The city fell, its defenders overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught. The once vibrant streets of Thornvale were now engulfed in chaos and ruin. Buildings that had been symbols of hope and renewal lay in smoldering wreckage, and the air was thick with the scent of ash and despair. The cries of the wounded and the dying echoed through the night, a haunting reminder of the darkness that had returned.
Lord Harrick fought with all his strength, his sword flashing in the dim light as he faced down the seemingly endless tide of Malachor's minions. But as the battle raged on, it became clear that their efforts were futile.
A dark figure approached Lord Harrick, his presence radiating a chilling malevolence. Malachor stood before him, his eyes glowing with a cold, cruel light.
"You fought bravely, Harrick," Malachor said, his voice dripping with contempt. "But bravery alone is not enough to defeat me."
