Beside them stood Azrael, a figure of terrifying power and presence. His expression remained blank, devoid of any emotion, as he gazed upon the sea of undead that now filled the streets of Ditrayn. The lack of feeling in his face was somehow more chilling than any display of cruel satisfaction could have been.
Azrael nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the horrific scene below. "Proceed," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of countless worlds conquered and civilizations destroyed.
The red-skinned man bowed deeply, then turned to carry out the order. As they moved away, the sounds of machinery whirring to life filled the command center. Outside, great beams of sickly green light began to emanate from the ship, sweeping across the city below.
