A guttural roar ripped from Dirtclaw's throat as hellfire ignited across his body. Without hesitation, he charged, a living battering ram aimed at the tide of demonic monsters swarming across the horizon.
The war had begun, sudden and brutal.
Orion hovered mid-air, a silent observer looking down upon the clashing tides of demonic flesh. It was a surreal spectacle—creatures of the same hellish origin, same monstrous forms, same fearless contempt for death, tearing each other apart.
He frowned. Maybe I jumped the gun. The thought was a quiet critique of his own recent decision.
The two armies of demonic monsters, each spawned from a Black Tower, were now locked in a maelstrom of violence, and Orion's forces were on the back foot.
His legion was primarily composed of Cyclopes, Mist Wraiths, and Ghouls. The enemy's ranks, however, were built on Flail Brutes, Mist Wraiths, and Ghouls.
