As the fallen angels scoured the battlefield for any trace of Perseus, their eyes fell upon the decaying remains of the great demon. His body, ravaged by the holy and darkline power unleashed moments ago, was quickly melting away into a formless sludge. But even as he dissolved into nothingness, the demon let out a low, guttural chuckle.
Through his last breaths, he muttered, "My lord... greed will get it. He will get the elves' treasure. In three years, when it is ripe... we shall pluck it like an overripe fruit and give it to him."
With those words, the demon finally disintegrated, fading into oblivion. His last whispered promise hung in the air, echoing in the ears of the fallen angels who watched his demise with cold detachment.
One of the angels, still glowing faintly with holy energy, hissed softly, glancing at the other. "Master Lucifer needs that treasure. The healing process of Purgatory is far from over."