Killing one of the monsters in the deep was easy—or as easy as killing an aquatic nightmare at the first class advancement could ever be.
Slaying this particular abomination had only been possible through a mix of experience, desperation, and synergy. Weeks of clashing with horrors, of running, of bleeding and surviving together, had forged their team into something lethal.
Each member of the party knew their role by heart. They moved like gears in a well-oiled machine, compensating for each other's weaknesses with strength honed by necessity.
Now, the creature lay dead and unmoving. Damon didn't know its name. He hadn't delivered the killing blow.
He could have asked Sylvia to divine its identity, but she was conserving her strength—to find them a way out.
It would be a waste to endanger their seer over something as petty as a monster's name.
At least this grotesque thing would serve a purpose.
