Peter was not getting better.
Asmodeos knew it was partially his fault. The only thing he could offer Peter had been a quick heal spell. Not the most useful thing to use when someone had their leg bitten off.
But Peter was not getting better, and the demons were dying like ants under a magnifying glass.
The angels were the real warriors of their world, Asmodeos knew. He did not want to do this. He had thought that these days, the days of horror, were behind him.
But they were not. All because of a boar.
As Asmodeos raised the first group of ghouls, he said a small prayer for his own soul. For once a necromancer summoned a D ranked undead, there was no going back.
Asmodeos' grumbling stomach was proof of that.
The white-haired necromancer took some of Peter's mana stones, only to realize that they did nothing for his hunger.
It was time he took to the field.
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