Shouts of surprise, wails of pain, and shrieks of terror rung in an intense concert. Whispers of a thousand prayers entered Arthur's ears in a language he wasn't able to decipher, yet a recurring speech in which the redundancy echoed marked his reasoning.
An overwhelming distress to return home emanated from the horrific symphony. A constant terror in which he recognized himself, first as the panicked young boy who had ventured out of the palace, then at the monster that prayed over a thousand-mage army in complete darkness.
A fight? Not at all. An everlasting seep of stamina to the sent soldiers and as soon as they had no strength left, the old swords left behind by the thieves pierced their throat.
It was a carnage, a carnal gluttony left behind in the abyss. In contrast to the rich broth he fed himself with, only his gourmet cells were amiss. Nothing differentiated him from a senseless monster.
