As the last of the Harbingers fell, a chilling silence enveloped the battlefield, the oppressive atmosphere hanging like a heavy curtain. I stood amid the remnants of chaos, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and the metallic tang of blood that clung to my skin. The ground, once a mass of writhing nightmares, was now littered with the remains of the defeated, a grim testament to the brutality of the battle.
But my victory was short-lived.
From the shadows, a presence stirred—one that eclipsed the horror of the Harbingers. An unnatural darkness pooled and coiled at the far end of the stage, shifting like smoke against the backdrop of the crimson sky. My heart raced as I sensed it; a primal fear coursed through me, tugging at my instincts. This was something far worse than I had faced. I tightened my grip on my sword, feeling the familiar weight grounding me in the storm of emotions swirling within.
And then, he emerged.
Lord Malgorath.
