With the treaty ratified and the golden light settling into the leylines, a never seen before stillness blanketed the Grand Defile.
The thirty thousand crusaders remained on their knees along the granite ridges and meadow slopes. The terror of cosmic execution had lifted. The shame of their unjust invasion had been soothed by the golden dew. Yet the fight-or-flight rush of battle drained from their veins. Then, a very mortal, very primal living reality made itself known.
For three days, the grand coalition had marched under strict wartime discipline.
They had burned up nothing but chalky, bitter Fasting Pills. Tightly packed healing pellets designed to suppress mortal hunger while tasting like powdered chalk and stale dirt. After three days of forced marching. It was followed by two hours of paralyzing terror beneath a nine-tier cosmic execution cloud, thirty thousand stomachs were fully hollow.
Gurgle...
A faint rumble echoed from the stomach of a young sword student in the front rank.
Beside him, an older deacon’s belly let out a loud, groaning whine. Within seconds, a timed together, symphonic chorus of thirty thousand rumbling stomachs rolled across the valley like distant, hungry thunder:
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK!
