The cavern still echoed with the ringing silence that followed the monster's obliteration. Smoke and ash settled like snow, clinging to every jagged surface. The crater where the demon-minotaur had stood smoldered faintly, its fused armor now scattered shards of molten steel and bone. Nothing moved. No breath. No growl. No sound but the crackle of fading fire.
They had won.
Inigo stood in the center of the wreckage, brushing dust from his jacket. His left sleeve was torn from diving, his gloves scorched from the howitzer's recoil. Wheeler rumbled forward beside him, the combat drone whirring softly, its barrels cooling down. Its lights blinked yellow—standby mode.
Lyra limped over, her leg still wrapped in a torn cloth strip soaked in healing salve. "Well…" she said with a slow grin. "That was something."
"No kidding," Inigo muttered, blowing smoke from his Desert Eagle's barrel before holstering it. "I'd say we should do this again sometime, but that'd make me sound insane."
