"Bullseye! Head separated!" Lyerin muttered to himself as he landed softly through the shattered glass, his boots crunching on the broken shards beneath his feet. He straightened up, dusting off his hands, and surveyed the room.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay, a sickly blend of metallic tang and rotten flesh that clung to everything like an invisible fog.
His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him: the twisted, lifeless form of the unknown Eldritch Flesher, its head now separated from its body, and the crumpled Tentatorn, its once formidable body now broken and still.
Lyerin chuckled darkly to himself, shaking his head in mild amusement. "I'm surprised to see these two fighting. Normally, they'd avoid each other like the plague." His gaze flicked to the Tentatorn's corpse, noting the deep gashes and crushed thorns that marred its form.
