The scene turned apocalyptic.
The black flames surged like a rising tide, no longer flickering gently across undead flesh, but now consuming everything with ravenous hunger.
What had started as a quiet spread became an unstoppable wave—an infernal feast. Every undead, from the smallest reanimated ghoul to the towering behemoths, was caught in it.
The flames didn't just burn—they devoured, tore through flesh, shredded soul remnants, and erased their very essence from existence.
The wyvern let out a soundless cry as its skeletal wings crumbled, its frame folding inward as if reality itself rejected its presence. The two-headed minotaur fought, clawing at its own chest as the flames seeped through its cracked bones, but within seconds, it collapsed—disintegrating from the inside out.
