For several breaths, nobody answered Simon.
The demons who had been glaring at him looked away from one another. A hand tightened around a sword's hilt. Someone opened his mouth, then closed it without finding anything useful to say.
They had laughed at humans who fled before them. Now they wanted the wounded demon sent back so that something stronger would leave them alone.
The comparison was ugly because it was true.
"He isn't wrong," someone muttered.
"Then you go and fight the god."
"That isn't what I said."
Marek heard enough. His expression had darkened, but he did not turn toward the murmuring ranks.
Simon had exposed their fear. Admitting that now, after declaring that the Archfiend should have died on Earth, would undermine everything Marek had said.
"Knowing when not to fight is not cowardice," he replied.
His voice carried beyond Simon.
