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Jarrod felt no elation as he looked out across his human forces. Only grim determination. The savour of this moment had vanished. He wouldn’t let himself examine why. What remained important was the plan.
How many were there? Eighty? One hundred? Small in number, ethereal in appearance. Deadly vessels extending his clan’s hungry reach. He would leave a ghost town. A shell of empty structures, a fitting tribute to Lithus, broken and barren. And his own numbers would be multiplied...for a time.
He began to smile. His army of human husks, led by his clan, began to move, drifting towards distant Bannimor.
