When the three Radiant Lords summoned by Eldrion opened their eyes, three pillars of pitch-black Lumyst shot into the sky like harbingers of annihilation. The sky groaned as if pierced by blades of shadow, and the ground beneath their feet trembled in response, as though dreading what was to come. Their auras were so dense and menacing that it wasn't just Jake and his companions who felt the pressure—every single recruit on the battlefield flinched under the weight, some outright collapsing, clutching at their chests as if suffocating.
If it was already that unbearable for the Dusken Throne's army, it could only be worse for the Radiant Conclave. Except for the Saints and high-ranking officers, every Light Warrior of Paladin rank and below dropped to one knee, faces pale, legs trembling like their life force had just been siphoned away. The air itself seemed poisoned by despair, each breath shallow and cold, as if the battlefield had been plunged into an early grave.
