Before a war begins, there is always the quiet dread. A tense, suffocating silence where the mind races.
Every soldier, living and dead, stared at the narrow slit of the canyon ahead, as if some unimaginable horror was about to burst forth from the shadows.
Is it starting?
Standing guard outside the sand scorpions' Nest, Dirtclaw watched the endless tide of small scorpions and skeleton warriors flow into the mouth of the Death Spiral Zone. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him. With a sudden whoosh, the hellfire dormant within him erupted, cloaking his draconic form in shimmering heat. The battle lust began to simmer, the fire in his blood catching light.
The first wave to enter the spiral passage wasn't the skeletons. It was the scorpions, which vanished underground, their movement kicking up a colossal sandstorm that roared into the tunnel. The grating hiss of sand on stone was the opening salvo of a war that would be decided by brute force, not cunning.
