The hair on Krem's arms and the back of his neck stood on end. It felt--the noise itself, the reverberations in the bottoms of his boots and in his lungs suddenly, in his ear drums--like the way a fear demon did, and Krem disliked that immensely. He thought of Adamant Fortress, the echoing groans of the Nightmares there as they tore it apartment and raided the last of the caches. Everything felt too much, and not enough at all. He was intensely aware of his own skin.

He unsheathed the sword for now, leaving Smash slung across his back. It felt more practical, while they were still making their way through the forest.