The bottom of the hill was now a vast crater, dust rising in thick columns, with only the lingering groans of those unfortunate enough to be caught at the edges of the explosion.
Silence hung over the epicenter. The blast that had erupted from the top of the hill had left a scorched hollow where half the body of a siege beast had been obliterated. The ground there was blackened, melted, and crystallized—evidence of the sheer force of the blast.
There were no corpses in the center. Nothing had survived. Not even the stronger, more durable bones that could typically withstand magical fire. Everything had been reduced to ash.
It was at the outer rim of the destruction where the true horror lay. The orcs who hadn't died instantly now groaned weakly, their bodies torn and mangled. They would not live long.
Damon walked down the hill slowly, the Staff of Carnage still warm in his hand. This devastation had been his doing.
