Of course, the sky answered Zerathul's rising will with violence. Darkness folded inward then burst outward in layers as if the sky had been torn open from within.
The clouds fractured into massive floating plates of shadow, and each of those plates pulsing with corrupted light. From every fracture point, colossal tentacles that looked thicker than towers emerged, veined with crimson fissures that bled necromantic Magic into the air.
They no longer moved blindly. They moved with intent.
Zerathul showed his new power without restraint.
The darkness no longer merely consumed the sky but started reshaping it.
Below, the world reacted in terror.
Humans and elves alike froze as daylight vanished in pieces.
The sun fractured behind layers of shadow, its light bending and scattering like broken glass.
Entire regions dimmed as if night had fallen in an instant. The wind screamed, carrying ash-like fragments of corrupted clouds that dissolved before touching the ground.
