But it wasn't enough.
The battlefield was collapsing.
Everywhere Damien looked, Chinese elites were falling.
Lin Guang, the lightning-speaker of the East, had her throat torn out by a European flame-sprinter before she could even activate her second sigil.
General Zhao Heng, whose defensive walls of fire had held entire districts against the awakened beasts, was overwhelmed by a coordinated trio.
One broke his shield, the second crushed his ribs, and the third decapitated him with a slice of cutting wind.
Eleven had already died. Thirteen if the two "traitors" were counted. Reduced to corpses in less than ten minutes.
Damien barely managed to keep track.
He saw Riki bleeding heavily from a gash in his side. Maru's hammer was cracked. The air stank of burning flesh, broken mana, and charred uniforms.
The Europeans were ruthless. Efficient. Relentless. There were twenty-four of them left now, and every one of them moved like they had tasted victory.
