Song Jian stood at the window of the second-floor inn, looking at the traces left by the battle in the town. The fight between the two sides had been brief, but the damage caused was extensive.
The entire street was in complete disarray, a seven- or eight-meter-wide crack dividing the street in two. Molten magma surged within the crack, sporadically spewing outwards and igniting various flammable materials around it. Many townsfolk had begun to fight the fires, but even more, were frantically fleeing towards the town's outskirts.
"Death's Fang, such a name sounds vaguely familiar." Song Jian watched as the group disappeared into the distance, pondering to himself. "Death's Scythe, Death's Fang, what's next, Death's Skull, Death's Hand? Why not just be direct and call themselves the Death God..."
Knock Knock Knock~
A knock echoed as Pike's voice carried in from beyond the door.
