yet fully settled, and the pungent smells of blood and acid hung everywhere. The muddy ground at the valley entrance was stained in mottled shades of red and green, riddled with pits, cracks, and scorch marks.

The fallen Squadron Leader-level Ant-Man lay across the center, its massive body like a black wall that completely split the battlefield in two. Its neck had been hacked wide open, and green fluid still trickled slowly into the mud, sending up wisps of white smoke. The spines on its back had snapped off and were scattered around it like rows of uprooted spears. It was thoroughly dead, but the oppressive presence it had left in the air did not immediately disperse, as though its might still echoed through the aftermath.

Ryan knelt in the mud, his twin blades planted in front of him to support his body. His chest heaved violently, every breath bringing tearing pain. The wound at his shoulder had split completely open, and blood had long since soaked through his sleeve, dripping down mixed with sweat. His arms were numb from wielding his blades for so long, almost devoid of strength. His throat was filled with a sickly sweetness, and every breath felt like being scorched by flames.

But his gaze remained calm, fixed on the fallen corpse until he had confirmed beyond doubt that it would not move again.

"It's over." He whispered hoarsely.

Behind him, the reinforcement squad was nearly spent as well. The Lead Hunter knelt on one knee, his spear broken and his arm trembling, the rise and fall of his chest unusually heavy. The Greatsword Hunter