Moonlight washed like water over the stretch of shallow sea and tidal flats.
The battlefield, which had just resounded with cries of slaughter, was now quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
Unas's corpse-if it could still be called a corpse-lay motionless in the mud.
Large crimson petals settled on his shriveled husk.
The contrast between red and gray was painfully stark.
The four hundred or so surviving warriors of the Bonecrusher Clan stared at the sight, at a loss.
Clang.
A sharp sound broke the deathly silence.
A warrior's bone blade slipped from his tentacles and fell into the shallows, splashing muddy water.
Several nearby warriors shuddered and instinctively looked toward the human troops around them.
The wall of steel shields had closed around them.
Between the shields, countless sharp spears gleamed coldly in the moonlight, aimed straight at their throats.
It was over.
Everything was over.
It was like toppling the first domino.
Then the second, then the third.
The sounds of weapons falling came one after another, blending together.
They no longer resisted. They simply huddled where they stood, their eight tentacles hanging limply at their sides, awaiting judgment.
Ola panted heavily. He wiped the mud and blood from his face and leaned on his heavy battleaxe, staring blankly at the scene before him.
The victory had come so quickly and so decisively that even a seasoned veteran like him found it deeply unreal.
"That's... it?"
Ola muttered.
A gust swept overhead.
Nefarian folded his enormous wings and landed smoothly atop a reef.
The downdraft stirred the petals on the ground, sending them whirling through the air before they settled into the muddy water again.
Veylin dismounted and looked at the terrified defeated troops.
[All troops, cease attacking and tighten the encirclement.]
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"