Lyerin stood atop the tallest building in the city, he could feel the wind whipping through his dark hair as he gazed out over the ruined landscape.
The sky had lightened slightly, it was tinged with the pale hues of early morning, but the sun had yet seemed to fully rise.
The city was a sprawling graveyard of steel and concrete, the streets below choked with the debris of a world that had crumbled into chaos.
"My body is getting tired as I keep moving, and it's been this way for hours," he mumbled.
His eyes laid on bodies of the fallen eldritch fleshers strewn across the streets and alleys below, he could even see their twisted forms grotesque in the dim light.
Lyerin had killed 1,200 of them in the last few hours, pushing himself to the limits of his body endurance. Each kill had brought him closer to his goal, each fallen creature another step toward power, yet also brought him to get tirer easily.
