The battlefield was silent, the once-mighty seven demon generals now scattered lifelessly across the sand like broken dolls. Their twisted forms bore the marks of the devastating demon intent unleashed by the old man, Grizzak.
Kent stood among the wreckage, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breath. His body was battered, his clothes torn, and blood seeped from numerous wounds. Yet, his sharp eyes remained fixed on Grizzak, who had collapsed onto the sand, gasping for air.
Grizzak's staff lay beside him, the glow of its power now extinguished. The old man's shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath, his face pale and sweat-drenched. For all his bravado, it was clear the spell had taken a heavy toll on him.
Kent, still wincing from the pain in his own body, began channeling his healing aura, a soft golden glow emanating from his hands. He approached Grizzak cautiously, kneeling beside him.
