Xaloc fought for days on end until the last warrior fell from the sky. He let out a sigh, feeling tired but still pleased. It was as if he had spent three hours in the gym, his muscles ached but at the same time, It was a pleasant and delicious ache.
He won. Xaloc had to say that the behaviour of the Valhalla was very pleasing to him. He raised his finger and a strelitzia bloomed on his finger scattering into a million petals. They fell on the slaves that had escaped from Valhalla.
As the petals fell upon the slaves, the crest that they had borne vanished into thin air, Aether rushing through their veins once more.
There was disbelief, shock and astonishment in the eyes of many of the viewers but nine of them said a word. Their attitude was different from those of Atlantis, to those in Valhalla, these slaves were spoils of war, Xaloc had won the war so, he should get the spoils.
