As I used my trump card the relief that I thought I would feel didn't come, instead a worry and a frown for how calm the Demon seems to be even after realizing we outnumber him and have just disarmed him.
It wouldn't be a situation where one would be calm and carefree like this, but here he is.
As we stop to breathe, a graveyard for a battlefield, I end up asking:
"Why did you do this?" Even though I knew these lives meant nothing to him, not the dare consequences of his actions, I still ask: "Why did you have to kill them all? They got nothing to do with you, they didn't even intend to interfere with your plans, so why?!"
The moment I ask he seems a little bit uninterested, kicking the hand of a body that had landed on his fit in the commotion, as one would do to a meaningless object. Without a single care or respect.
