The battlefield, once a scene of chaos, now lay in eerie stillness, save for the occasional groans of the wounded and the rustling of fabric as Ann moved swiftly between the injured, her small frame darting from one person to another like a flickering flame in the aftermath of destruction. The air smelled of blood, ash, and burnt flesh, a grim reminder of the carnage they had barely survived.
Ryder, still clad in his gleaming battle armor, stood amidst the devastation, his massive figure resembling an immovable pillar in the storm of their struggles. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, swept across the bodies that littered the ground, some breathing, some forever still. His jaw clenched, his fists tightened at his sides, and then, in a voice that carried both command and underlying sorrow, he turned to Ray.
"Numbers. I need numbers, Ray."
