Blood. So much blood.
The once-sacred Beastridge Mountain, a place whispered about in legends, now lay defiled—a graveyard of youth and dreams.
Shattered earth was soaked red, as if the heavens had wept crimson instead of rain. Mangled bodies lay twisted in unnatural positions, limbs torn, eyes wide in horror. The stench of iron clung thick in the air, mingling with burnt flesh and the sickening scent of death.
Kyle lay in a pool of blood, his arm severed from the shoulder, his sword snapped in half by his side. His once-spirited eyes were glazed over, fixed on nothing—forever frozen in disbelief.
Selena's snowy-white hair was no longer white, caked in dirt and gore as her broken body sprawled motionless across the blood-soaked stones. Her chest did not rise. Her staff lay shattered beside her, powerless now.
