In the shadow-thick stillness of the forest, eight demon figures stood cloaked in darkness. Their armor was scratched, cracked in places, and stained with old blood. Clearly worn down from more than just the journey.
"They've got a good scout, I'll give them that," one muttered, pacing restlessly. "No one's left a clear trail in days."
"Good scout? Fool!" the leader snarled. "I don't care how well they run. They won't survive in this forest forever. If they haven't already died, they will."
"But I swear," another said, his voice sharper, more anxious. "They were here not long ago. I can smell them."
Without warning, the leader turned and struck him across the head with a backhand blow. The impact sent the lesser demon stumbling back with a growl.
"Your nose is the fool here!" the leader spat. "We don't need to chase ghosts. We find them, we kill them, and we finish this damn task!"
