Belialthorn tumbled through the air and slammed into the ground with such force the ground cracked where his head landed. He groaned when agony tightened his muscles and his ribs screamed with red pain.
"Have I broken my head?" Belialthorn could taste blood in his mouth and his hand came off wet when he touched it.
A loud voice that sounded like it was coming from a large metal pipe laughed with glee. "Oh. You're good! I thought I had crushed all your ribs with that blow but you managed to block them somehow! I've not seen Mages cast spells as fast as you do."
"Caster," Belialthorn mumbled as he wobbled to his feet, his eyes spun and he had to close it and wait till it stopped rolling. "Mages are words used long ago. I read that in an old book."
"Thorn!" Rota held him and fussed around his body, looking for wounds but Belialthorn's Demon body was already healing him. "Are you alright?" She asked.