The crimson sun, an ominous orb hung in the peculiar sky, projected a constant scarlet glow across the battlefield. Its light tainted the scene beneath it with a disturbing, blood-red tint, producing an environment in which reality appeared to shift between the realms of the living and dead.
Every stride Merciless made resonated through the silent, blood-soaked ground, each echo bearing witness to the horrific slaughter that had occurred during the previous five days.
Around him, the air was filled with the remains of a once-thriving throng, now reduced to drifting spirits and scattered fragments of flesh, organs, and blood. These shreds of life swirled upward in a bizarre dance, attracted inexorably to the red sun.
The sun's crimson glow pulsed as if savoring the feast of constantly incoming souls of the dead and matter of the once living, consuming every last particle into its insatiable core.
