Their laughter swelled again… wet, obsessive, and full of genuine, deranged love for the horrors they described. To them, this wasn't war. It was foreplay. It was romance. It was the highest form of pleasure.
Sol remained motionless on the branch above them, thirty feet up, hidden in the thick leaves. His blood had gone ice-cold, but beneath it burned a murderous fury hotter than anything he had ever felt.
It wasn't the kind of hot, blinding fury that made a man scream or lose his head. It was a freezing, clinical disgust. He had transmigrator knowledge; he knew he was in a savage, unforgiving world where people died every day.
He had already killed plenty of things since waking up in this accursed world. But listening to these lanky, yellow-green freaks talk about eating human kids like they were listing items on a restaurant menu turned something off deep inside his brain.
These creatures didn't just want to conquer Veynar.
