He Who Wanders

The chasm shook, as a rain of sediment befell the dark reaches of the accursed crevice. An act of force unmistakably divine was enough to rid the ominous entity of its physical form, relinquishing it but a mist of crimson. 

A sharp exhale left the Invictus of Magni's lips as he kept his eyes forward before resting the enormous hammer on his shoulder, "That should do it, right?" 

Standing by his side, the bloodsoaked man of war wiped a mixture of blood and sweat from his chin, not seeming to be out of breath somehow. In fact, Attila's body was nearly absent of wounds entirely, despite the grave injuries he undoubtedly endured. 

"For now," Attila responded, looking around. 

The lacerations on the short man's skin closed as if pinched by unseen threads, leaving the blood on his body sinking back in through his own pores.