The Horde's Aftermath

The silence is striking.

The battlefield should be groaning - zombies should still be clawing at the earth, dragging themselves forward, driven by some dark, unholy instinct. But there's nothing.

Osmond stands in the crater he left behind, panting, violet energy still rippling over his skin. His chest rises and falls unevenly. His fingers twitch. The cracks over his body, the ones that flicker when he fights - they still glow like embers, pulsing wildly, erratically.

He overdid it - at least a little bit. Normally he can dispel his magic after he's finished fighting, but his body is overwhelmed. 

He grips his staff tighter, his whole body shaking.

Maria steps up beside him, her heels clicking softly against the dead ground. She eyes the destruction, completely unfazed. A ruined stretch of land that used to be a battlefield now looks like the surface of a distant planet - warped, scorched, carved apart by the forces of two opposing Lords.