The battlefield was quiet.
No screams. No footsteps. No more fighting.
Only the soft buzzing of locusts filled the blood-stained air.
A single locust landed on the glassy eye of a fallen soldier, its wings twitching as it began to crawl toward the socket.
Over thirty thousand soldiers had stood here. Now, only corpses remained. Shattered weapons. Severed limbs. Torn banners. Not a single Rookheim soldier had escaped. The swarm had made sure of that.
Isaac stood at the center of the devastation. His posture was calm, almost relaxed. Around him, the swarm hovered in perfect formation, waiting for his next command.
A few steps away, General Lander remained barely conscious. Both of his arms had been severed. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. His blood had soaked into the dirt beneath him.
Isaac walked toward him slowly. Each step was deliberate, unhurried. A single locust flew low and began to circle Lander's body.
Isaac crouched beside the broken general.
