High above the churning Endless Sea, the Race Kings clashed with the angel gods, the battle reaching a fever pitch. The fight between gods was a war of attrition, a delicate balance of divine power. No one held a decisive advantage.
The Race Kings fought on, clinging to the hope of reinforcements, knowing their duty was to buy time for their Queen, even if it meant their deaths.
Alex's success was their only hope.
Torin, already struggling against one angel god, now faced two, his strength waning.
He hadn't fought alongside the previous undead lord, who had faced the world alone.
But this time, his Queen needed him. He wouldn't hesitate.
He raised his crooked staff, his bony fingers surprisingly strong.
A dark magic barrier shimmered around him, but it melted away like snow under the angels' holy light.
His dark magic, a mixture of Bone Magic and blood magic, was no match for these divine foes.
