carved ground

“I take it that light show was you?” Adam asked about ten hours later.

“Who else would it be?” I answered, smiling as I looked down at him. He was standing atop the remains of Haven’s ziggurat, having spent hours defending it from every direction. Though he’d cut down the Grimm like stalks of wheat, sheer attrition had allowed them to claim parts of the structure in bits and pieces—and Adam’s own attempts to defend it had left their scars as well. I could see his efforts in the marks he’d left behind—attempts to control the power of his blows in the varied size of the strikes, the jagged ring of markings that surrounded the ziggurat a testament to his efforts to push back the Grimm. I suspected that he had challenged himself, consciously or not, to keep the structure safe and for a single man against an endless horde, he’d done remarkably well.