The image of Azareth wavered like molten glass, and soon, before Liam's eyes, the realm of endless crimson storms unfolded. A sea of black clouds twisted overhead, streaked with blood-red lightning that tore the heavens apart with thunderous screams. The ground was a charred wasteland of cracked obsidian and rivers of molten brimstone, stretching endlessly beneath a blood-soaked sky. The stench of sulfur and death hung thick in the air. Aesmirius floated beside Liam, his voice echoing calmly.
"This," he began, his tone calm but heavy with remembrance, "was where the war between me and Volgath began. Though I was greatly outnumbered, that was not what made it difficult. The true problem… was having to deal with Volgath himself—while his children stalked the edges of the battlefield. The Demon Lords."
