The clearing erupted in a maelstrom of violence. The Silent Guard, empowered by the Voidwell and fueled by a chilling loyalty to their prince, tore through the ranks of the Crimson Hand like wraiths through smoke.
Steel clashed against steel, the air thick with the clang of swords, the thud of axes, the cries of the dying.
The Crimson Hand fighters, not outnumbered but severely outmatched, fought with the desperation of cornered animals, their initial bravado quickly replaced by a primal fear as they witnessed the brutal efficiency of their attackers.
The Silent Guard moved with unnatural speed and precision, their glowing eyes fixed on their prey, their strikes swift and merciless.
Limbs were severed, throats were torn open, bodies crumpled to the ground in a grotesque show of blood and carnage.
The earth seemed to tremble beneath the onslaught, the trees themselves whispering in horror as the Silent Guard reaped their crimson harvest.
