The moment the Demon Lord appeared, the Head bowed low, the ugly shape of his body folding with unfathomable loyalty and submission.
"Lord Baal," he said.
Baal did not waste time on ceremony. "Braavas. What is it?"
The Demon Head — Braavas — lifted his head just enough to speak. "The humans are attacking the half-citadel," he said with some hesitation.
Baal's eyes narrowed, the glow deepening by a shade. "Attacking?"
"Yes, my lord." Braavas' jaw tightened, and the scarred growths along his raised shoulder flexed under the strain of his frustration. "It seems to be Awakeners. Organized and powerful enough to clear more than sixty percent of the claimed land in just twenty minutes."
For the briefest instant, the Gloom in the room stilled.
Baal's stare sharpened. "So the humans have suddenly cultivated such effrontery. I know them to be persistent worms clinging to a world destined to be ours, but this is another level. Even for them."
