The noon sun was still shining down on the battlefield, its harsh rays casting shadows on the blood-soaked ground. Andrew remained standing on the eastern wall of Heathgate, his gaze fixed on the horde of demons and demonized beasts below.
He launched attack after attack, his deadly Frost Bolts flying true and striking down his enemies. With each demon that fell, he felt a flicker of hope. The tide seemed to be turning, and the number of demons was dwindling.
But just as he allowed himself a moment of relief, an inexplicable chill ran down his spine. It was as if a top predator had fixed its gaze on him.
Andrew's eyes narrowed. He scanned the battlefield with heightened vigilance, and for a moment, he felt the oppressive weight of being watched, but then the feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
