The Pit

The city was now a mess. Crumbled buildings lay scattered like broken toys, streets were torn apart, and the air still stank of poison and smoke. The giant worm was dead—its slimy, green body sprawled across the eastern district, leaking ooze that hissed against the ground. 

The hunters had finished it off, much to Luther's annoyance, and now people were starting to crawl out of hiding, staring at the wreckage with wide eyes.

Luther stood near the edge of the destruction, arms crossed, his sword sheathed at his side. His mood was sour—those hunters had stolen his fight, and he wasn't over it. He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into a pile of rubble. 

"Tch. Could've handled it myself," he muttered under his breath.