'We really did a number on this place.' Marcus thought as he scanned his surroundings.
All around him was a hellish landscape that had been razed by the battle. Parts of it was a molten wasteland from Zaila's flames, others were frozen over by Mrazivý's ice magic, but most of it was just completely shattered and looked like an earthquake of the greatest magnitude had hit.
However, there was one area within view that had managed to escape being destroyed by the battle.
The black sand hill that the Font of Death was resting within had managed to avoid being damaged for the most part. Some of the sands had shifted but that was it.
As a magical phenomenon born from the abrupt and violent death of hundreds of thousands, the Font of Death was an embodiment of destruction and would not be easily disturbed even by the most intense of battles.
