It didn't take long for the Rejected Corps to claim victory.
The restaurant floor was chaos incarnate, broken plates, shattered glass, overturned tables, and bodies. Chalkline Boys were scattered across the scene like discarded props, groaning or unconscious, blood smearing the tiles in streaks and pools. Some slumped over booths, others splayed on the ground, still twitching.
Despite the intensity of the fight, the Rejected Corps had only sustained two serious casualties, fighters who, by the looks of it, wouldn't be joining the next battle anytime soon. Even so, compared to the damage they'd inflicted?
Minimal losses. Another brutal, overwhelming win for the Rejected Corps.
As for Max and Wolf, they'd come out of it without a scratch. No bruises, no blood, just a clean record and a healthy stack of knocked-out enemies. Both had taken out more than their fair share, and now stood near the entrance, breathing steady, barely winded.
Max looked around at the wreckage.
