Chapter Sixty Seven
The wind howled through the jagged peaks surrounding the battlefield, carrying with it the acrid scent of blood and burning flesh. The cave entrance, once a dark, malevolent wound in the mountainside, now stood quiet, its power severed with Eleanor's death. But as Demion and Ariana collapsed side by side, their bodies bruised and battered, the battle was far from over.
Their victory over Eleanor had only stalled the inevitable—a darkness far deeper than any they had faced still loomed over the horizon. This was just the first tremor in what felt like a much larger quake of impending chaos.
Demion forced himself to sit up, every muscle screaming in protest. His hand instinctively went to his side, where a jagged wound from one of Eleanor's curses still oozed blood. The healing spells cast by the warlocks had stopped the bleeding, but the pain remained like a smoldering fire beneath his skin.