The battlefield was a maelstrom of steel and blood, with cries of agony and war drums reverberating across the valley. Smoke curled into the darkened sky as fires raged where the Proton Cannon had struck, leaving nothing but charred remains and shattered siege engines.
Tiberius stood amidst the chaos, his black armor gleaming with the eerie glow of Dreadnought's runes. A crimson mist clung to him, a manifestation of the artifact's dark power. His eyes, sharp as a predator's, swept across the battlefield, assessing the carnage. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he raised his great sword.
"Dreadnought—Nightmare's Embrace."
A pulse of malevolent energy erupted from the blade, spreading outward like a wave of death. The air thickened with an unnatural darkness, and every soldier within its reach felt their limbs tremble, their hearts seize with an overwhelming dread.
