"Yawn. Guess it's time to step up," Greg muttered, stretching lazily as if the weight of the chaos below bored him more than it concerned him.
"Don't leave the tree if you don't want to die," he added to Daemon before dropping down from the branch.
The battlefield was a bloodbath. Every other player had been slaughtered by the shadow slaves—mercilessly and without pause. Only Greg and Daemon remained.
The tree they'd perched on remained untouched, avoided by the shadow slaves entirely, as if something about it repelled them.
Greg landed softly, crouching for a moment as dust flared around his boots. He was completely surrounded by the grotesque shadow slaves, their hulking forms twitching with unnatural energy. Yet, not a single one moved to strike.
"You can come out now," Greg said calmly, raising his voice just enough to carry. His golden eyes scanned the air lazily, half-lidded but alert.
