Damon was in the lead, sword in hand, taking down every opponent with a single swing of its blade.
The sword had the ability to induce disintegration on its target—body and soul. Damon himself had once been on the receiving end of its power.
As for why his soul didn't break apart… he could take a guess. It was the armor of Pale Crown. It must have protected his soul with its power.
They still didn't know what the ascendant armors were fully capable of, but they would find out eventually … they had smashed hundreds of skeletons. Slowly, with each victory, they came closer to vanquishing ten thousand foes.
"Left…"
Valarie's voice called out from his shoulders. Damon glanced at the pair of lips… that was all that remained of a once great champion…
Damon jumped through a window—what was left of a ruined house. The house had no roof, bleak sunlight spilling from above. The ground was littered with broken bricks, fragments of walls, and mold.
