Grand Marshal Anglius struggled to steady his breath as he gazed upon the sole passage of the Molted Range—the mountain range that once marked the border between the Asani Continent and the Monsoon Continent, now the primary battlefield between the Xaos Kingdom and the Leviathans.
Black blood was everywhere, so much of it that it had soaked the ground beneath him. Huge spikes littered the area, and mountains of Leviathan corpses were being consumed by flames, sending waves of smoke and ash into the sky. Yet the golden giant paid no heed to the gruesome scenery; he was too preoccupied, searching for a way out of their current predicament.
His eyes swept over the battlefield, and a solemn expression crept onto his face as he took in the state of the Golden Wave Legion and the Turkin soldiers. Overwhelming exhaustion was etched onto every face, and the reason was clear: the Leviathans.
