The northern front was the brightest hell.
The low-hanging gray sky was never truly dark. Every few seconds, Thor's lightning struck from the cracked clouds, tearing the air with blinding white light. Each flash sent shadows racing wildly across the ground, stretching and shrinking like terrified living creatures. The thunder arrived late, slamming the battlefield with heavy booms that rattled bones.
Beneath that sky, two dwarf armies collided like twin mountains hurling hammers at each other.
Nocture's black crystal hammers met the enemy's golden thunder hammers. Every clash sprayed purple fire and blue lightning; the sound CLANG! CLANG! echoed like a death bell being struck over and over. The ground cracked beneath their feet, stones shattered, and shards of metal flew together with chunks of flesh and blood.
Among the dwarf ranks, the elves fought in an entirely different manner.
