They were fighting against numbers greater than anything the mortal or spirit realm could muster, a tide so vast the battlefield felt as if it balanced on a knife-edge between survival and collapse.
As the united army surged toward the shattered gap in the black citadel's wall, the sky darkened with movement. Thick-scaled beasts clawed their way into the open, wyverns by the hundreds, their roars shaking the molten ground, followed by true dragons, massive four-legged terrors whose wings churned the ash-laden air.
Their scales ranged from dull iron to volcanic red, from sickly green to obsidian black. Behind them, thousands of drakes spilled from the citadel like floodwater released from a broken dam.
Apollyon's Death Knights took the lead, their rust-black armor scraping and clattering as they advanced.
