As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, the atmosphere carried a sense of both beauty and foreboding. The tranquility of the morning was juxtaposed with an underlying tension, a feeling of anticipation that hung heavy in the air like a thick fog.
Experts of the layers of hells, attuned to the subtle shifts in energy, could sense the quiet destruction that loomed on the horizon, poised to erupt at any moment. It was as if the very fabric of existence held its breath, waiting for the inevitable chaos to unfurl.
Amidst this eerie calm, the Orc Clan stood rigid, their patriarch casting a solemn gaze over the landscape. His furrowed brow betrayed the weight of responsibility he carried, knowing that his people would soon be thrust into the throes of battle.
