The Wake of Battle

While Arthur had been locked in his desperate battle with a single Nightreaver, Aziel had dispatched his two opponents with casual efficiency. By the time Arthur's primal scream had faded into the night air, Aziel was already crouched over the carcasses of his fallen adversaries, the blade of his spear in hand as he methodically carved chunks of meat from their bodies.

Blood-dark ichor stained his fingers and forearms, yet he worked with the practiced precision of someone accustomed to field dressing much stranger game. He hummed softly to himself, apparently untroubled by the grisly task or the minor scratches that marked his otherwise unblemished skin—the only evidence that he had been in combat at all.