~FSHUUUUU~
The sky was a canvas of somber gray, streaked with jagged clouds that churned above the broken battlefield. Lucius hovered midair, his dark cloak billowing behind him like the wings of an omen.
His bright purple eyes scanned the land below, the ruins of the Saints Cult sanctuary reduced to smoldering rubble, the Warlord's battle camp a disjointed sprawl of tents and corpses.
The acrid stench of death tainted the air, but to him, it was the aroma of triumph.
A crooked smile crept across Lucius' pale lips. This chaos, this utter obliteration—it was his orchestration, his magnum opus. A deep voice, cold and resonant, rumbled from his throat like distant thunder.
"Rise up."
